the first-floor lobby windows. Cars packed the lot and overflowed onto the grassy spaces between the buildings. A uniformed man was just coming out of the building. The guard from last night. Peter recognized the weary set of his shoulders. He slowed and rolled down his window.
“We’re full up,” the man said in response to Peter’s question. “We had to turn away a lot of kids. They just kept coming.” He shook his head, his gaze distant. “You plan for the worst. And then when the worst happens, you find out just how useless your planning was.”
Ten blocks away, a brick apartment building held down the corner, squat and square. The lobby doors stood open. The building manager was a stickler for keeping them locked. Peter stepped inside and listened. A television muttered in the apartment to his left. Bikes leaned against the wall. Normal. He shrugged and closed the door behind him. Taking the stairs to the second floor, he unlocked the far door on the right. Here, too, everything appeared the same. The narrow bed in the corner, its covers pulled taut. The battered table that served as both nightstand and kitchen table, holding a gooseneck lamp, coffeepot, and alarm clock. The folding chair in the opposite corner beside the small bookcase. The framed photographs of the girls, Maddie’s duck painting taped to the wall. He’d left the drapes half-open. Pale sun streamed across the worn carpet. He filled his suitcase and slung some things into a duffel bag. He unplugged the television and DVD player, and drew the curtains shut. He stood and stared around at the small space, his home for more than a year.
Out in the hallway, a man and a woman trooped up the stairs toward him. He recognized them as his next-door neighbors, both college students. Peter had learned to work late on weekend nights to avoid the inevitable parties and to close his ears to their early-morning lovemaking. They pressed themselves against the wall to let Peter and his bags squeeze past.
“Take care,” the woman said.
First time she’d ever spoken to him. It sounded so final. Peter nodded. “You too.”
She continued up the stairs, the man’s arm around her shoulders.
The streets had perked up during his brief absence. The coffee shop on the corner was doing a brisk business. People thronged the patio and overflowed onto the sidewalk, chatting as they waited for their morning brew. People swooped past on bikes. Others walked hand in hand down the sidewalks. Downtown was beginning to have a carnival air about it, everyone hanging out, enjoying the unexpected day off from school and work.
Peter shook his head and loaded his bags into the back of the pickup.
He drove by playgrounds that an hour before had been empty. Kids ran everywhere, calling out to one another. Their parents stood in idle clusters, rocking strollers and no doubt negotiating how to manage this day and all the suddenly school-free days to follow. Movie theaters would be swamped. So would the mall, fast-food restaurants, the library, and rec center, anyplace that welcomed kids. A mistake.
This wasn’t the time for celebration. These people shouldn’t be standing out here, laughing, gossiping. He considered stopping, rolling down his window, and telling them to go home. But of course he didn’t. They wouldn’t listen. They’d think he was a madman.
“LISTEN TO THIS.” SHAZIA SAT ON THE FLOOR IN THE CORNER of the den, laptop balanced on her knees, her hair loose about her shoulders. She was playing with her barrette, snapping and unsnapping it. “RNL is working on a vaccine.”
“Who isn’t?” Peter looked back to his computer screen and typed a few commands. He had to download his lectures for the week and then post the exam. It was all master’s-level work. At that point, students could be expected to follow the honor system.
“But it looks like they may have something. They’ve already moved on to Phase Two of clinical trials.”
Peter swiveled in
“We’re full up,” the man said in response to Peter’s question. “We had to turn away a lot of kids. They just kept coming.” He shook his head, his gaze distant. “You plan for the worst. And then when the worst happens, you find out just how useless your planning was.”
Ten blocks away, a brick apartment building held down the corner, squat and square. The lobby doors stood open. The building manager was a stickler for keeping them locked. Peter stepped inside and listened. A television muttered in the apartment to his left. Bikes leaned against the wall. Normal. He shrugged and closed the door behind him. Taking the stairs to the second floor, he unlocked the far door on the right. Here, too, everything appeared the same. The narrow bed in the corner, its covers pulled taut. The battered table that served as both nightstand and kitchen table, holding a gooseneck lamp, coffeepot, and alarm clock. The folding chair in the opposite corner beside the small bookcase. The framed photographs of the girls, Maddie’s duck painting taped to the wall. He’d left the drapes half-open. Pale sun streamed across the worn carpet. He filled his suitcase and slung some things into a duffel bag. He unplugged the television and DVD player, and drew the curtains shut. He stood and stared around at the small space, his home for more than a year.
Out in the hallway, a man and a woman trooped up the stairs toward him. He recognized them as his next-door neighbors, both college students. Peter had learned to work late on weekend nights to avoid the inevitable parties and to close his ears to their early-morning lovemaking. They pressed themselves against the wall to let Peter and his bags squeeze past.
“Take care,” the woman said.
First time she’d ever spoken to him. It sounded so final. Peter nodded. “You too.”
She continued up the stairs, the man’s arm around her shoulders.
The streets had perked up during his brief absence. The coffee shop on the corner was doing a brisk business. People thronged the patio and overflowed onto the sidewalk, chatting as they waited for their morning brew. People swooped past on bikes. Others walked hand in hand down the sidewalks. Downtown was beginning to have a carnival air about it, everyone hanging out, enjoying the unexpected day off from school and work.
Peter shook his head and loaded his bags into the back of the pickup.
He drove by playgrounds that an hour before had been empty. Kids ran everywhere, calling out to one another. Their parents stood in idle clusters, rocking strollers and no doubt negotiating how to manage this day and all the suddenly school-free days to follow. Movie theaters would be swamped. So would the mall, fast-food restaurants, the library, and rec center, anyplace that welcomed kids. A mistake.
This wasn’t the time for celebration. These people shouldn’t be standing out here, laughing, gossiping. He considered stopping, rolling down his window, and telling them to go home. But of course he didn’t. They wouldn’t listen. They’d think he was a madman.
“LISTEN TO THIS.” SHAZIA SAT ON THE FLOOR IN THE CORNER of the den, laptop balanced on her knees, her hair loose about her shoulders. She was playing with her barrette, snapping and unsnapping it. “RNL is working on a vaccine.”
“Who isn’t?” Peter looked back to his computer screen and typed a few commands. He had to download his lectures for the week and then post the exam. It was all master’s-level work. At that point, students could be expected to follow the honor system.
“But it looks like they may have something. They’ve already moved on to Phase Two of clinical trials.”
Peter swiveled in
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