by Mike Chen
“Krista?”
The tiny voice stopped Krista cold, yanking her back. Sunny’s anxious face stuck through the banister posts, and in a really strange way, one that Rob couldn’t decipher, Krista’s expression almost seemed more hurt. “I’m not getting involved,” she finally said. “You don’t need me. And I don’t need you. It was a job.”
Sunny called out her name again, but the words seemed to bounce off of her. “No. I am...not...getting...involved.” Her eyes shut tight. “You understand? Both of you. Not involved. I don’t care how many viruses are out there.”
“But we’re friends!” The words fell down the stairs and Krista shook her head, though Rob had no clue as to who that was meant for. Maybe she spoke to herself with that gesture.
“Get over it.” Krista took quick, even steps out and slammed the door. Rob ran up to Sunny, and they stayed on the stairs for long minutes. That whole time, Rob didn’t hear the sound of Krista’s car.
* * *
Half an hour must have passed, maybe more, since the outburst. Sunny slouched off to bed by herself, insisting she wanted to be alone. Rob didn’t purposefully avoid pushing further; he just didn’t quite know what to say, either about Krista’s behavior or her own secret wedding plan or the Family Stability Board or Elena. In fact, the one thing that made sense was where all of that had come from. Krista probably thought she was doing the right thing; she was only too stubborn—or damaged—to think otherwise, or even see that he’d agreed with her on telling Sunny, just not when.
That still didn’t answer the question about what he’d say to her, though. His last attempt had been an ad-libbing disaster. How could a seven-year-old handle information like “Sorry, there is no hope that you’ll ever see your mother again”? The thought unearthed a long-buried memory, a grudge that lasted several years and burned with the intensity of childhood over being told the truth about Santa.
This was going to be a little bit bigger than Santa.
Rob shut down that line of thinking fast before it could spiral out of control. In search of inspiration, or perhaps just nostalgic distraction, he sat at the computer in the kitchen nook, staring at the scanned images from his wedding album and remaining photos of Elena.
So many questions just waiting to be unleashed, the tenuous lid he’d kept on it now pressurizing in ways he could have never foreseen. If he told Sunny now, tonight, would that mean anything to the Family Stability Board? Could she ever forgive him for what he’d done? How long would it take for her to grasp the no-win scenario he’d been forced into?
Moira. Moira would know what to do. Of course she would; she was the only person whom he felt he could be truly honest with. And the whole escape-from-being-MoJo thing cut pretty close to the choices he’d had to make. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. She’d said he could call. But she was also getting married tomorrow morning. What kind of friend would he be, interrupting that?
No. He had to do this himself.
Rob stood up and began a slow, steady walk across the living room and up the stairs with nothing but a rough jumble of words primed up.
“Sunny? Sun, you awake?” Rob said, pushing the door open. The light from the hallway cast a triangular beam into the room, and his vision needed a moment to adjust to the dark.
“I can’t sleep, Daddy.”
“Rough night, huh?”
“I keep thinking.”
“About what, Sun?” he said, the mattress bowing under his weight as he sat.
“Krista. She said ‘no more Mommy secrets.’ What did she mean by that?”
At the very least, Sunny was learning critical thinking skills. “Well, look. I need to talk with you about that.”
“Mommy’s mad at me, huh?”
“What? No, not at all. Why would you think that?”
The slit of hallway light caught Sunny’s eyes, and from the irritated red in them he could see that she’d been crying. “Because she won’t talk to me. She only talks to you. And now she’s not coming, and Krista’s mad at me. It’s all my fault.”
“No, no, no. Sunny, that’s not it at all. There’s something I need to tell you.” Rob sucked in a deep breath, and he hoped that she didn’t notice his pounding chest. “Krista’s right. There’s something you need to know. See, something happened a long time ago, something—” Before he could finish, the room filled with the sound of Sunny crying. He held his daughter, letting her sob into his chest as he considered his next move. At least he’d got the first part out.
“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” she said through the choked sobs. “I made Mommy mad. I made you and Krista fight.”
“No, Sunny. It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. Sometimes, things just happen. You know, maybe we should talk about this in the morning. Get some rest.”
Sunny responded with a gradual slowing of her tears. Her voice remained quiet and strained. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Sun.”
“Is Krista’s uncle treating Mommy?”
“Sun...” Rob’s voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. Playing out any further complications wouldn’t work, but her emotions deserved a break. “He’s treating a lot of sick people.”
“Maybe he’ll let me talk to Mommy. If I could just talk to her, I know she wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.”
Years ago, Elena’s friend Gail gave them one of those marriage survival guide books, the latest in modern pop-psychobabble. “Preventative measures,” she’d said, probably referencing her own divorce at age twenty-four. Though many of the details eluded him now, he always remembered the nugget about how “don’t go to bed angry” was bullshit since sleeping was how the brain processed and recharged, that going to bed angry was a good thing as long as you talked about it the next day.
He wanted to tell Sunny. He needed to tell her. But one good night of sleep might prevent it from going off the rails.
“Look, why don’t we both get some rest? It’s been such a long day. Try again in the morning,” he said, though it could have been for himself as much as Sunny.
“Okay, Daddy. If you talk to Mommy, tell her I’m sorry I made her mad. And Krista too.”
“No one’s mad at you. I promise. Not me, not Krista, and definitely not Mommy.” Rob leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, then adjusted the blankets, tucking them in around her shoulders. “Good night, Sun.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sunny
Sunny’s eyes were closed. But she couldn’t sleep.
She’d tried counting, like Daddy suggested. Counting up while picturing monkeys walking by. Sometimes it helped. But not tonight.
She had been asleep, at least she thought. The clock said two twenty-one, which meant that...four plus two...six hours had passed until she felt this way. But then she had that dream about coming home to find Mommy napping on the couch, and she was about to wake her up, but then she woke up in real life.
Sunny had tried so hard to go back to sleep. But now her eyes opened. And everyone was still upset. She knew it.
Mommy wouldn’t talk to her. Krista was yelling at Daddy. Daddy was yelling at Krista. And the man on the news made it sound like the world was upset. People wouldn’t even be able to travel to different cities anymore.
What would make them all feel better?
Sunny’s bare feet hit the floor. Usually, she only went to the bathroom at this time of night. But now she wandered down the stairs, careful to skip the sixth step down because it creaked, and got a glass of water. Even so, her elbow caught the corner of the nook desk, and the kitchen brightened as the computer monitor woke up.
Daddy must have been working. It was still on even though he always told her to save power and turn things off, and instead of work stuff, it showed pictures of Mommy. She sat in front of the screen, glass in hand.
There it was: a picture of Momm
y, from behind, holding her as a baby. Walking down a path outdoors. Gray sky. Trees. Mommy’s blond hair tied in a ponytail that hung over her coat’s hood. Daddy had shown her this before. He said that they didn’t have a lot of photos left, but this was one of his favorites.
She liked it too. She wished she looked at it more.
The longer she stared at the picture, the more questions came. She had to make them stop, so she clicked the other browser tab. It loaded to the main Metronet news and it showed Krista’s uncle, the not-nice one who treated sick people.
Sick people like Mommy.
As Sunny stared at the words and pictures on the screen, a new idea formed in her head. How could she fix everything? She suddenly knew. And she didn’t have much time to do it. Not with all the travel stuff in the news.
She checked the clock on the microwave.
Two forty-five in the morning.
She grinned, so much that her cheeks hurt.
This would make everyone so happy.
She typed Uncle Dean’s name, then clicked Search and waited for the screen to load, results appearing line by line.
From the Online Encyclopedia page on MoJo:
Final Performance: On March 11, 2019, MoJo was scheduled to perform at Madison Square Garden in New York City in support of her second album Battle Cry. The arena was by all accounts half-empty due to the media fervor over the previous week’s outbreak. The order for transportation lockdown, stemming from the Center for Disease Control’s findings on the MGS 85 virus, was made public in the middle of MoJo’s second song. When the lights went up following the fourth song, a near-riot ensued as the attending crowd attempted to leave the building all at once. Staff encountered similar issues backstage.
MoJo was never seen or heard from again.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Krista
People had told Krista that they were fearful to go to City Hall themselves.
As she walked into the building, she reminded herself that “don’t believe people” was still a general life guideline. The building was packed. Concerns about crowded places must have been outweighed by a desire to get hitched as soon as possible. Though after Krista took care of a handful of requests from yesterday’s new clients, she was still stuck with the one that suddenly carried way more baggage.
She told herself to focus and put on her professional shell, a tight-lipped, straight-ahead stare that came with a steady walk and a polite nod to Frank, his parents, and his sister while they waited outside the county clerk’s office, discussing the outbreak like it was no big deal. “Is Moira late?”
“I think she’s in the ladies’,” Frank’s dad, Joe, said. “We’ve got time. They’re delayed.” Ever the gentleman, Joe probably got embarrassed saying that his future daughter-in-law used the bathroom. Frank’s mom, Kelley, gave Krista a hug before she realized it, pulling her into her trim body.
“Oh, okay. Maybe I’ll bump into her. I have to take a quick break too.” She didn’t, but better to run into Moira alone and resolve any lingering bullshit just in case Rob talked with her. She moved back into the main lobby, where crowds pushed their way around.
Focus. Do not think about Sunny or what she’d said to her last night. She had a job to do, after all.
Krista stopped at the top of the stairs, looking one more time at Frank’s group. He might have been the only person in San Francisco, if not California and quite possibly the world, who had his entire immediate family survive. A snapshot showed smiles, laughter, his sister Leslie mock-boxing with him; it could have been a wholesome family from any pre-MGS year. They were a living time capsule, a miracle of smiles and life without the weight of trauma.
Krista wondered if that made them lucky or clueless. Maybe both.
She turned and bumped shoulders with Moira, causing Moira’s bag to drop to the floor. She smoothed out the bottom of her midlength black dress, then stood at attention, as if Krista’s collision didn’t impact her at all. “Oh,” she said. “Hello.”
“Hey.” Did she know what happened with Rob and Sunny? “You know, the past few days have been a bit strange. I’d like to just forget it. Forget all of it, really. I’m a professional, and I want today to be smooth for you. That’s what you’re paying me for.” There. Simple, to the point, and not offensive in any way.
“Right. I wanted to say the same thing.” The paper shopping bag on the floor crinkled as Moira picked it up by the handles. “I do think you’re being a bit hard on Rob.”
She did know. “You talked?”
“Texted. Late last night.”
Did she initiate or vice versa? “I don’t want to discuss this right now—”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry, I just... I have a lot of empathy for Rob. And Sunny.”
“It’s his life. He has to make these decisions. Not us. I’m not getting involved. I have more important things to do.” Judging by the look on Moira’s face, the words sounded convincing enough. Which was good, since Krista spent most of the previous evening telling herself that she really believed such a thing, that letting herself get even remotely attached to Sunny was a ridiculous idea in the first place.
Basically, get over it.
She repeated the advice to herself and turned before Moira could detect anything.
“Like this?” Moira’s words lacked any of the typical bride enthusiasm found on wedding days. In fact, they landed somewhere between apathetic, disappointed, and annoyed, as if her mind was elsewhere.
Krista assumed the professional pose she’d carried with her to City Hall. “Like this,” she said, as calm and straight as possible. The two women stood there, side by side, tucked away in the small hallway off the main staircase, and Krista glanced back at Frank’s family. They smiled and laughed, joking and chatting like Krista and Moira could never return and they wouldn’t notice. “They’re so normal after everything that’s happened. I mean, look at that. Mom, dad, sister, laughing and wearing sweaters. How is that even possible?”
Moira stepped forward and stared at her fiancé’s family, not with adoration but with lips twisted slightly downward. “It’s something, isn’t it?” She gestured out at Frank’s family, the bag in her hand caught in a light sway. The crack in the top revealed Moira’s wedding shoes—a pair of white running shoes based on the couple’s mutual love of running.
If Frank only knew.
“Families can sure be annoying, huh?”
“They’re not. They’re genuine and happy. And lucky. Almost to a fault. Not a trace of PASD.”
“And apparently they’re not that curious about your past either.”
Moira’s face fell to neutral. “No one pushes the topic. I’ve got the pandemic excuse. They’re polite. Normal. The universe delivered them here unscathed. Who wouldn’t want that?”
Krista studied Moira as she talked about Frank’s family. Krista had been with countless couples by now, a few genuinely in love, some in lust, and most trying to desperately fill a void. But none of them had Moira’s dispassionate attitude. “Everyone’s got an itch to scratch, huh?”
“Isn’t that why you care about Sunny?”
The question hit hard and low, and she refused to look at Moira, instead turning straight ahead out the hallway. She smoothed out her skirt and adjusted the purse on her shoulder. “They’re waiting for us. I like your dress. And you brought your wedding shoes.”
“Thought it’d be appropriate to wear. If this outbreak gets worse, we may not get our big ceremony. Just imagine the—” Moira stopped, and Krista tried tracing her gaze upward at the TV screen.
Evan Hatfield had been unavoidable on media, as much as Uncle Dean but for different reasons. But this wasn’t a replay from the other day. This was him giving some sort of press conference in front of City Hall, the word LIVE plastered across the top and Hatfield announces MoJo reward
is imminent.
Though the sound was off, the broadcast’s captions scrolled across the bottom while he spoke. My daughter is here, in the San Francisco Metro. By tonight, I will hand out the reward.
“It can’t be,” Moira said. Her fingers grasped the handrail, the knuckles leaking their color away. “Did you turn me in?”
The question seemed to come more out of panic than suspicion.
“What? No, of course not.” Though if this was going to happen anyway, Krista had the thought that she should have. The money would have helped.
“I can’t deal with that now,” Moira said, tugging on Krista’s arm. “Let’s get this over with.”
Between singing songs for Sunny and requesting an immediate civil ceremony, Krista had stopped trying to figure Moira out. She sighed and followed her back down to the lobby.
“The line hasn’t moved,” Joe said, as they returned. Moira set her bag down and sat on the lobby’s small bench next to Frank. Krista watched her client’s expression remain as a controlled pleasantness, not too high or low. Krista kept craning her neck, scanning the people coming and going, though the masses appeared to only be seeking something from the local government, be it answers or marriage licenses. “They told me we could be delayed an hour, maybe two,” Krista said. “Maybe they’re figuring out how the state can afford all these newlywed tax credits.”
“So much for our first-thing appointment. You all right?” Frank asked Moira.
She gave a silent nod, then a half yawn. “I’m just tired. That’s all,” she said, curling into Frank’s arms. But for a flash, there was that look again: eyes wide and darting, as if she scanned the immediate surroundings.
“I’ve gone to a few civil ceremonies,” Krista said, “and it’s usually fast. You’re in there five, maybe ten minutes. Something else is holding up—” The phone in Krista’s hand came to life, its bright screen reflecting light around them. She read the caller ID aloud. “Rob.”
