“You bet.” I turn and walk out of the lobby. I manage to make it inside the blessedly empty elevator car before letting out a sigh of relief to blow the doors in.
2.
I really don’t want to call. After weeks, months, years of the same old drag, day after day, I’m finally back among the living. I’m not losing my mind sitting at my laptop in my tiny basement office, my wife twiddling away at her computer just outside the door. Things are happening!
Still, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. So, after the most pretentious breakfast I’ve suffered in my entire life—a runny spinach omelet from some foo-foo yuppie bistro I wouldn’t go anywhere near if the meal wasn’t free with this voucher—I finally reach my son Jack by phone. It turns out Claire’s been bedridden since I left yesterday. She appears to be resting, though.
There’s talk of closing the schools until this blows over. He’s staying home today, regardless: “We did nothing yesterday, Dad. Nothing. It was a total waste.”
“Same here,” I say. “What can I tell you? Just look in on your Mom from time to time. Try not to get sick.”
“Dad, come on! If we were going to get sick don’t you think we would have by now? I took a regular snot-shower from all the people sneezing and coughing yesterday! I’m not going back until this crap’s over with!” He pauses. “Sorry, Dad. It just…I don’t even wanna think about it. It’s weird.”
“To say the least. What’s Sibyl up to?”
“She’s going into work today. Thanks for reminding me. I need to tell her to pick up some stuff on the way home.”
I tell him to do what he has to do, keep me posted, etc., and hang up. The bistro is within walking distance of the company. After settling up I top off the parking meter and stroll down the avenue to see Giselle. There are people out and about, but it’s not nearly as busy as it should be for the heart of downtown Kansas City.
“You’re lucky you’ve got your kids to take care of your wife,” Giselle tells me. “I’m all my mother has, and I have to come into work.”
“I’d be home too if I could help it,” I say. “So how’s Rob doing?”
“I don’t think he has the bad kind. You don’t feel like talking on the phone if you’re really sick. He’s sure he’ll have it kicked by Friday. In the meantime, he says enjoy the city on us. How are you liking it so far?”
“I’m ready to start looking at houses.”
“Great! I’ve got some fliers and business cards for some realtors if you want to take the time to do that. “
I do. Hell, I’ve got today and tomorrow to fill until Friday—assuming Rob really does get better by then.
Meanwhile, note to self: Don’t get sick. Wouldn’t it my luck that Rob gets better, then I’m the one too sick to interview tomorrow?
Screw it. No matter how badly I feel this interview is going to happen.
Meanwhile, I notice there are very few people out. At least they seem more or less okay. Maybe Jack was right—if we’re not sick by now, we never will be.
In the evening I return to the steakhouse in the Power and Light District. There’s so few people there the manager comes out and talks to the customers. He hands out coupons for free desserts the sick people back home can use when they get better. Based on the conversations I’m overhearing, most people are here because it’s a break from listening to their significant others coughing and sniffling, and not being able to do a damn thing about it.
Looking at the couples scattered about the restaurant I think of the old joke: they’re married, but not to each other. I’m not judging. After the last four years of waking to the terror of the same day it’s not just a new city I want. Hell, I’ll save the company a bunch of money and they can just keep me here. I’ll find a house and buy my furniture a piece at a time, paycheck by paycheck. Sibyl’s eighteen; Jack will likely move out here with me, so I won’t have to sweat child support.
It’s not that I hate Claire or that I’m going middle-age stupid for young pussy or anything like that. Our you-and-me-against-the-world groove has run its course. That’s all. After bumping past each other in the house nearly every day for nearly four years, we’re done. After 22 years I expect she’ll be grateful to see me gone, too. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I put away a few more tall drafts than I should. Driving back to the hotel is like driving through a deserted city. Not even a cop. Of course, it’s a Wednesday night, on top of everyone else being sick.
I’m riding the elevator to my room when she calls.
“You’re sounding better,” I say.
“It’s like being in the eye of a hurricane,” Claire says. “I’ve got a feeling I don’t have long.”
My wife, the drama queen. Jesus. “You need me to come home?”
“No, no! We need this job! What’s going on? Have you interviewed yet?”
“No. It turns out the boss is sick, too.”
“Oh, no!”
“He wasn’t as bad off as you were, from what I heard. Maybe he’ll have his ‘eye of the hurricane’’ episode. Frankly, I think you’re just depressed and freaked out from being sick. Drink lots of water, get something to eat. For all you know you’ve beaten this thing already.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Just take it easy. We’ll get through this.”
“I know. We always have.” A pause. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you, Claire.”
And so the scales of the evening are balanced, and I settle into my room feeling like the asshole I really am.
“Honestly, sir, I’m not sure what to do with you,” Giselle says the next day. “I tried booking you a flight out but nothing’s going to Colorado Springs.”
“So how about Denver?”
“First thing I thought of when I couldn’t get the Springs. The earliest flight I can get into Denver is Monday. Even that’s not guaranteed. A lot of people are either sick or taking off to look after their sick. No telling what it’ll look like then.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll take it.”
“Oh, no worries, I’ve got you booked! I’m just saying there are no guarantees. Rob sounded really bad over the phone. I know my mother is suffering. How long has your wife been sick?”
“Since Tuesday,” I say. “She woke up with it.”
“Just like my mother yesterday. God, it’s like she’s at death’s door! And they say the hospitals are already strained past capacity, what with their own people sick!”
“I could get back to Colorado Springs in the rental car.”
“My God, that’s an all-day drive!”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’ll need to check if I can get away with letting you do that. I’m sorry. Most people here are out, too. I’ll give you a call by five, all right?”
I tell her to do what she has to do, keep me posted, etc. There’s not much to do after heading out, though. The Kansas City Museum is closed. I spend the day driving around, listening to local commercial radio stations. According to the DJs, everybody’s sick. Drink plenty of fluids, sleep it off! Here’s a little “Peace of Mind” by Boston….
I end up eating at the bar at the steakhouse. Everyone is pleasant and chatty but I’m the only customer they have and they no doubt feel obliged. I get a growler of draft to go. I’m walking out the door when I realize Giselle was supposed to call me. I check my phone. No messages. No missed calls.
Shit.
I call Claire. It rings for a while before kicking over to voicemail so I know her phone is charged. I leave a message telling her I love her, I’ll be home soon.
Bleeding Kansas is available from Amazon here
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Dead Ascent (The Zombie Apocalypse Book 1) Page 11
