Calamity

by Gail McCormick

  Dr. Lowenstein wasn’t reassuring. “I’m sorry but that’s the way it is.” He looked at Camellia. “You’re a NIP anchor, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “You should be vaccinated too. In fact, the rest of you at NIP should probably also be vaccinated.”

  “I’ll work on that,” Camellia replied. “But you’ll let us know the minute anything changes with Frank, right? The very instant.” Patience be damned.

  “Yes, it’s the least I can do. I’m sorry this has happened to you. You need to leave the hospital right now.” With that he turned and headed down the hall.

  “Try not to worry,” Camellia said to Sujin. “I’ll make sure you have anything you need. Clearly that will include food and milk for Bobby. Anything else you can think of?”

  “Not at the moment. I really can’t focus.”

  “That’s hardly surprising. I’ll try to focus for you. I’d guess you might have a doctor’s appointment to cancel among other things. Let me know what and I’ll take care of it. I’ll have whatever you need delivered. It can’t be very long. Come on,” she said. “I’ll find us a taxi.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  SAME EVENING

  LOCAL DRUG STORE

  MANHATTAN

  THERE WAS A FIERCE FIGHT GOING ON in the drug store closest to Camellia’s condo. She had dropped Sujin and Bobby off and decided to pick up some ibuprofen since her head was splitting. Assorted face masks were kept in the next aisle over. It was blocked by a dozen customers trying to grab the few masks left hanging on hooks. They were pushing and shoving each other and cursing. The manager was attempting unsuccessfully to restore order. While Camellia stood watching, a local police officer arrived and separated the combatants. She got the ibuprofen, took it to the checkout counter and paid for it. Two women blocked the exit, arguing over the mask that one of them had managed to secure. The first one held $20 in her outstretched hand and appeared to be trying to buy the three dollar mask from the other woman who shook her head and walked away. The second one pursued her and continued to try to convince her to give up the mask, adding another $10 to her offer. The first woman shook her head and dashed off.

  This is going to be a huge problem, Camellia thought as she followed them out and headed home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SAME EVENING

  CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE

  IN FRONT

  A DEAD RAT LAY ON THE BOTTOM STEP with a note pinned to one of its ears. A gash across its neck was surrounded by dried blood. Camellia had just gotten home with the ibuprofen. She went over to the rat and tore the note off its ear. As before letters were cut from magazines. The message read YOU’RE NEXT IF YOU DON’T STOP PUTTING OUT FAKE NEWS. She took a page from the Times lying on the next step up and used it to cover the rat well enough to be able to pick it up without touching it. Then she dumped it in the garbage can and slammed the lid down. “This is getting old,” she said to no one in particular. She looked around but didn’t see anyone.

  “Get a life, damn it!” she yelled out loud to her unseen harasser.

  She walked around to the underside of the stairs to check on Fuzzball, found his dishes empty and picked them up. “Out looking for lady friends?” she asked as he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe I should be adding water twice a day, she told herself since it was still unbelievably hot. With that thought, she went up the stairs, inside and double locked her door. I’ll need at least two of these after a day like this one, she thought as she took the bottle of ibuprofen out of her bag and went to get a glass of water. Might need to keep the bottle handy, the way things are going. She mulled over the increasingly ugly attacks and decided she really should call the police.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  NEXT DAY

  KYLE’S OFFICE

  COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

  KYLE SHOOK HIS HEAD AND FROWNED as he listened to someone on the other end of the phone. He had his feet on the floor for a change. His t-shirt read HOT, HOTTER, HOT!! Below that AND FOOD WILL ROT.

  The report he was poring over was on the desk in front of him. He held the phone to his ear with one hand, a pen in the other, making checkmarks on one of the pages. A fresh paper airplane sat next to the report. More crumpled planes than ever surrounded the wastebasket next to an expanded heap of books. This time a couple of reports in binders were mixed in with the books on top of his desk.

  Barbara was back from D.C. She entered the room and stood in front of his photo of the Wright brothers’ airplane. She had her hair down and wore a new teal green short sleeved blouse. She had added a touch of lipstick.

  Kyle was speaking to the person on the phone. “I’m really sorry to hear it. Is there anything I can do to help?” The answer was apparently no since he said, “Well, please let me know if that changes, and keep me posted on what’s happening with Conor.”

  He hung up, put the phone down and picked up one of his new planes. “What a damned shame!”

  She turned and looked at him. “What’s a shame?”

  “One of my colleagues in Paris has been quarantined. Conor met with the billionaire who’s in the hospital now. He was there for a month studying how drought is expected increase in the Mediterranean. He hoped that Bernard Goldstein would donate more money to extend the study. Not that he’d be likely to get it from someone known to question climate science. Conor wanted to at least give it a try since it’s become increasingly hard to get government funding these days. I have to admit that applying for grants isn’t my strong suit.”

  She laughed. “Considering your filing system,” she said, glancing at the jumbled books on the floor, “that’s not surprising. Looks like you need a personal secretary in addition to a personal maid, as I mentioned before.” She was hinting again, but he didn’t pick up on it, so she said, “Do you know him well?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. We’ve worked on several projects together, and I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time with his family. That was his wife, Jane on the phone. She’s here in New York with their daughter. They can’t fly over to see him, and it’s tearing her apart.”

  “That’s understandable.” Barbara pointed to the photo of the Wright plane. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this photo. What’s the deal?”

  “With all the dreadful stuff going on now, I sometimes wish we could go back to a simpler time. I do know that’s stupid. Naïve. There was the 1918 flu pandemic back then after all. Killed somewhere between 20 and 50 million. Then again, with the thousands of buried bodies from that epidemic apt to turn up in the permafrost, we might get to deal with it again. Probably not likely, fortunately.” He put the plane down and pulled a binder out of the stack of books causing yet another one to crash to the floor. “Sure would be better if these things came by email,” he said as he watched it fall.” Maybe I should find a cleaning company he thought. “But look, here’s one more reason to shudder over things happening these days.”

  She took the report that he handed her. “What is this?”

  “More discouraging news showing we might be continuing to head off the cliff.” He put started to fold some of the plane edges differently.

  “Just great. How so?”

  “Greenland is a bigger problem than we realized. It turns out that the meltwaters produced in spring and summer are continuously flushing out methane from beneath the ice sheet bed to the atmosphere in large, fast flowing rivers.”

  Barbara sighed. “Which means the role of methane might have been greatly underestimated.”

  Kyle heaved the plane straight into the trash can. “Bull’s eye. My aerodynamics are improving. At least that’s something. But, exactly. It could be a tipping point where this one addition throws us into runaway climate change. Public attention is centered right now on the so-called mystery fever when it should be focused on methane and CO2 release or, at the moment, this extraordinary heat wave. It’s downright discouraging not to make headway on that. Driv
es me nuts.”

  “Well, I have my doubts about whether you could reach the legislators currently calling the shots. Apparently a bunch of Senators collected more than ten million from oil, gas and coal barons over the past three election cycles.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s getting so bad I might just have to move out of D.C. A farm in upstate New York is beginning to sound good. It would be a heck of a lot easier to learn how to milk a cow and grow tomatoes than to figure out how to influence these particular guys. In fact, I’ve found a piece of land near Albany that might be worth checking. Any chance you’d want to get away for a day or two?”

  “Sorry, I’m pretty tied up at the moment. I gather you have something else on your mind.”

  Barbara hesitated then said, “I know you’ve been seeing a lot of Camellia. So I’d like to ask a favor. I did finally read up on her and feel like a worm, the way I was so snide at the restaurant. She isn’t stupid even if she dresses like what some might call a slut. I do know that gets viewers, and I have no doubt that her boss pushes it. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.”

  Kyle raised, then dropped his shoulders. “And?”

  Barbara answered, “Our paths aren’t likely to cross any time soon. Would you please apologize to her for me?”

  “Sure. Remember, I made the same mistake.”

  “It’s pretty apparent that’s no longer the case.” She was reluctantly realizing that he either hadn’t noticed the change in her appearance or didn’t care. None of her verbal advances had received any positive response. Perhaps bringing Camellia into the conversation would be a way for him to make his position clear, not that she really needed clarification.

  “No, definitely not the case. Though I’m not sure she’ll get over it.”

  Barbara didn’t agree. “Oh, I’m sure she will.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  SAME DAY

  LIVING ROOM

  CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE

  KYLE HAD SEVERAL BURNING QUESTIONS, BUT HE WASN’T ABOUT TO START OUT WITH THEM. “You forgot to take the report I had in my office,” He said as he entered Camellia’s living room. His t-shirt read NATURAL GAS, below that, IS NOT NATURAL and below that, IT CAN BE 90% METHANE. This time she had mariachi music playing and a couple of tortillas on the coffee table next to an open bottle of Mexican ale. He put the report on a side table. “I wanted to find out how Frank is doing, and I definitely wanted to know what you were thinking when you called me honey pie in front of Aileen, not to mention the rest of what you said.”

  “She needs to get over you before she gets hurt. You did indicate you weren’t interested. I was doing her a favor.”

  “Not staking a claim to your territory?”

  She rolled her eyes. Surely he wasn’t right about that.

  “And why is my present really welcome in this heat?” He was quite certain she had been referring to the birdcage.

  “She’s been clucking more lately. I think the bigger cage might help the air circulate better.”

  “That’s good. And what is my very special present?”

  “It’s on the entry table.”

  He went over and checked. The only things on the table were a set of house keys and a card with the name and address of a cleaning company.

  He was sure he knew what the answer was to that too but said, “So I’m going to be able to come and go as I please now? Good idea.”

  “I forgot to hang the keys on the hook over the table. They do a really good job of cleaning.”

  “As for your comment about the yellow ribbon,” he laughed, “You have a wicked sense of humor.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “You could have just called to check on Frank and mailed the report,” she added as she reached down to try to put a floppy slipper shaped like a rabbit with cotton ears sticking up on her right foot. She held a book in her left hand making it a challenge with her one-handed attempt since one of the ears kept drooping over and getting in the way. She had on a long-sleeved t-shirt and a new pair of jeans, a brand made of organic and recycled cotton.

  “Here, let me help.” He took the slipper, bent down, pushed the ears back and put it on her foot. Standing with that foot off the floor she leaned on him to maintain her balance. He stood up before she realized he’d finished with the slipper, and she fell against him. They stared at each other for a few seconds. He started to draw her closer, but she pulled away and went over to the couch where the other slipper was lying. “I can handle this one.” She put the book under one arm, and he watched with amusement as she fumbled with the other slipper, trying not to drop the book. He realized that if she hadn’t been so disconcerted, she would have put the book down and then dealt with the slipper. He was definitely making headway.

  His obvious amusement was decidedly annoying. Her lack of patience won out. “This is ridiculous!” She took the first slipper off and hurled both of them across the room at him, hitting him smack in the chest. “I turned the a/c up when I put on jeans instead of shorts, and it froze my poor feet. Bad enough to shiver at work. Turn down the a/c down while I go change back.”

  “Where’s the thermostat?

  “On the wall by the door.”

  “I could have called,” he told her retreating back, “but I didn’t. I did text you and didn’t receive a reply which seemed strange, so I came over to be sure you were okay. It’s not a very long walk to your place from mine, and I can deal with the heat. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “No,” she replied, pausing at the foot of the stairs. “Honestly, I’m so frazzled with all this, I’m sitting around, not doing much if anything. Even the mariachi music I love isn’t helping. I was ignoring texts for the moment. Sit a spell. Help yourself to a tortilla and some ale. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  She returned a few minutes later in a tank top and shorts so skimpy that a bit of red underwear peeked out. He raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. She noticed it and said, “I cut these off myself. It’s been hotter in here than two possums in a sack, and you’ve made me feel even guiltier about using a/c than I did before. Too bad if they’re indecent.” She went across to the green chair with the footstool, sat down, plunked her feet on it and folded her arms across her chest defiantly.

  “The shorts are fine with me although hopefully you don’t wear them around anyone else. In fact, I wish you would cover up a bit more in public.”

  Her rebuttal was immediate. “That’s not your call.”

  “Sorry. I just don’t like sharing so much of you as I think you can guess. But on a safer subject, I know how much you care about Frank and his family, and I wanted to see how you were holding up and whether there was any news.” He went over, sat on the couch and helped himself to a tortilla.

  “Frank was there when I started at NIP five years ago. He’s been a godsend. There’s never been anything I’ve asked for that he hasn’t taken care of. In fact, he usually figures out what I need even before I know I need it.” She sighed. “There’s no more news about him. I can’t manage to think about anything else.” She pointed to The Sixth Extinction. “I’ve only read a couple more pages of this book and doubt that I’ll be able to remember what they said.”

  He leaned over and handed her the bottle of ale. She took a swig and handed it back. “There’s more in the kitchen. Go ahead and finish it off.”

  “It might not help much, but I do have a possible temporary diversion for you. It might help me too,” he said as he drank the rest of the ale.

  “Why would you need help? You’re always seemed so self-assured, never bothered.”

  Except when I’m around you he thought, but he said, “I’ve just learned that one of my colleagues has been stricken with the disease. He’d been quarantined but apparently not soon enough.”

  “That’s awful. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry. Words are so lame.”

  “Yes, well I’m concerned about his wife and daughter, the way
you’re concerned about Sujin and Bobby. He’s in Paris and they’re stuck here in New York unable to fly over to see him. We’re all holding our breath. He’s always been very healthy. Maybe he’ll be one of the few who survive.”

  “Is he a close friend?”

  “Yes, he is. He reminds me of my sister’s husband who was also a good friend. In fact, I introduced them. Conor and Gerry were carrot tops, of Irish heritage with an Irish sense of humor and love of soda bread. They both hate the stereotype that the Irish are drunks. Neither one could tolerate alcohol. And there’s another thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve been reporting about the raging wildfires in Arizona. Unfortunately, they’re near where my sister lives. She might have to collect whatever she can and get out with the kids in a big hurry. I can just imagine how horrible it is for them. It must remind them of Gerry. I’ve been on the phone with Laura a lot. Not that it helps much, but it’s all I can do at the moment. At least I’ve gotten her to put together the things they wouldn’t want to leave behind. Photos, passports, birth certificates, that kind of thing. I’m working on finding a place for them to stay since shelters could be out of the question. They have a Great Dane and two Siamese cats. Sad to say, she’s in for it since about half the western U.S. can expect large increases in burned area, at least five times the current amount over the next 30 years.” He paused as he thought about it. “Actually, with the kind of heat wave we’re experiencing now, that estimate might have to be upped.”

  “I’m sure all you’ve done has helped. So, what’s the diversion?”

  “My mother would like to meet you,” Kyle said.

  “What? Why on earth would she want to do that?” Camellia sat up straight, took her feet off the footstool.

  “I told her about your interest in pollinators. She has wanted to set up a non-profit organization to deal with bee loss in particular.”

  “How did you know that was a concern of mine?”