The Way We Fall

by Megan Crewe

  “Oh, I won’t be out long,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said. “Well, be careful.”

  She gave that brief nod again, and then she walked off. A block farther down, she crossed the street and went into the garden supply store.

  So, I tried. If your girlfriend wants to risk her life for fertilizer or a spade or whatever, that’s up to her.

  I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, Leo. When I get lonely stuck here at home, or freaked out about what’ll happen if they don’t find a cure for the virus, I make my mind wander back to before everything got screwed up. And since we were best friends for ten years, I guess it’s not surprising that you show up in a lot of my memories.

  What I’ve been going back to the most is my ninth birthday party. Remember that?

  A few months before, you’d asked me to practice the waltz with you because Ms. Wilce didn’t have any other students for you to work with, and you were worried she’d stop teaching you if you didn’t pick up the steps fast enough. The best I could do was clomp around in my sneakers, but you loved dancing so much that some of your enthusiasm couldn’t help rubbing off on me.

  And then my party came, and Shauna showed up with her new puppy. Everyone was petting it and talking about it instead of doing the treasure hunt Mom had spent all morning setting up.

  Even then, Shauna was one of those girls who just shine, whatever they do, and so people like them. Which was why I’d invited her. I didn’t shine. I was the weird girl whose mom and dad were different colors and who was just as likely to spend recess watching anthills as playing Red Rover. Mom’s family has been on the island as long as anyone, so most of the time the other kids included me if I wanted to join in, and if they didn’t, I didn’t care. But standing there seeing all of them huddled around Shauna, I felt like I might as well disappear.

  Then you said, “Hey, let’s show them what we can do.” And you pointed to the computer, where you’d brought up our practice song.

  I thought I’d trip over my feet and everyone would laugh, which would be even worse than being ignored. But you looked so sure that I took your hand.

  I didn’t trip. I felt like I was floating, gliding over the floor. Everyone stopped and watched, and someone said, “Wow!” And I wasn’t nervous anymore. People were looking at me and wishing they could do what I was doing. For a few minutes I was shining, because of you.

  If I could, I’d snatch that feeling out of the memory and keep it here in the present. I could use it right now.

  I thought the worst was last night. After dinner, this sound came from outside. First I assumed it was a raccoon—they can really screech when they’re angry. But I started to hear words in there too.

  Without thinking, I went straight to the front door. Mom says she called my name, but I didn’t hear her. I stepped onto the porch, and there was Mrs. Campbell, the old lady who lives three doors down, standing in her front yard ripping up clods of grass and throwing them at her house. She was wearing nothing but her nightgown. Her bare feet were already brown from the dirt where she’d torn up the lawn.

  She was the one screeching. In between the wordless bits she was saying things like, “You won’t take me!” and “Get away, get away!”

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe. It feels like I stood there for hours watching her, but it was probably less than a minute before Dad came out and took my elbow and said, “Come inside, Kae.”

  Mom was already calling for an ambulance, but the hospital must have been overwhelmed. She dialed five times before she got through, and Mrs. Campbell was out there screaming for a whole hour before they finally came.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” I said to Dad, but I realized even as the words came out that I wasn’t being fair. It’s not like he’s got a supply of medications stashed in the house.

  “I think we’d better just keep our distance,” he said.

  “Right,” Drew said. “Of course there’s no way to actually help her.”

  Then Mom started crying, because Mrs. Campbell had called her over to visit a couple days ago. “I thought she was just lonely and frightened, with everything she must have been hearing,” she said. “And you know she’s had that cough for so long. I had no idea she was sick. If I’d known…”

  My stomach flip-flopped and I blurted out, “Were you wearing your mask?”

  Mom blinked, as if she hadn’t considered her own safety. Her voice shook a little when she answered: “Yes. Yes, I was.”

  “There isn’t much the hospital could have done for her even if you’d realized at the time,” Dad said, and Mom asked, really sharply, “Why not?” She apologized right away, but we were all on edge for the rest of the evening.

  But that’s nothing compared to today. Even though it’s Sunday, Dad went in to the hospital again. About a half hour ago he called and asked to speak to Mom. I could have gotten her—she was only in the backyard mowing the lawn—but I could tell from his tone that what he had to say was important. And I’m tired of being the last to hear the news.

  “She went out for a minute,” I said. “What is it?”

  He sighed, and for a second I thought he wouldn’t tell me. Other voices were babbling in the background, but I couldn’t make out any of them. “Dad…” I started.

  Then he said, quickly and quietly, “I don’t know the details yet, and everyone here is begging to use the phone, so this is all I can say right now. The government’s decided the area’s too high risk. They’re closing off the island.”

  Leo,

  When I started writing in this journal, I was doing it for me. But now I feel like I have to keep writing for you too. So there’s some record of what’s happening. You won’t be able to come back, not for a while, and when you do you’ll want to know everything. Maybe I’ll be able to show you this someday.

  Hopefully.

  After Mom came in from the backyard, I told her what Dad had said about closing off the island, and we called Drew down and turned on the TV. Our story made the six o’clock news. The camera zoomed in on the harbor—on soldiers wearing masks that looked like scuba gear who were marching across the docks. “Government sources haven’t confirmed the reason for this military operation,” the reporter said. “But it seems clear their presence is related to the recent medical emergency on the island.”

  What Dad had told me didn’t feel real even then. The harbor they’d shown looked like ours, but it had to be somewhere else. Or footage from a movie someone had filmed here. It couldn’t actually be happening.

  Dad got home just before midnight. He ushered us into the living room, and then he got right to the point. “Public Health has decided to quarantine the island,” he said, his voice flat. “At least until we’ve isolated the virus and developed a successful method of treatment.”

  “What does that really mean—quarantine?” Drew asked. “We’re all confined to our houses?”

  Dad shook his head. “It means no one except government medical and military personnel are allowed to come to or leave the island, for the time being,” he said. “The ferry’s docked until the quarantine is lifted, and the military will be patrolling the harbors to make sure no one tries to sneak off on a private boat.”

  So we’re trapped here. The uneasiness in my gut solidified into a rubbery ball. Then I thought of Uncle Emmett and Meredith.

  “What happened to setting up a containment area on the mainland so people who aren’t sick have a chance to leave?” I said.

  “They’ve decided there’s too much risk involved in moving people around,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  All the schools will stay closed. If possible we’re supposed to continue working from our textbooks, but the year will resume where we left off—classes just might run a little into the summer holidays. All nonessential businesses are advised to stay closed. Mom agreed she’d forego her shifts at the café until the epidemic is over.

  “They said they’ll make sure we have every
thing we need,” Dad said, while my head was spinning. “There’ll be a boatload of food and medical supplies every week.”

  “They think the quarantine’s going to last longer than a week?” Mom said. Her hands were clasped together on top of the table.

  “A lot of progress still needs to be made,” Dad said, which obviously meant yes.

  That news took a moment to sink in. Thanksgiving’s in three weeks. I had my brilliant plan to talk to you when you came home then, Leo. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.

  We could all die. If no one finds a cure, the government will just hold us here until the virus has infected every person on the island. Until we’re all screaming in the streets like Rachel’s dad, like Mrs. Campbell.

  “How can they do that?” I said. “All because a few people died? What about the rest of us?”

  Dad looked even more tired than he had a minute ago. “We lost twelve more patients in the last twenty-four hours,” he said, and paused before going on. “One of them was Rachel.”

  For a moment I just sat there frozen. It didn’t make sense. Rachel’s dead? Rachel, who was perfectly healthy before any of this happened. I still can’t believe it, not really. It seems so impossible.

  And all of a sudden I was furious. At the government for imposing the quarantine. At Dad for not having found a cure in time. At Mom for making us move back here. At everyone. I stood up and walked out of the room, because I knew if I stayed any longer, I’d either throw something or burst into tears.

  I managed to get to my bedroom before I started crying.

  How could Rachel be dead? A couple weeks ago she was laughing, dancing. And now that girl just doesn’t exist?

  We should have left. I don’t care about Dad’s reasoning. We all should have followed Mackenzie’s family and gotten out of here when we could. Because now it’s too late.

  I’m sorry I freaked out last night, Leo. I don’t really think we’re all going to die. Of course we can beat this. It’s not like new diseases have never sprung up before. There are three different sets of experts helping us—one of them has to find a cure. And I have to keep reminding myself the quarantine’s in place for a good reason: to make sure the virus doesn’t get to you in New York, or Gran and Grandpa in Ottawa, or anyone else outside the island.

  When I woke up this morning, I was tempted to pull the covers over my head and just wait until it was safe to come out. But when I started writing here, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who hides away anymore, and I still don’t. Yeah, there’s a lot more to be scared of now. But if I’m doing something to make our situation better, maybe I won’t feel so hopeless.

  So I got up in time to catch Dad before he left. “I want to help out at the hospital,” I said. “There’s got to be something useful I can do. I could run errands, or you could show me how to use some of the equipment in the lab.”

  Dad shook his head. “I don’t want you anywhere near the hospital or the research center,” he said. “Those are the most dangerous places on the island right now.”

  I’d sort of figured he’d say that. “What about outside the hospital, then?” I said. “Everyone there’s busy dealing with the virus, but someone should let the rest of the island know about the quarantine, right? Stick notices in people’s mailboxes or something? I could take care of that.”

  “Kae…” he started, and then paused. “There is a plan in place to notify every household by phone, but I’m not sure we’ve even gotten started. I suppose you could take that on. Let me talk to the Public Health representatives—they have an official statement they want used.”

  Which meant I had to wait until he came back this evening. So I found another way to keep busy. When I came down later to grab lunch, the first floor of the house was full of this buttery vanilla smell, so good I closed my eyes and just breathed for a few seconds. Mom was in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies.

  “A little treat to cheer us up,” she said, but the worry lines around her eyes looked twice as deep as they did a few days ago.

  Suddenly I wondered how the hospital workers are managing to get together meals for all those people who’ve been catching the virus. They must be just as overwhelmed as the doctors. There wouldn’t be much time for baking.

  “Is there enough to make more?” I asked. “Maybe we could cheer up a bunch of patients too.”

  We ended up baking six more batches. By the time Dad got home, we had the cookies packed into the tins left over from Christmas. I’d been worried he might have forgotten our conversation, but he handed me a bunch of papers as soon as he’d taken off his shoes.

  “Here’s a copy of the master phone list we’re working from,” he said. “The people who have already been contacted are marked. And here’s the script you’re supposed to use. There’s an extra section for anyone who sounds as if they’re sick—we’d like you to ask them to stay home, and make a note so someone from the hospital can pick them up.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “I can set up a database for you,” Drew offered. “To keep track of who you’ve reached, and so you can generate reports on the people showing symptoms.”

  “And since you volunteered,” Dad said to me, pulling a small package from his coat pocket, “I’ve got another job if you want it. The virus appears to be attacking nerve cells, but the standard medications are barely slowing it down. Before the quarantine was announced, I’d started looking into experimental treatments, and I found a chemical used in some areas of Asia. The compound hasn’t been approved here, but I ordered seeds for the plant that produces it. Our priority has been isolating the contagion, so no one’s looked into growing them yet. What do you think?”

  “I’ll give it a try,” I said.

  “The family that moved here a few years back,” Mom said. “The Freedmans, isn’t it? I remember hearing they had a greenhouse built on their property. They must be interested in gardening. Maybe they’d have some tips.”

  The suggestion sounded fine for the five seconds before I remembered Freedman is Tessa’s last name. But obviously Mom was right about her family—I just saw her shopping at the garden store, didn’t I? I figured even if Tessa didn’t think I was worth her time, her parents would help. So after dinner I looked up their number.

  Tessa answered the phone. I recognized her level voice.

  “I’m calling on behalf of Dr. Weber and the St. Andrew’s Hospital,” I said, feeling I should try to sound official. “May I speak with one of your parents?”

  “Sorry,” Tessa said. “They’re not available right now.”

  My heart stopped. I’d been so focused on the job, I hadn’t considered that they might not be okay.

  “Are they sick?” I made myself ask.

  “No,” she said firmly, and even though I’m not sure I’d recognize her parents if I saw them, I was so relieved I almost laughed. But then she said, “They still can’t talk right now. They’re busy. We’re already aware of the quarantine and the precautions to take. You really don’t need to call again.”

  She sounded like she was about to hang up on me.

  “Look, Tessa,” I said quickly. “It’s Kaelyn Weber, from school. I’m not calling to give you the standard message. I need to talk to your parents about something important.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s kind of complicated,” I said. “Can’t I just speak to one of them?”

  She hesitated, and then she said, “You can’t. They didn’t make it home.”

  “What?” I said.

  “They were supposed to get in on Saturday,” she said. “But there was a thunderstorm, and their flight was delayed. By the time they made it down, the ferry had stopped running.”

  “Oh,” I said. My mind slipped back to that moment the other day when I was alone in the house and felt like no one would ever come back. That yawning loneliness. Tessa’s been on her own for more than a week, and who knows how much longer the quarantine w
ill last? That must be terrifying.

  “So what’s this important issue?” Tessa said evenly. Obviously she’s not so easily terrified.

  I explained what Dad had said about the plants, and Tessa asked a few questions. “You wouldn’t be able to throw something together very easily,” she said finally. “If you want to make sure the seeds germinate, I mean. Why don’t you bring them over here tomorrow, and I’ll take care of them in the greenhouse. I’ve had a good success rate with rare plants.”

  I couldn’t see why not. I’ve never had much of a green thumb. Better to leave the seeds in the hands of someone who knows what she’s doing.

  “Just…don’t mention to anyone about my parents, okay?” she said. “One of the neighbors found out, and she keeps coming over to check on me, even though I refuse to let her in. She sounds like she’s sick.”

  I promised I wouldn’t. So I lied to Mom when I was convincing her that I needed to go over to Tessa’s place. “I talked to her and both her parents—no symptoms,” I said. That’s true in Tessa’s case, anyway. And I swore up and down that I’d take off right away if I saw the slightest sign that they were sick.

  “All right,” Mom said. “I know you’re taking this seriously. I want you to drive the car over; you don’t know who might be on the streets.”

  “Sure,” I said, and then, because it felt right, I hugged her. She looked a little surprised, but she squeezed me back.

  Whatever else might go wrong, at least I’ve got her and Dad and Drew.

  Well, that wasn’t what I expected.

  I headed over to Tessa’s place right after breakfast. It seemed strange to be driving when she only lives a ten-minute walk away, but having those steel walls around me did make me feel safer, like I had this impenetrable shield against the virus. I don’t think Mom needed to worry, though. I only saw one person on the way—a man sitting on his porch, who grinned and waved as I drove by.