Pandemic

by Ventresca, Yvonne

  I stayed with him until he fell back into a restless sleep. I needed something cold to drink but the refrigerator was the same gross temperature as the rest of the house. We didn’t need food poisoning on top of everything else so I emptied the contents into garbage bags, then carried the trash to the garage. The thought of going outside alone was too much for me.

  I tried to keep busy in other ways, too, when they didn’t need me, changing the sheets, replacing the towels, trying to disinfect the house. Upstairs, I opened Jay’s window, feeling like an intruder in his bedroom. It was messier than I expected, with cookbooks randomly piled around. A framed photo of a woman I assumed to be his mom leaned on his desk. She had kind eyes, like Jay’s. There were no other photos displayed.

  So what was the secret he alluded to? A thought kept rattling around in my brain, like a fly tapping against a window trying to get outside. When Jay refused to break into the school, at first I thought it was his way of avoiding trouble so he could take care of Ty. But then Ty had mumbled about visiting prison in his delirium. What if Jay had done something illegal in Arizona? Would that matter to me? How much of his past would I be willing to forgive?

  I was holding the photo in my hand when Jay coughed from the doorway. He leaned against the doorjamb, still weak, but the color in his face was less sickly looking.

  Was he healthy enough to be furious at me for snooping in his room? “I thought the air would help.” I put the frame down with one hand, gesturing toward the opened window with the other.

  Jay moved forward slowly, then wrapped both arms around me in a huge hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into my hair before pulling away too soon.

  “Your fever seems to be gone. Do you feel better?”

  “Still weak, but better.”

  We moved slowly downstairs. I got Jay comfortable in the chair I’d been sleeping in so he could rest near Ty. The kids still slept while Jay checked his phone.

  “There’s a message from my sisters. They’re staying together with my cousin. They haven’t gotten sick yet.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Have you heard anything from your parents?”

  I sat on the edge of the pullout couch and finally told him about Dad. Then I broke down. “And his ashes . . .”

  Jay held my hand, silent, comforting.

  “We’ll get through this,” he said. “Somehow, we’ll get through this.”

  Ty and Cam lay almost lifeless on the bed. I wanted to believe Jay. I really did. But feeling optimistic seemed like another setup for a giant wallop of pain.

  On Sunday, Jay seemed stronger. He rested near Ty and Cam, searching online for her family on his phone. During her brief periods awake, we asked her questions about aunts, uncles, and cousins. We didn’t get far with her mother’s side of the family. After tracking down her uncle Robbie’s information, a phone call revealed that he had died from the flu, too.

  “What about your dad?” I asked her. “Do you ever see him?”

  “No. Mom said he went to find himself and got lost on the way.”

  “Oh.” Jay and I glanced at each other. Another roadblock.

  We stayed up late talking about strategies to find her family.

  “They could be divorced,” I said. “Or the father could be dead. Or in jail.”

  Jay flinched a little.

  “Maybe if he wasn’t in Cam’s life before, he’s not the one we should be looking for now.”

  “True. But there has to be someone to take care of her.”

  “She’s got you,” he said. “She seems really attached.”

  Of course I would take care of her if there was no one else. But I’d barely been able to keep myself safe this past year. I thought of all the bad things that could happen to Cam. The world seemed fraught with danger. There had to be someone better than me to protect her.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. In one dream I was trapped in a prison cell while Mr. B stood free outside the bars. “Is this what you were looking for?” He dangled the key. Each time I reached for it he pulled his hand away. I woke to the sound of his chuckle in my head. It took a long time to fall back asleep.

  Monday morning Jay’s aunt called to say she was feeling better and hoped to get home soon. We spent the day hovering over Cam and Ty, giving them the antiviral medicine, lots of water to drink, and an occasional cracker.

  My cell phone died. It had been days since I’d heard from Mom. I sent a text from Jay’s phone but heard nothing in return. The crankable phone charger had suddenly stopped working.

  “Maybe it needs to rest,” Jay said. “We’ve cranked that thing like crazy.”

  While the kids slept, we passed the time playing endless games of Rummy. Over multiple hands, Jay was winning, 2,210 to 1,845. He recounted the highs and lows of this season’s cooking shows and I retold Edgar Allan Poe stories. We avoided all the important subjects: Dad’s death, Mom’s absence, Ty and Cam taking so long to recover.

  The evening should have brought cooler air but didn’t. The house remained stifling, even with the windows open.

  “Want to sit in the backyard?” Jay asked. “We’ll hear them if they wake up and it might be nice to get fresh air.”

  I agreed and we moved outside to a gliding bench. I sat at one end, my feet tucked under me, leaving some space between us. There were a few things I needed to know, if only I had the courage to ask. But “were you ever in trouble with the law?” wasn’t exactly a good conversation starter. Neither was “I think I really like you. Is it too late for that? Have we already moved too far into the friendship zone?” I struggled to find something neutral to talk about.

  Jay finally broke our silence. “I can’t wait for the power to come back.”

  “At least it’s not cold and snowing,” I said.

  “That’s one nice thing.”

  “Do you miss Arizona?”

  “No. It wasn’t the same after my mom died. It was a relief, in a way, to get a fresh start here. I could leave behind the labels. You know, like ‘the boy with tragic circumstances.’ My old friends kind of drifted away, and strangers thought once they heard my story, they knew me better than they did. It was frustrating.”

  Is that when he had broken the law? Right after his mother died?

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked. “Your mouth is scrunched into a serious scowl.”

  “Hmm. Maybe there were other reasons you were happy to leave the past behind?”

  He sighed and glanced away. I didn’t know whether to feel thrilled that I’d guessed right or terrified about what he might tell me.

  “It’s OK if you don’t want to talk,” I said.

  I could read the deliberation in his face as he looked out over the yard, still not answering. A wall began going up between us, brick by brick, layer by layer. That’s how the not-telling shuts people out.

  As I waited for him to decide, I tried to come up with all the honorable reasons he could have gotten into trouble. Maybe he hurt another kid in school while defending someone. He could have stepped in to help a girl. Or maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or wouldn’t tell on a friend.

  Jay looked at me intently.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Moral decisions aren’t always black and white,” he began.

  Oh no.

  “Sometimes people do the wrong things.”

  Jay had broken the law and now I would learn why. Did I really want to know?

  “Illegal things, for what seems like the right reasons.”

  It was too late to stop him now. I reminded myself to breathe.

  “You know me and my dad . . . we don’t keep in touch.”

  I frowned, confused. “I thought maybe your dad had passed away, too. You never mention him.”

  “He’s dead in a sense. Dead to me and Ty.” Jay’s face was hard, unhappy. “My father’s in jail.”

  “Oh.” It made sense now: Jay’s concern with ethics, staying out of trouble,
Ty’s feverish mumblings about visiting prison. I wasn’t sure what to say next. “What . . . what was he arrested for?”

  “A financial scam,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. It never felt like the right time.” He took out his phone and pulled up an article he’d bookmarked.

  “Mexican Robin Hood” Denied Parole

  Jose Martinez, 48, was denied parole at a hearing in Phoenix today. Five years ago, Martinez was convicted of eight counts of security fraud in a Ponzi scheme that targeted mostly high-income investors. Dubbed the “Mexican Robin Hood” by the press, Martinez funneled earnings from his phony investment scheme to help poverty-stricken families in rural areas across the US border. Martinez and his trial dominated the local news for several months. At least 400 investors were defrauded of approximately $100 million, making it one of Arizona’s largest Ponzi schemes.

  I handed him back the phone. “He was trying to help the poor?”

  “At the expense of hundreds of innocent people. And my mom was diagnosed right after his arrest. There were problems with the insurance coverage, getting her the right care. She died four months later.”

  “That’s terrible. Have you been in touch with your dad recently?”

  “No. There’s nothing to talk to him about. My aunt is our legal guardian now. We’re lucky to have her.”

  “Yes, you are. And you and Ty have each other.”

  “We do.” He paused. “And I have you . . .”

  Would he kiss me?

  “… as a friend, I mean.”

  Right.

  He shifted closer, not touching me. “I think Megs would be happy that we ended up friends.”

  “Yes, she would.”

  So we were friends now and nothing more. Disappointment tasted bitter, like Mom’s weird organic lettuce. I had waited too long to decide I liked him. Emotions evolve and his had clearly gone in the opposite direction.

  We sat without speaking. He was mere inches from me and if I closed my eyes, I could feel the world: Jay’s breathing, the spring breeze caressing his hair, the very air that filled the narrow space between us. Something fluttered in my chest, softly, like a trapped butterfly.

  Tuesday morning, Jay and I sat in his kitchen talking quietly.

  “I heard from some of the other volunteers,” he said.

  “Is everyone OK?”

  “Ethan is fine. Derek was under the weather, but it didn’t seem like full-blown flu. No news from Beth. Elsa sent me animal-by-animal updates. She’s upset there wasn’t much they could do for tropical fish with the power outage, but she worked with her mother to rescue thirty-two dogs, fifteen cats, and four hamsters so far, plus that parrot.”

  Remembering the house with the screeching bird made my knees wobbly.

  “And Kayla called me,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Her brother died.”

  I felt a pang of sadness. I’d known Justin for years. His acceptance to UVA had come in March. And now . . .

  “She sounded sick. I felt like maybe she was calling to say good-bye.”

  With my head in my hands, I started to quietly weep. Was it ever going to end? What if I couldn’t take any more death? I could just give up, lie down between Cam and Ty and never move again.

  Someone rustled behind me, then a hand patted my back.

  “Are you OK, Lil?” Ty asked.

  “Oh, thank God,” I said, squeezing him in a tight hug.

  “Can we be done with the hugging? I’m starving.”

  “Let’s get you some breakfast, then.” I caught Jay’s eye. He looked away, but not before I saw him tear up.

  By lunch time, Cam was awake, too. It was the best they had looked in days. And then, as if the universe was feeling super bountiful, the electricity flickered on.

  We all whooped with happiness.

  “Video games!” Ty said. “Cam, let’s go!”

  “We should shower and do laundry,” I told Jay.

  “Not as much fun as video games, but you’re right. I’d like to get online, too, and email my sisters that Ty is better.”

  “I can take some of the dirty clothes to my house,” I said, eager for even an hour by myself. I grabbed a bundle of wash and stuffed it into a large green garbage bag.

  But then I hesitated by the front door. Going home meant walking outside alone. I hadn’t told Jay about escaping the looters and I couldn’t ask him to leave the kids and walk with me.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Could you watch me from your doorway?”

  “Sure,” he said, as if it was the most natural request in the world. “Call me when you’re on your way back. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  Back home, my father’s presence filled our house. His #1 Dad mug waited next to the empty coffee pot. His sneakers waited by the garage door. His favorite flannel shirt was slung over the doorknob to his closet. I put it on, wrapping it around me, breathing in his dad-ness.

  With the comfort of his shirt, I opened the windows, then started the laundry. The hum of the washing machine and the clean scent of detergent boosted my spirits a little. I turned off the random lights that had been on when we lost power and started resetting the clocks, saving Dad’s office for last.

  The phone rang. I froze. That could be exceptionally good or monumentally bad.

  After a small hesitation, I answered.

  “Lil, hon, is that you?” The connection wasn’t great and Mom faded a little as she spoke. Just the sound of her voice made me cry.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I choked out. “Oh, Mom, where are you? Are you almost home?”

  “I’m in London . . . wait-listed for a flight. I couldn’t get through to you. Phone battery’s going. . . . Are you healthy?”

  “Yes. But Dad—”

  Her voice was garbled.

  “Mom?”

  The phone filled with static, then silence.

  “No, wait!”

  Yelling at the receiver got me nowhere. We’d lost the connection.

  But she was alive.

  Focusing on that happy thought, I listened to the radio while emptying the fridge and freezer. The top forty hits seemed to be the same now as they were before the crisis, so not everything in the world had changed. A block of mozzarella cheese, however, had turned a color I’d never seen on food before, and I had to leave the fridge doors open for awhile to get rid of the smell. I held my nose as I added the bags to the pile in the garage.

  With that chore behind me, I showered, lathered-rinsed-repeated, and in a moment of good cheer, decided to wear a lavender-colored blouse with pale blue jeans. Although I generally hated blow-drying my hair, I felt compelled to use every electrical appliance possible and only clicked it off after every strand was dry.

  Mom and I would finally be together again. I dared to imagine it, the sweetness of a reunion with Mom crying and hugging me. We’d figure out how to survive the rest of the pandemic together, somehow. And we’d find a way to honor Dad.

  But she would hate to come home to a messy house, so I made the beds, wiped the counters, and folded the laundry, putting Dad’s clean clothes in the dresser where they belonged.

  I was stacking some of Ty’s washed T-shirts by the front door when the doorbell rang. Maybe it was my good mood. Maybe it was the normalcy of having the electric back and doing ordinary chores. I forgot about the danger for a moment. Without thinking, I pulled the door open. It was a stupid thing to do.

  Mr. B loomed in the doorway.

  CHAPTER 26

  The need for antiviral medicine and other supplies has well exceeded the state’s Strategic Stockpile.

  —Blue Flu interview, New Jersey governor’s office

  I tried to slam the door, but Mr. B put out his hand and held it open.

  “Lilianna.”

  My body trembled with fear. Where was the hornet spray? Not by the door where I needed it. I checked outside for anyone who might be able to help me. Even the looters could
cause a distraction. But the street was deserted.

  “Please, can I come in?” he asked.

  “No.” I tried to sound strong, authoritative, but the shaking reached my voice. He wasn’t holding any obvious weapons, but there was a white shopping bag at his feet. He hadn’t even needed a weapon to overpower me the last time. He seemed taller than I remembered. Had he always towered over me like that?

  “I need to speak with you,” he said, eyes pleading.

  I didn’t trust those eyes. Why was Mr. B here? Of all the people who had died, somehow he had managed to stay alive. Like a cockroach. And now he was at my house, refusing to leave.

  If I couldn’t get back inside alone, the safest tactic was to stay outside, where someone might see us. Being out in daylight felt more secure somehow.

  “We can talk here.” I stepped tentatively onto the front stoop, crossing my arms over my chest. I kept my eyes focused on his Adam’s apple. It would make a good target if I had to punch him.

  Mr. B cleared his throat. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

  The words washed over me, but I had a hard time comprehending them. “What?”

  “I’m sorry that my actions . . . that I may have upset you,” he said.

  I let this sink in. Being sorry for upsetting me was not the same thing as being sorry for what he actually did. His words sounded hollow. Every part of me stayed rigid, unyielding. “Did you get a court order from another victim or something? Why are you suddenly apologizing now?”

  “It’s time to make amends.”

  “Why? It’s been months since . . .”

  Ignoring my question, he picked up the shopping bag and held it out to me like a peace offering. I braced myself, not sure what to expect. Taking my eyes off him only long enough to glance inside the bag, I gasped. It was filled with boxes of antiviral.

  “Here,” he said. “It’s medicine.”

  “I know exactly what it is.” I took the bag by the handles, careful not to brush his hand with my fingers. I was torn between curiosity about the drugs and the need to get away from him.

  “You didn’t just buy these off the shelf. Where did you get them?”

  “The source isn’t important.”