by Mike Chen
“Rob?” Moira looked up.
“I’m not answering that.”
“My coworker,” Moira said to the puzzled looks surrounding her. “His daughter, she came over that one time. Sunny.”
“Oh.” Frank’s head bobbed up and down politely.
The phone stopped buzzing, but right when Krista opened her mouth, it sprang back to life. “Jesus, Rob,” she said to the screen ID. “Hang on, I’m going to get this really quick.”
Krista stepped a few feet away. “Rob, I told you I’m out of your lives now. And in case you forgot, we’re in the middle of something here.”
“Krista. Krista, Sunny is missing.” Rob’s voice broke, his words clipped by an urgency that rammed individual words together into a mash of sounds without breath. “Her backpack is gone, she’s gone.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rob
Rob had woken up at six thirty and filled the downstairs with the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Normally, his first task of the day would be to wake Sunny so she could prepare for school, but he decided to let her sleep in today. She hardly ever enjoyed that luxury, and besides, he’d already left a message at the school, calling in sick for her after a few minutes of negotiating busy signals. On most days, that’d pique his curiosity; today, he had bigger things to worry about.
He sat at the kitchen table with coffee cup and pen, crafting notes that would make some sense of the whole Elena situation. By seven o’clock, the front side of the sheet had filled up with stops and starts, sentences and words jammed together then struck through, little notes veering off left and right but nowhere near the right direction.
“It’s no good,” he said to himself. He’d tried to tell her gently twice now, but that twisted into something else. Only clear specifics would probably work now, and nothing seemed like the appropriate start for that, not jumping straight in or working into it, and certainly not opening with a joke. All of this had to fit into the vocabulary of a child, and maybe that was the right beginning.
“What would you want me to say?” he asked an invisible Elena.
He stared at the blank back side of the sheet, then sipped coffee, a police siren zooming in and out of range in the background. I have to talk with you about something, he wrote. Sometimes, grown-ups have difficult decisions to make and not much time to make them. Then when they do, they realize later that it was the wrong one.
The other attempts had prompted immediate reactions, laughter or groans for even trying. This one, though, somehow agreed. He crafted the sentences, considering the impact each word choice would have on Sunny’s short-and long-term psyche.
After filling up an entire sheet, he thought it formed some semblance of what he wanted to say. Truth? Check. Apology? Check. Justification? Check. He held the paper firm, as if that would inject some confidence into the words, then read out loud. “Your mom was injured on a very bad night years ago.” Though Rob read the words out loud to prepare for speaking them to Sunny, everything seemed outside himself, a disembodied voice talking to him rather than his own reading it. “I told you that she went to the hospital, and she did, but I wasn’t honest about what happened. The truth is that she died in the hospital a few days later.”
He stopped at that sentence, staring at the dried ink on the paper. He looked down to see what that strange rattling noise was, until he realized it was the pen jabbing the table in an uncontrollable tremor. The pen dropped, and he forced his fingers wide, placing them flat on the table before starting again. “I’ve led you to believe something else this whole time, that she was alive and getting treatment, that her return would only be a matter of time. But the truth is that she’s never coming home. It’s not your fault, and I’m very sorry I lied to you. If you want to know why I did it, it’s because I love you, and I loved your mother, and I didn’t want you to feel the pain of her loss. You may not understand it now, but I hope someday you will, and we can talk about it again when you’re ready. I’m very sorry you’ll never get to know her.” The last few words stumbled out, followed by silence, the only sounds coming from passing cars. Rob propped his elbows on the table and began rubbing his cheeks, only stopping when his palms completely obscured his vision.
He sat petrified for a while, and the sounds from outside—voices, cars driving by, the occasional horn honk—all drifted into another space and time, registering but quickly disappearing.
The real world returned as Rob looked over at the clock. Somehow, it had gotten to be eight thirty-two. Even with sleeping in, this was a little late for Sunny; he folded the sheet into a neat creased square and slipped it into the pocket of the jacket hanging on the chair, then began a slow walk up the stairs to wake his daughter.
At the top of the stairs he gave himself a moment, studying Sunny’s closed door. She might hate him forever after this, or she could just start her rebellious teen phase years early. Or maybe she might understand. Sunny didn’t have the cognition of an adult, but she had the empathy of fifty, so maybe that balanced out.
“Hey, Sunny?” he said as he opened the door. “It’s time to get up.” She didn’t rouse from her bed, instead staying burrowed beneath the comforters, head tucked under. “Sun, you gotta get up. I need to talk with you about last night. Sunny?”
Rob stopped, his hand touching the top sheet and comforter; it pushed all the way to the mattress, a stuffed penguin squirting out the side and falling to the floor. Panic gripped his body, striking everything from his toes to the top of his head with pins and needles. He threw back the sheet with a whoosh, and instead of Sunny he found half of her stuffed animals jammed together in a row. “Sunny?” he called out in a half yell. He stormed out, then checked the bathroom. “Sunny? Come on, kiddo, we don’t have time for games.”
The stairs sounded like drums as he rattled down them, and each time he called out her name, the frantic energy in his tone dialed up. “Sunny?” he fired out into their small backyard in a full-on yell. “Sunny, where are you?”
Rob sprinted back upstairs, then surveyed her room. Her shoes were gone, as was her backpack, and the scarf Krista had knitted for her was no longer draped over the side table. He opened the top drawer on her desk, and her kid-sized wallet was missing too. A half-folded sheet with a picture of City Hall sat next to the scattered toys on her desk; he picked it up and realized what it was.
Shit, shit, shit. Rob ran back down, then stood in the center of the living room. “Sunny?” he yelled out. “If you’re here, come out. I’m not mad at you. I just need you to come out right now. Please.”
A ten count gave way to a twenty count, then a full minute with no response, and Rob’s shouts for his daughter soon degenerated into a nonstop roll of curse words he’d never want her to hear. He grabbed his phone and struggled to hit the nine and the one button twice, creating a gibberish set several times over until he got it right. “Busy? How the hell is nine-one-one busy?”
Rob turned on the TV, then put on the morning news in case anything came up about a missing child on the ticker. His hands continued to rattle, and pulling Krista’s name out of his contact list became an exercise in slow, controlled movements. Just as he was about to dial, he looked up at the TV and paused.
“...confirming outbreak of what scientists termed MGS 96 has spread from Baltimore to Philadelphia and parts of Delaware despite the best efforts for a local quarantine. Multiple deaths have also been reported in Los Angeles. That news is breaking as of thirty minutes ago.” The blonde woman reading the news didn’t manage to keep her steady tone, and a little crack found its way into her trained reporter’s voice. “Local governments have accelerated the lockdown schedule announced two days ago. Transportation lockdowns in all major government-support Metropolitan zones west of the Mississippi start tomorrow morning at seven a.m. The East Coast is already in full lockdown mode with a combination of CDC checkups and quarantine areas set up. President Hersh refu
ses to comment on the possibility of a full quarantine like the one that happened six years ago...”
The woman’s voice went into a rattle of East Coast cities, and Rob shook his head, bringing him back into the moment. He’d done everything to fight the Family Stability Board, and now it was his own lie that lost Sunny.
His finger slammed the Send button, and the phone rang for Krista with no answer. “Goddamn it, Krista,” he said, trying one more time.
“Rob,” she said after the third ring, “I told you I’m out of your lives now. And in case you forgot, we’re in the middle of something here.”
“Krista. Krista, Sunny is missing. Her backpack is gone, she’s gone.”
A loud rattling sound slammed through the phone, followed by some shuffling, and finally Krista’s voice again. “What happened? Sunny’s just...gone?”
“Just gone. Have you seen the news? The outbreak has spread. There’s all sorts of transportation lockdown plans happening way faster. I have to find Sunny before that kicks in. She had the civil ceremony brochure on her desk. Maybe she’s on her way down there. You haven’t seen her?”
“No. No, I haven’t, but I hope it’s that simple. She was really into the whole wedding thing.”
“You’re at City Hall right now, right?” He placed the building in relation to his house. “That’s not that far. She could have walked there. I’m heading over. Okay? Go down to the lobby and tell security to look for a little girl.”
“Got it.” The line clicked off, and Rob tried nine-one-one again, only to reach the same busy signal. San Francisco police. Find their direct number. Rob’s footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor as he ran to the desktop computer. The screen awoke, greeting him with the national hospital directory, one of the few items nationally mirrored on the high-speed Vital Information Server Network. Rob clicked through the page history, lists of different doctors and hospitals loading at pre-MGS broadband speeds, then stopped when he saw one familiar name: Dr. Dean Francis of St. Vincent General Hospital in Seattle. Krista’s uncle. Sunny had asked about him last night, thinking he somehow had the key to speaking with Elena. How did he factor into all this?
Rob jolted out of midthought and told himself to just go. He grabbed a sheet of paper and scribbled a note down in case she came home, then taped it to the front door before running up the stairs to change his clothes.
* * *
Back in high school, Rob ran cross-country during his sophomore and junior years. That seemed like a lifetime ago, and any conditioning he’d had long since faded thanks to things like pandemics and parenting. He still pushed, reminding himself of the rhythm of it, especially when he tried not to trip while scouring the sidewalks for any hint that Sunny had been that way. The streets had devolved into bumper-to-bumper anger, random swearing mixing with horns, and the occasional person standing on a hood. As Rob hit the corner to turn onto Polk Street, he stopped at the small Asian market, its doors held open by boxes of vegetables, though shelves meant for beef jerky and dried fruit appeared mostly empty. The owner leaned over the counter, pointing to the TV screen and its images of international reaction, from riots in the Atlanta epicenter to mask-wearing Hong Kong citizens shuffling into prefabricated quarantine areas. “World going to shit again,” the man said, pushing his glasses up.
“Have you seen a little girl? Seven years old, dark hair.”
“She wear backpack and scarf?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s her—a pink and black backpack with a scarf.”
“She come by around five this morning. Bought two bananas. Paid cash. Took a bus schedule.”
The urge to both punch and hug the man overtook Rob, but he did neither. Instead, he reminded himself to stay focused instead of screaming at the man for not calling the police. Could she interpret the Muni schedule? And where the hell did she get cash? “Do you know which direction she went?”
The man shook his head no, leaving Rob with little other than the fact that Sunny would get her daily potassium and she had cash. He began his sprint to City Hall, dodging the occasional person; despite the endless traffic jamming up one of San Francisco’s biggest streets, the sidewalks were strangely clear.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Moira
As soon as the phone had left Krista’s ear, the words escaped Moira’s mouth. “What is it?”
“Sunny. She’s missing.” Krista said the statement aloud, and it took several seconds for Moira to process what it actually meant. Just minutes ago, she’d told herself to focus. This morning. The finish line. A new identity.
A hard wall of separation between herself and all her past lives.
And now, it all seemed so insignificant.
Moira’s eyes widened. “No.”
“She might be on her way here. I’m going down to the lobby.” Krista stomped her way past the rows of people waiting for the county clerk, skimming by Frank’s family and their dumbfounded stares.
Moira met their eyes, reading the confusion on their faces. “I’m gonna help look for her.” It was the simplest thing to say. Something that explained the situation without any of how it all connected together. “Krista, I’ll go with you,” she said, her heels clicking with a light jog.
“Oh, and the outbreak’s spread. There’s some news about accelerating the lockdown,” Krista said to Frank’s family, causing them to start an incoherent blend of conversations amongst all of them. “I don’t know the details, but you’ll probably have to decide what to do.”
Joe grabbed his son by the shoulder. “We have to find out what’s going on.”
“Moira, wait—” Frank reached after her.
Moira stopped as Krista held the door open to leave the county clerk’s area, the same place that not that long ago had seemed like the answer to all her fears. “Frank, I have to help. She’s only seven. Stay here in case she comes up.” He nodded, as she expected. But before he could ask anything further, she took that moment and rushed off with Krista. “Where might she have gone?”
“She knows the civil ceremony is here. And she wanted to learn about weddings because of the whole crazy thing about Elena. So I’m guessing she’d look for us.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“I’ll look upstairs. Go meet Rob in the lobby, and take a look outside if you can.” Moira grunted an affirmative, and for just a moment the two women stood back, the scene unfolding in front of them. News of the lockdown must have spread; rather than everyone jamming in and milling about, the main lobby saw streams of pushing and shoving. Moira stood poised, in case she even saw a hint of Sunny in the building, her legs coiled and ready.
“I don’t get it,” Krista said. “Why do you care so much? Your fiancé is over there, and there’s been an outbreak.”
“Frank’s family is... Maybe they’re just the lucky ones. Or maybe they’re the people most in denial. I still haven’t figured that out yet.” Were they panicking about the travel lockdown? Did they understand what might happen again? Or was it impossible for them to truly grasp the choices that could come from a world on the brink again? “But I do know that Rob and Sunny deserve to be happy. They’ve suffered a lot.”
“So have a lot of people.”
“Doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be happy.” Moira shot a look over her shoulder. “It’s not an eye-for-an-eye world. I don’t know if it ever was, but it certainly isn’t now.” She nodded, but the gesture wasn’t directed at her wedding planner. “I’ll be back soon.”
She moved swiftly despite her heels, eyes scanning for the easiest path all the way through to the front exit. At the double doors, an older couple passed by, looking her way and making some comment about how the crazies had already come out.
Daylight flooded the hallway as Moira gripped the door’s metal handle and pulled, only to see Rob leaping up several steps at a time. His toe caught on the top one, causing him
to tumble to the ground. His hands pushed down on the cold pavement and he looked around, clearly dazed. “Rob!” Moira shouted.
“Did you find her?” he asked, pulling himself up.
“No. Krista’s looking upstairs.” Her mind activated, as if she was back in a dilapidated apartment floor, just her and Santiago with bags of supplies, eyes and ears poised to scan for movements or risks. But back then, she entered Code Polka Dot to survive. Now she funneled all her senses into detecting any sign of Sunny’s familiar black hair. “I don’t see her.”
Moira finally noticed the sweat pouring down his face; he must have run here, and his body clearly didn’t agree with his heart or mind at this point. “Krista!” Moira called out, waving her over. Krista came from the main staircase, lips pursed and head shaking.
“Any luck?” Krista asked. “There’s nothing up there. All the offices are locked. I even knocked just in case.”
“No,” Rob said through heavy breaths. “There was a market owner. Back that way, he saw her. Backpack and scarf. It had to be her.”
Moira caught an uncharacteristic softening of Krista’s features at the mention of Sunny’s scarf.
“Around five this morning,” Rob continued. “She grabbed a bus schedule.”
“Bus schedule,” Moira said. “That’s not good.”
“But buses can’t go anywhere in this gridlock.” Rob stood up straight, then pulled his legs into a stretch. “We can call the Muni office—”
“Two problems,” Krista interjected. “The streets weren’t jammed at five, and people are freaking out now. How many Muni workers are still actually working?”
Krista’s logic sank in, and the trio stood, tension tightening the space between them. Rob leaned back into the wall, his eyes loaded with emotions that no curse words could possibly capture. “I gotta think,” he said. “I gotta think.”
“Moira!” The clip-clop of footsteps came out from down the hall, and they looked over in unison to see Frank and his family in tow. Joe and Kelley marched, and Leslie, arm swinging the bag that contained Moira’s ceremony shoes. “No children showed up. There’s no sign of her,” Frank said. “They’re telling us to go home. Get indoors, away from public places.”
