While You Were Gone

by Amy K. Nichols

  I’m putting the final touches on my press conference updo when Dad knocks twice and leans against the doorjamb of my room. Mom steps out from behind him. “Got a second, honey?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Sure.” I push another bobby pin into place to buy some time, then follow them down the hall to the family room. Mom sits uncomfortably close to me on the couch. “What’s up?” I ask. “Something wrong?”

  Dad’s tie hangs loose, like he always keeps it before he’s about to make a big speech. “Eve…” He clears his throat and makes his serious politician face. “There was a…um…development in matters related to yesterday’s attack.”

  I look at Mom. She reaches over and takes my hands. “What is it?”

  “The second device detonated near ShopMart, south of the mall. The building caught fire and it spread unchecked through the stores nearby.” He looks me in the eye. “Including Jansen Fine Arts Services.”

  “Wait. What?” I pull my hands free and stand. My heart feels like it’s trying to break out of my chest. Mom stands, too, and puts her arm around me but I shrug her away and grab the back of the chair.

  “The fire has been put out,” Dad says. “And I’ve given the crews explicit orders to locate what’s left of your paintings, but…” He makes his condolence face.

  “What’s left?” My mind reels. The room telescopes, tilts. I feel like I’m standing outside myself, watching my life unravel. “Maybe there was a mistake.”

  “I’m afraid not, honey,” he says. “We were going to wait to tell you, but we decided you had a right to know.”

  Take it back, I want to scream. Take back what you said. Take this all away. But instead, I wander over to the window and stare out beyond my reflection. Tears blur the city into circles of white and gold. This can’t be happening. Not to me. Not now. I touch the window, press against it, wishing I could push right through. Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Eve.”

  “No, you’re not.” I swat her hand away. “You’re happy this happened, aren’t you? This is the best news ever, isn’t it?”

  Her face changes from shock to anger. “Of course not! How could you say that?”

  “Because now I can’t apply for the internship!” I wipe away tears. “Now I get to stay home, just like you want!”

  “Eve.” Dad’s voice is firm. “Apologize now.”

  “This isn’t my fault,” Mom says. “It’s just an unfortunate—”

  I don’t let her finish. I run back to the safety of my room and slam the door. Even with it shut, I hear them yelling. At me. At each other. I throw myself on the bed and drown out the world with a pillow.

  Those paintings were my ticket out, to somewhere I can be myself. I can’t stay here. Defiance kicks up inside, daring me to lash out, to do something reckless. It’s the same feeling that got me in trouble the night Vivian caught me in the vaults. I try to stifle it by pounding my fists into the bed. I’m about to pound the wall when there’s a knock at the door. “Eve.” It’s Dad again.

  “Go away.”

  “I know you’re upset,” he says. “But we’re going to get through this. We just need to stick together.”

  My world’s crumbling, and he’s spouting lines from political speeches? There comes another knock, so loud it startles me. “We’re leaving in an hour,” Mom yells. “You better be ready.” Her footsteps pound back down the hallway and everything goes quiet, but I can tell Dad is still standing out there. I throw the pillow aside, walk over and open the door.

  His head tilts to the right and he puts his hand on my shoulder. For a split second I see the real him. Not the governor. My dad. But as quickly as it came, it’s gone and I’m face to face again with the politician. “Try to get yourself together, okay? We need to put on a brave face for the public.”

  Gray clouds hang low in the sky as Jonas drives us north toward the outskirts of the city, away from the Tower complex and high-rise buildings downtown. Dad talks to Richard on his phone, fine-tuning his speech, while Mom fusses with her nails. Both of them pretend there isn’t a ticking bomb sitting between them. My eyes are dried out from crying and my nose is red despite the makeup. On the outside, I’ve pulled myself together the best I can. Inside, I’m a mess.

  The city whooshes by outside the window. When the freeway swings around toward the coast, white smoke from what used to be the mall rises into view. I avert my eyes and fight back tears. I had to redo my makeup once already. Mom pulls a mirror from her purse and checks her reflection. Dad tells Richard to give legislators a heads-up; he’s going to call a special session and, no, he doesn’t care what Senator Hayes thinks.

  Vivian’s words rush at me. I’m applying to Belford. My heart races. I grip my chest, suddenly feeling like I can’t breathe.

  With my paintings gone, I won’t get into Belford. But she still might.

  Mom holds out her lip gloss. I stare at it, but all I see is Vivian’s smiling face. She’ll never let me live it down. Mom gives the gloss a little shake and says, “Cameras.” Rather than start another fight, I take it and dab it on my lips. Dad hangs up the phone and practices saying solemn occasion over and over.

  I imagine myself made of paper, a hollowed-out shell. Instead of lip gloss, I hold a match. Starting from my lips, a line of flame consumes me. For a moment I hold my shape, then fall into a pile of soot on the car seat. Dad whispers, “Solemn occasion.” Mom rolls down the window. The rush of air scatters me across the road.

  Dad checks twice before pulling wide into traffic. The truck engine groans under the heavy load. Once we’re in the lane, we both look out the cab window to make sure the boat made it, too.

  He woke me super early. Knocked on the door and said, “It’s time.” Kinda scared me. Time for what? I stumbled out of bed, groggy and sore from yesterday. Threw on some clothes and found my way to the kitchen. He was standing at the counter with a coffee mug in his hand. Took one look at me and said, “You’re wearing that?”

  I looked down at what I’d put on. Camo shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt with the neck ripped out.

  “It’s cold out on the water.”

  That’s when I remembered the ocean, and the boat parked next to the garage. This wasn’t scary. It was awesome. I ran back down the hall, changed into jeans and pulled a flannel over the shirt. Grabbed shoes and socks from the closet and raced back to the kitchen, but he wasn’t there. I finally found him out front, checking the hitch on the trailer. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Climb in.”

  I can count the number of times I’ve seen the ocean on one finger. Now I’m going out on an actual boat. That sound? That’d be my mind blowing. I look at him, the stubble on his chin, the way he rests his wrist on top of the steering wheel, and a feeling of peace floods over me. I’m sitting next to my dad. This is how it should be. This is how my life was supposed to be.

  “Danny,” he says, shifting into third. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. Old-time rockabilly hovers just above the engine noise. I try to identify the songs, struggling to latch onto words and guitar licks, but the volume is too low. “I’m sorry for coming down so hard on you yesterday. But you can’t just leave us hanging. You need to tell us what’s going on.”

  And like that, the good feeling’s gone. For a second I think, Tell him. Tell him you’re not their son. Tell him you’re a different Danny from a different world. I even open my mouth to speak but can’t get myself to say it. He’ll think I’m crazy. How do I tell him that, in my Phoenix, he and Mom are dead? Besides, I don’t want to ruin this. Even if I don’t understand what’s going on or how I got here, sitting in this truck talking to him makes all the crap I’ve been through worth it.

  “This lack of communication,” he says, shaking his head, “it’s not okay.” He shifts into fourth and returns his hand to the wheel. “Your mom and I deserve better than that, don’t you think?”

  All I can do is nod.

  “Listen, I know things have been pretty intense late
ly. I haven’t been around as much because of work and…well, all kinds of stuff. But that doesn’t give me an excuse to take it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  Whoa. He thinks that was being hard on me? He has no idea. As I watch him driving, I realize how much I don’t know—but want to know—about him. “What’s going on at work?” I don’t even know what he does for a living.

  “Oh, you know, the usual. They want everything done last week but there’s more work than the team can—” He stops midsentence and reaches for the stereo knob. “Hang on.”

  A man’s voice has replaced the music. Dad turns it up a notch and his hands go tight again around the wheel.

  “…a tracking and detection technology known as Skylar. Both efficient and effective, Skylar will provide a blanket of security for our city and take us one step closer to being able to sleep soundly at night, knowing there is an ever-watching eye—”

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  “Governor.”

  “Soon we will provide you—first the citizens of Phoenix, then all the communities of Arizona—with the opportunity to be part of the solution as well.”

  Dad’s face sours. “Son of a—” He jabs the stereo power button, leaving only the sound of the truck engine around us.

  “What did he mean, ‘be part of the solution’?”

  “It means we don’t have much time.”

  “Until what?”

  “Until they’ve got us all completely clamped down.” He glares at the radio. “You hear that? Did you hear what I said?!”

  He’s like a crazy person.

  “Listen to me, son,” he says, holding up a finger. “No more taking risks. Keep your head down. Don’t give them any reason to suspect you. Promise?”

  I remember what Germ said about that anarchist group we’re involved with, and the job we did with them.

  “Promise.”

  “Good.” He says it a few more times under his breath, like he’s trying to convince himself.

  We drive on in silence. I can tell he’s chewing on what the governor said. I wish I knew what it all meant.

  Dad looks in his side mirror and across into mine. “What now?” He brakes and pulls over to the curb. “Stay quiet.” I can’t see around the boat, but that kind of talk can only mean one thing.

  A cop knocks on the glass. Dad rolls down the window and hands over his license.

  “Heading for the harbor?” The cop taps a device on his wrist, then scans Dad’s ID.

  “Nice day,” Dad says. “Thought we’d take the boat out.”

  “Aren’t you aware the harbor is restricted at this time?”

  Dad sighs. “No, sir. I wasn’t aware—”

  “Do you pay attention to the security broadcast announcements?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’d know the harbor is closed, Mr….” He checks the screen on his wrist. “Ogden.”

  “I must have missed it.”

  The cop looks across the cab at me. “Are you Daniel?”

  “Yes.”

  The cop looks back at Dad, holds his gaze for a long time and says, “Mind if I look at your rig?”

  “No, sir. Do I need to get out?”

  “Stay in the vehicle, please.”

  I watch the cop check out the truck and boat. Dad claps his hand on my knee. “Relax. It’s okay.”

  The cop walks by my window, kicks the tire and continues around the front to Dad’s side. “Tires look a bit worn. Best have them looked at.”

  “Will do.”

  “No point going to the harbor. They’ll turn you back around.”

  “Understood.”

  The cop reads and taps his wrist screen again. Finally, he nods. “Pay attention to the security bulletins.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dad waits for him to drive off before starting up the truck and moving back into traffic. “Looks like we’ll have to try another day.” He shifts gears and says, “Sorry,” like it’s his fault.

  I can’t help but wonder if it’s mine.

  Forty minutes later, Jonas exits the freeway and we drive past outlet malls and subdivisions to the foothills of the McDowell Mountains. I’ve only been to DART one other time, when Dad cut the ribbon to open a new research wing years ago. I don’t remember it looking like this. At the main parking area, Jonas swings a left, passing a large metal sign dominated by a fingerprint logo. The lot is packed with media vehicles. Trees and bushes grow thick along the road, blocking the low-lying building from view. Finally, we wind around a circular drive, where reporters and camera crews wait, ready with questions for the governor. Richard approaches the car wearing his usual anxious expression. Jonas opens the door, letting Dad out first.

  Mom hesitates and turns back toward me. “Despite what you think, I am sorry about your paintings,” she says in a low voice. Then she gets out of the car and I follow.

  As soon as Dad steps onto the curb, the reporters start in. Richard holds up his hands. “Governor Solomon will read a statement before taking questions.” He sees Dad to the podium. Mom and I stand a little off to his side. I check my reflection in the building’s glass front. My eyes are puffy. I quickly straighten my skirt.

  Richard leans in and whispers something to Dad. He nods and pulls a paper from his coat pocket.

  “Thank you for being here on this solemn occasion. Will you please join me in a moment of silence out of respect for those affected by Friday’s events?”

  The crowd shifts and quiets. I fold my hands and lower my head. Feet shuffle on the concrete. A breeze blows through the entryway. A man clears his throat.

  “Thank you,” Dad finally says, and the microphones move back around him. He holds the podium with both hands. “On Friday, Phoenix suffered a terrible attack on the Patriot Day parade, an attack perpetrated by the cowards known as Red December. We meet here today at the Department of Advanced Research Technologies not only to discuss safety measures currently in place to protect our citizens but to unveil a new solution in detecting and preventing the growing threats against our society.

  “It is with pride and humility,” he says, smoothing a hand down his tie, “that I announce Phoenix has been chosen for the beta testing of a tracking and detection technology known as Skylar. Both efficient and effective, Skylar will provide a blanket of security for our city and take us one step closer to being able to sleep soundly at night, knowing there is an ever-watching eye looking over us. With your participation, we can make this happen.

  “After this press conference, my family”—he looks at us, and all the reporters do, too. Mom nudges me in the back to stand straighter—“and I will voluntarily register with Skylar and will therefore officially be part of the solution. Soon we will provide you—first the citizens of Phoenix, then all the communities of Arizona—with the opportunity to be part of the solution as well. It is easy. It is painless. And it will mean the difference between vulnerability and security.” He holds one hand up to emphasize the big finish. “Only by working together do we ensure the promise of our future. As always, my thoughts and the thoughts of my wife and daughter are with the families of the victims. Thank you.”

  Flawless execution.

  The press jumps in again with questions.

  “Is it true you’ve called a special legislative session?”

  Surprise flashes across Dad’s face. “Yes.”

  “Can you elaborate on how Skylar works?”

  “Preapproved members of the media will follow us into the DART facility, where the system will be explained. Photos and video will be released to the public.”

  “Was there any warning before the attack?”

  “No.”

  “How long will the rolling blackouts continue?”

  “I’m assured the system will stabilize soon.”

  “How do you respond to critics who say Friday’s attack is just another sign of the failure of your administration?”

  “I’d say those critics should spend less time whining and more ti
me working toward the betterment of society.” Dad holds up his hands. “That’s all for now. Thank you.”

  Dad guides Mom and me toward the door Richard holds open for us. As we pass, Dad mutters, “Find out who at the legislature is talking, and end it. And next time only allow in reporters who adhere to approved questions.”

  “Yes, sir.” Richard leaves us in the lobby.

  Mom brushes the shoulder of Dad’s suit jacket. “Nicely done.”

  He winks at her, but his face remains stern until Richard returns, followed by a reporter and a photographer. Dad smiles and extends his hand to welcome them.

  “Smile,” Mom says under her breath.

  “I don’t feel like smiling.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” she whispers with her jaw clenched. “Smile anyway.”

  I stretch my mouth into a grimace.

  “You can do better than that. Think of something happy.”

  Happy? Nothing could make me happy right now.

  We move from the lobby’s polished concrete floors to a large conference room. Several DART employees in lab coats stand along the far wall. A few more sit with their backs to us, facing laptops. The screens in the room display spooling lines of code and what look like GPS coordinates. The main screen at the front shows the framework of a building with yellow dots meandering inside. Now and again a pop-up window displays the name and coordinates of a particular dot.

  A woman with dark hair welcomes us as the press photographer snaps pictures. “Please remember,” she says, “for security reasons, you may not photograph any of the information displayed on the screens.” Turning to us again, she says, “Good afternoon, Governor. Mrs. Solomon. Miss Solomon. I’m Dr. Anna Owens, director of research. These are the members of the Skylar engineering team, led by Dr. Marcus McAllister.”

  A tall man with a beard and glasses steps forward to shake our hands. “Welcome to DART,” he says. “Or as we like to call it, the central nervous system.” Dad chuckles and a couple of onlookers join in. Dr. McAllister motions to the screens. “What you’re looking at is Skylar, a comprehensive framework that will provide unprecedented monitoring capabilities and protection for the citizens of large metropolitan areas. This is a graphic representation of the DART facility. The yellow dots represent every individual in the building.” He places a hand on the shoulder of an employee seated in front of a laptop. When the guy turns, I realize it’s Warren, my study partner. I knew he interned at DART, but I didn’t realize he worked on stuff like this. I give him a small wave, but he doesn’t notice.