She handed me a pile of manila folders grouped together by several large rubber bands. They were neatly labeled in his handwriting with titles like “History,” “Personal,” and “Interviews.”
“Thank you. This is an unbelievable gift.”
I held the box of ashes for a moment, then placed it carefully on the table. He wasn’t in that box. He was in his notes, his articles, his words. That was what I needed most, to hear my father one last time.
I clutched the folders to my chest and cried.
CHAPTER 31
Keith Snyder, final interview: “It is with great sadness that I realize my chronicle of the Blue Flu must end. I had wanted to survive this illness, but with each passing hour hope fades. To my darling wife: know that our marriage was my greatest source of joy. To my dear daughter, this is what I wish for you: love, happiness, and the resiliency to survive these difficult times. You’ll need a tender heart and a tough soul, but you will heal.”
That night, I closed my bedroom door and hunched over my desk with Dad’s folders. I read every single word of his interviews through my tears. By the time I reached his last note to me, my sobs became uncontrollable. But it was what I needed. Closure. A final, loving good-bye.
I read them all again the next morning. I had just finished when the house rumbled. It took me a minute to recognize that the unfamiliar sound was the garage door opening.
Mom was home!
As I wobbled downstairs toward the front door, Mom burst in and embraced me. Everything was in that hug. Desperation, grief, and love.
“Thank God you’re better,” she said. “When I called and Mrs. Hernandez told me how sick you were . . .”
“I thought you’d never get here.”
“We have so much catching up to do,” she said.
I stumbled a bit, so she helped me up the stairs and tucked me in bed. Then she sat by my side, holding my hand. We cried over Dad together, sharing bits of our last conversations with him. I told her about Mrs. Templeton and Dad’s ashes. I had moved them to my dresser and she picked the box up, cradling it in her arms.
“You should decide where to put them,” I told her.
She nodded, tearful.
“She brought back his wallet, too, and some work papers. He wrote something to us.” I handed her the folded paper I’d already memorized.
“I’ll read this later.”
I nodded. “Would you mind if . . . could I hold onto the rest of his notes for awhile?”
“Of course, honey.”
After more tears, we filled each other in on the past weeks. I told her about the looters and she described living at the airport.
“It took forever to get a flight from Hong Kong to London,” she explained. “Then I caught the first flight I could to the US. I didn’t care what city it was, as long as I got back. So I ended up in St. Louis.”
“You didn’t get sick?”
She shook her head.
“When you stopped calling—”
“The battery died and somewhere along the way, my charger disappeared. Stolen, I think. It’s a crazy world. I never want to eat vending machine food again. After taking the max out of a working ATM, I paid extra for whatever I needed, like the rental car.”
“You bribed people?”
“I prefer to think of it as a pandemic premium. It was worth it to get home. It took so long. I’m glad you weren’t alone this whole time.”
After Mrs. Hernandez came home from work, the six of us squished around the table for dinner. Jay created a meal from rice, beans, dried spices, and canned tomatoes. He called it “pantry cuisine.” It smelled tasty but I stuck with canned noodle soup.
Cam and Ty seemed to be on extra good behavior for Mom. Without their chatter, the dinner conversation lagged a bit. Mom’s business trip had become irrelevant, there was no school day to discuss, and not much to talk about in general. Finally, we began to speculate about when Portico might return to normal.
“The incoming cases at the hospital have leveled off,” Mrs. Hernandez said. “But the beds are still pretty full.”
“The flu is picking up steam in other areas of the world,” Mom said. “I listened to the news for hours on the ride here.”
Mrs. Hernandez nodded. “They’ve been discussing possible patterns at the hospital, too. And the threat of a second wave. I’m working again tonight, but tomorrow we’ll finish cleaning our house so we can move back home.”
“I want to stay here,” Ty said. When Jay caught my eye, I knew he agreed.
“There’s no hurry to leave,” Mom said. “It’s probably better for the kids if we stay together.”
Cam pushed her food around on her plate. I could guess she was thinking that she had nowhere else to go. But I had no intention of abandoning her.
After dinner, Jay taught Ty and Cam to play War with cards while Mom and I talked in the kitchen.
“Cam doesn’t have anyone else to care for her,” I whispered. “Mrs. Schiffer died and we haven’t been able to track down a father. I think . . . I think she has to stay with us.”
“It’s not that simple,” Mom said. “We should contact her family first. There’s an uncle I can call.”
“Dead. Jay already tried to reach him.”
“Look, we can’t take her in permanently. We’ve had such a disturbing year. I’m not sure adding another member to our family, even temporarily, would be best for you.”
My shoulders set in their old defensive posture. Could Mom and I be fighting already? I had missed her so much but within a few hours of being back, she was already questioning my ability to cope.
“I’m emotionally stronger than when you left, Mom.” I tried to keep my voice even. “I’ve thought this through. It makes sense for us to take care of her. The world has changed. I’m pretty sure we can decide what’s best for now. Cam needs us. Can you imagine how many kids will be in foster care? She’d end up with strangers. At least we can offer her a safe home with people she trusts.”
“But legally—”
“With all the deaths and wills and backlog of lawyer crap, I’m sure Cam will be in high school before they even realize she’s an orphan. If she’s happy here, she should live with us.”
Mom sighed. “OK,” she agreed. “She can stay for now. But don’t complain when she touches your stuff.”
I squeezed Mom tight.
“We need to paint the guest room pink,” I said. “It’s her favorite color.”
“I have some rose-colored throw pillows in the attic she can have.”
“Cam would like that.”
“Like what?” she said, popping into the kitchen.
“We thought you’d like pink pillows. Mom said the guest room can be your new room when Ty and Jay move home. You can stay with us, and I’ll be your big sister.”
“Oh,” she said, pouting in front of the refrigerator.
Uh oh. “I know you’re sad—”
“I miss my own mom.”
I braced myself for her tears. Was this the wrong solution after all? I could already hear Mom’s I-told-you-so. But Cam took a juice box from the fridge and seemed to pull herself together.
“Besides,” she said, “why do you get to be the big sister? I know I’m smaller, but I’m extremely mature for my age.”
“Yes,” Mom said. “You certainly are.”
“Maybe we can just be sisters then,” she said, “with no big or little. Equal sisters.”
“OK.” I poked the straw into the juice box for her.
“Good,” she said. “But I’ll have to make up a new dance for that. Maybe Ty will help.” She grabbed her drink and scurried out of the room.
“He’s going to love that,” I said.
At dusk, Jay and I sat on a bench in the backyard, enjoying the quiet.
“I read through all my dad’s papers,” I finally said. “It was like hearing his voice in my head again. He wrote me a note, saying good-bye. It helped somehow. And he documented his tim
e in Delaware, with history and interviews woven in. He knew toward the end that . . . his time was limited. So he compiled everything, like a final article. I want to try to get it published for him.”
“I bet he would like that.”
I nodded.
“Speaking of fathers, while you were sick, I called mine,” Jay said. “He was surprised to hear from me. It’s the first time we’ve spoken since . . . well, in a long time. It wasn’t as awkward as I expected. It was the right thing to do, reaching out to him.”
“He must’ve been happy to hear from you.”
“He was.”
“So. . . .” I said.
“Yeah?”
“We don’t need to talk about Mr. B anymore, right?”
“Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t. Not in the near future, anyway.”
“It’s your choice.” Jay tilted my chin with his hand. “No more secrets, right?”
“Agreed,” I whispered.
Kissing Jay the second time was even better. He clutched me against him as if we needed to make up for lost time. Maybe we did.
We stayed outside for hours. I curled against him, watching daylight fade into night. A few stars twinkled like distant promises.
“I’d like to take you on a real date,” he said. “Maybe dinner and a movie? A funny comedy.”
“That would be nice. You can walk me home from school, too, if we ever go back.”
“There was an email from Mr. Fryman today,” Jay said. “They want to do a virtual roll call, see which students and teachers will return when the school reopens.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He said he’s been ‘sick as a dog,’ and ‘only time will tell’ how we’ll make up the schoolwork. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ you know.”
I held my stomach, laughing. “It hurts. The clichés hurt.”
“He also mentioned that this weekend would have been the Spring Formal. The school is going to replace it with a Survivor’s Ball sometime in the future. Instead of a dance, it will be kind of a group memorial.”
I tried to imagine it. “The concept’s a little morbid, don’t you think?”
“Not if we can pay our respects to the dead. It’s a way to say good-bye, right?”
“True,” I said. “I guess that’s better than expecting us to act as if none of this ever happened.”
“Fryman said there would be grief specialists on hand to counsel us at the event, too.”
“It really will be a Survivor’s Ball.”
“Well, I’m a survivor. So are you.” He rested his arm gently around my shoulder, where it belonged.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am.”
RESOURCES
To get help for a victim of sexual assault:
• Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN). National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800-656-HOPE (free, confidential advice 24/7). Help online at www.rainn.org/get-help/national-sexual-assault-online-hotline (secure and anonymous through an instant-messaging format).
• A list of links for international organizations is available through the RAINN website at www.rainn.org/get-help/sexual-assault-and-rape-international-resources.
• The National Center for Victims of Crime. Helpline: 1-800-FYI-CALL or 1-800-211-7996. Website: www.victimsofcrime.org. Help finding local assistance online at http://victimsofcrime.org/help-for-crime-victims/find-local-assistance---connect-directory.
• National Sexual Violence Resource Center. Phone: 877-739-3895 (TTY Hotline: 717-909-0715). Website: www.nsvrc.org. Does not provide crisis counseling but can provide referrals.
• The Office for Victims of Crime (US Department of Justice) provides a list of national toll-free numbers for various organizations that may be of help (http://www.ojp.usdoj.gov/ovc/help/tollfree.html) and an online database of local organizations (http://ovc.ncjrs.gov/findvictimservices).
To learn more about preparing for emergencies:
In the United States:
• Information about making a plan, creating an emergency kit, and knowing the facts from the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA). www.ready.gov/kids/make-a-plan.
• Frequently asked questions and preparedness information from the American Red Cross and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). www.bt.cdc.gov/preparedness.
• Flu-specific information about seasonal influenza, pandemic awareness, and emergency preparedness. www.flu.gov.
• Planning for pet care in a disaster. www.humanesociety.org/issues/animal_rescue/tips/pets-disaster.html and www.aspca.org/pet-care/disaster-preparedness.
• At the state and county level: Various states may provide information from their Department of Health. For example, New Jersey offers information about Emergency Preparedness at www.nj.gov/health/er/index.shtml. Morris County’s Office of Emergency Management website is www.morrisoem.org. To find other states and counties, search on the state or county name along with phrases like “emergency preparedness” or “office of emergency management.”
In Canada:
• Canadian Red Cross. www.redcross.ca/what-we-do/emergencies-and-disasters-in-canada/for-home-and-family/get-a-kit. Get Prepared, Government of Canada: www.getprepared.gc.ca/index-eng.aspx.
In the United Kingdom:
• British Red Cross. www.redcross.org.uk/What-we-do/Preparing-for-disasters/How-to-prepare-for-emergencies.
In Australia:
• Australian Emergency Management Knowledge Hub. www.emknowledge.gov.au.
In New Zealand:
• New Zealand Ministry of Civil Defence & Emergency Management. www.civildefence.govt.nz.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The first thank you goes to my brother, Kenneth Hein. One childhood vacation as he suffered inside with a horrible sunburn, he eagerly listened to me summarize my favorite novel chapter by chapter. His love of a good story reinforced the desire to create my own. He’s been a great source of advice and wisdom on my journey to publication.
Thank you to Sky Pony Press and especially Julie Matysik who took great care to edit my manuscript in a thorough and kind way. She’s what every debut author dreams about in an editor.
Special thanks to my critique group, C. Lee McKenzie, Melissa Higgins, Heather Strum, and in memory of LK Madigan, who is missed so often and so much. I’m also grateful to Wendy Whittingham and Janine Camm, two of my first and longest critique partners. Thanks to Sharon Sorokin James for offering helpful plot advice on an early version of the story and to Susan Brody for her moral support.
I’ve shared lunch (and laughter) many times with Natalie Zaman and Charlotte Bennardo. Natalie has been incredibly supportive during times of uncertainty. And I finally get to sign books next to Charlotte, who’s been encouraging me for years. Their friendship may have saved me from changing careers once or twice.
To some of my oldest friends: Katie Orphanos listened to the hard parts. Sometimes that’s the very best thing a friend can do. A big thank you to Catherine Brennan for decades of memories. And thanks to Joy Adams, for lending me Nancy Drews and for making me want to read as many books as she did.
Claudia Whiteley has served as an inspiration in Isshinryu Karate and beyond. The Chatham Karate Academy and Mendham Karate Academy dojos are filled with amazing people.
The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators has offered wonderful chances to learn and improve. Kathy Temean, the former New Jersey Regional Advisor, helped provide the opportunities every writer needs.
Thanks to Rebecca Grose of SoCal Public Relations for helping to get the word out.
Thank you to Alex Palmer for helping to connect the industry dots at just the right time.
As I researched this book, Jennifer Bronsnick, Licensed Clinical Social Worker of Jennifer Bronsnick Counseling, offered insight into the psychology of traumatized teens. Dr. George Van Orden, Health Officer/Environmental Specialist at the Township of Hanover Health Department,
spoke to me about pandemics and possible public health responses. They were both incredibly helpful in these matters.
Thank you to Marcy Posner for her early support.
In the in-law lottery, I hit the jackpot. I’m grateful to Rachele and Julio Ventresca for their love and support. “It doesn’t hurt to ask” has served me well. Thank you to Doreen, John, and Julianna Sullivan for their encouragement. Thanks to JC Sullivan for always being willing to talk books with me, and to Ryan Sullivan, who loves a good disaster story as much as I do.
A loving thanks to Liza Hein (a kindred creative spirit), William Hein (hugs!), and Amanda Hein (love you lots!).
My parents, Peter and Shirley Hein, have been proud of all of my writing, even my really bad poems in seventh grade. My dear mom is the best free proofreader ever. I’m thankful for many things they’ve done for me, but most of all, for raising me in such a loving environment and for showing me the power of persistence.
The best comes last: my children, Lauren and David, have listened to me talk about writing every step of the way. I appreciate the spinning hugs (Lauren) and the funny jokes (David). Thank you both for the tremendous joy you’ve given me.
Sometimes even a writer doesn’t have enough words, so I’m grateful to my husband, Chris, for everything, and especially for believing this was possible from the beginning.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Before becoming a children’s author, Yvonne Ventresca wrote computer programs and taught others how to use technology. Now she happily spends her days creating stories instead of computer code. In addition to Pandemic, Yvonne has written two nonfiction books for kids: Avril Lavigne (a biography of the singer) and Publishing (about careers in the field). When she’s not working or worrying about deadly disasters, Yvonne spends time learning Isshinryu Karate and recently earned the rank of second degree black belt. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, two children, and two dogs. For more information, visit www.YvonneVentresca.com.
Pandemic Page 21
