Pandemic (2 page)

“Well, Dr. Gwen didn’t call it normal, exactly,” I said, rebuilding a tower of cans on the floor of the closet. “After emotional stress, there are all kinds of coping mechanisms, things people do to feel secure. She said ‘behaviors which instill an increased sense of safety’ are OK, or some crap like that.”

“Lily.” My mother closed her eyes and did some secret Mom-trick to calm herself. When she opened them again only the slightest hint of worry remained on her face. “I’m trying to empathize.”

I glanced at her suitcase. “Getting ready for your trip?”

“Yes, but don’t change the subject. Does Dad know about your stockpiling?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s basic stuff, nothing extreme,” I said, which was my way of hedging until I could tell him.

She surveyed the shelves, gesturing at the beans, the chicken broth, the boxed pasta. “You’re planning on surviving on chili and linguini? Not cooked together, I hope.”

I smiled, guessing that meant she wouldn’t call my therapist. “There’s soup and canned vegetables, too.”

“Well—” Her ringing cell phone interrupted us. “Hi, honey,” she answered.

Dad rarely called from work, so I hoped she wouldn’t have time to mention our discussion. I used the chance to escape to my room so I could push the bottled water farther under my bed.

They didn’t understand. But I needed to be prepared for anything.

To avoid Mom, I stayed in my room until dinner. The kitchen smelled awful, which meant she had attempted to cook again. The best thing about her trips was that Dad and I could order takeout.

As the three of us sat around the table, I fended off the usual “How was your day?” questions. Being an only child meant serving as the sole focus of my parents’ concerns. I needed to steer the conversation away from myself before Mom mentioned my emergency supplies and had me returning to frequent therapy. These were the times when having a sibling to fight with would have come in handy.

“How long will you be gone?” I asked Mom.

“Two weeks or so. I wish I didn’t have to leave now. I thought we could shop for your Spring Formal dress this weekend. Maybe something blue to bring out your eyes?”

I wasn’t going to the school dance, but I nodded anyway. There was plenty of time to break that bit of news to her.

Mom rambled on about having to cancel some local meetings because of her trip. “And I’m missing the bird-banding demonstrations at the Great Swamp this weekend,” she continued. “I thought we could have gone together, as a family.”

The bird banding would draw lots of Mom’s environmental friends and I would have gladly done extra homework to avoid it. She was famous in our town for her causes, especially pioneering the “Idling is Evil” campaign, which encouraged parents to turn off their car engines while they waited to pick up kids at school. I had to admit it was a good concept, because who wanted to breathe in smelly car fumes while you were waiting for a ride? But it still irritated me to be with her and too many earth-friendly people at the same time. They treated her like a goddess instead of my regular mom.

“Sorry you have to miss it,” I said, trying to keep my voice sincere. I took a second roll from the basket and used it to push her concoction around, covering the pink roses that bordered the plate’s rim. It seemed to be chicken with a mushroom and ketchup sauce, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and ask. Mom was sensitive about her cooking. The bread was good, though. Apparently it was hard to screw up twist-and-bake crescents.

“There’s plenty of food for while I’m gone,” she said. “I left a tray of lasagna in the freezer. Take the plastic wrap off before you heat it. And I can save some of this chicken, too.”

I caught Dad’s eye. We were both thinking take-out.

“We’ll be fine.” He took another bite of crescent roll, turning to me. “Would you feel better sleeping at a friend’s house next weekend? I’ll be away, too, covering a conference in Delaware. I won’t be long. One or two nights.”

I had gone through a period where I always wanted someone home with me. Dr. Gwen advised my parents to ease me into being alone again. First they’d go for short walks within earshot. Next they’d stay out longer, running an errand, then seeing a movie, then spending a long evening out with friends, until I seemed more like my old self. It had taken months for me to perfect my brave front each time they left.

“I’m OK staying here. What’s the conference about?”

Dad loved his job at
Infectious Diseases
. When I started pumping him for information about antibiotic resistance, the return of measles, and bioterrorism attacks, Mom had warned him to stop discussing anxiety-inducing scenarios in front of me. But he enjoyed talking about his work for the magazine, so it was easy to get him going.

“The conference focuses on emerging infections,” he said. “There’s been a lot of buzz about an influenza antigenic shift. Viruses change gradually all the time through antigenic drift. But a major change, a shift, creates a new flu sub-type and—”

“Keith.” Mom narrowed her eyes into the “shut up and stop indulging her” look.

“Uh, pass the rolls, please,” he said.

“Is this a new conference?” I asked. Meaning: Should I add the flu to my worry list, along with lead poisoning?

“No, Lily, they hold it annually, but they change the topics each year.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. Instead, he changed the subject. “What time do you leave for the airport tomorrow?” he asked Mom.

While they discussed Mom’s schedule, I dumped the rest of my meal in the trash, covering it with a paper towel. Then Dad mumbled something about conference prep and left the kitchen.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Mom asked.

I put my plate in the dishwasher. “Studying.” Megs’s mom had arranged a movie night for the two of them, so I didn’t have much choice but to stay in my room and do homework.

“I need to leave early, so I won’t see you in the morning,” she said.

I was almost out of the room when I glanced at her, storing the uneaten food in a reusable container. Dad had been busy with work lately, and she looked so lost for a moment, so small and alone. I turned back, gave her a quick hug, then retreated.

In my room, I checked updates on my phone. I had alerts set for a variety of phrases, including “terrorist attack,” “emerging infectious diseases,” and “mysterious illness.” The latest news was worrisome, as always. Police foiled a bombing attempt on a train in Chicago. Four people were sick from an unidentified illness in Maryland. A listeria outbreak caused the recall of cantaloupes from Guatemala. Based on today’s news and our dinner conversation, I added “lead poisoning,” “influenza,” and “food recall” to my alert list.

I snuck downstairs after my parents were in bed. Our organic cantaloupe was from California, but I threw it out anyway. I pitched the honeydew melon, too, just in case.

Portico, New Jersey, was still safe. Snuggled under my quilt, I tried to sleep wrapped in the comfort of that illusion.

C
HAPTER
2

We assumed the virus would start overseas, most likely in Asia, and that Americans would have time to prepare. We were wrong.

—Blue Flu interview, New Jersey public health officer

A
chill settled in the air on Friday, so I detoured to the lost-and-found table near the main office before leaving school. I needed to find my favorite black sweater, the long one with flowy sleeves. I wasn’t as good about details as I used to be and must have left it in one of my classrooms again. Teachers were quick to dump forgotten items onto the heap.

Principal Fryman’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “Happy Weekend! Our food drive begins Monday, so be generous with your donations. Please lend a helping hand and bring in nonperishable food. Remember, charity begins at home, or in this case, at Portico High.”

Another food drive. I shuddered, more from my memories than the cold. Initially, I had been honored when the most popular teacher, Mr. B, had recruited me to help organize the donations last semester.

It had seemed natural that he’d asked me, given my involvement in community service projects over the years. There was the coat drive, the pen pal program I’d started between local senior citizens and third graders, and the Penny Power collection “where small donations add up to big results.” I had believed that as a teacher, Mr. B wanted to motivate students to help others, to create some greater good. But like a trick-or-treater in an elaborate Halloween costume, he wasn’t what he seemed.

So my community service days had come to a halt. Sighing, I mentally slammed that door and focused on my sweater search. A pair of sneakers and a single Ugg boot threatened to teeter off the pile.
Wouldn’t you notice if you lost your shoes?
I sifted through other people’s forgotten stuff, wishing I wore rubber gloves. When someone put a hand on my shoulder, I jumped.

“It’s just me,” Ethan said. In the four months since our breakup, his bangs had grown longer, but the easy smile and puppy dog eyes were still the same.

“You startled me.”

“Sorry. Want me to sort through the pile with you?”

“That’s OK,” I said.

“You don’t want me to help?” he asked, and I knew we’d shifted from finding my sweater to something deeper.

“Well, dumping me didn’t help much.” My tone was sassy. Sometimes pissing someone off was the quickest method to push him away.

“It was mutual, Lil.”

“You said the words.”

“After you stopped acting like my girlfriend.”

“Whatever.” I stared Ethan down, daring him to continue the argument.

“You’re so different now.” He softened his voice. “Remember when you’d rush to find me, to sneak a kiss between classes?”

A memory flashed of the last afternoon I’d met Ethan at his locker. “Have I told you that you look great today?” he’d said.

I’d twirled for him in my floral skirt. “Not since lunch.”

A fast glance for teachers before he’d pulled me toward him. “We’re all set for next weekend, right?” he’d asked when we stopped for air, his arms lingering around my waist. “I planned the best day to celebrate our year together.”

“Yes,” I’d said, breathless and eager.

But we broke up before I ever found out what he’d arranged. Leaning on the lost-and-found table now, I shook my head as if I could dislodge the memories and toss them away. Our relationship seemed forever ago.

Ethan swiped his bangs to the side like he always did when he was nervous. It was one of his endearing quirks. “Will you ever tell me what was really going on when we ended it?”

I avoided his eyes. I thought this conversation was over months ago, that his big question—Why?—could be ignored permanently.

“What if I could guess?” he asked.

My insides tightened into the size of a matchbook. Mr. B had taken an extended leave for “personal reasons” after I told the police what happened. News of a cheating scandal in the math department occurred around the same time. Luckily, that overshadowed the gossip about his absence from school.

Ethan couldn’t possibly know the truth. Could he? Needing something to do with my hands, I folded a clean-looking sweatshirt and placed it carefully back on the table.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, grabbing a gray T-shirt to fold next.

He crossed his arms. “OK, I’ll wait for you to tell me. Because one day things were great, we were on the verge of our anniversary, and then you pulled away.”

“I’m sorry.” I thought about how good it would feel to be honest, to finally be free of the weight. But what would he do with the truth? Pity me? Judge me? Feed the rumor mill at school?

His friend Derek walked over, with Jay not far behind. “Yo, Eth, ready to go?” Derek asked. “We’ve been waiting.”

Jay looked with concern from me to Ethan, then back to me again.

“Yeah, I’m done here.” Ethan turned away. “Totally done.”

Fighting the urge to crawl into the discarded clothes and weep, I threw the T-shirt down and headed outside. Sometimes I missed him, the innocence of how he’d hold my hand, the late night talks, the daisies in my locker. I even missed the way he would text me too much. But there was no going back now. With a cigarette between my lips, I leaned against the big oak, sweaterless and shivering.