Page 76 of A Better World

Smiling strangely, he got up from his desk.

They started walking. “Do you want Esperanza to clean for you?”

“No.”

She drifted off around midnight and woke to a gasping sound. She reached across the bed. Her hand came back empty. A light shone under the master bath’s door.

She crossed the room, listened. There was an analog skeleton keyhole in the event the house powered down. She peered through it, and there he was, sitting on the lip of the toilet, bent over and breathing into a brown paper bag. In-out, in-out, the thing expanded and contracted like a crinkling, artificial lung.

He’d done this once before, hidden in a bathroom and hyperventilated. At the time, he was assisting at a lab where they sacrificed rabbits. He claimed the work didn’t bother him. He could see the greater good and that was all the consolation he needed. Then she found him like this, red eyed in the middle of the night.

“Honey, you okay?” she now asked.

“Yeah!” he answered, hiding the bag fast. But still, it crinkled. “My stomach’s off. I ate something bad. Go back to bed.”

“No, come out,” she said.

He took another few minutes to open the door, and when that happened, he came right out, climbed back into bed, turned out the light, and pretended to fall asleep.

Trish Parker, Gal’s ex-wife. There was no corporation-wide directory that included Palo Alto. Through Zach Greene, Linda found thenumber for Palo Alto’s human resources department. After a week, an admin replied with Trish Parker’s contact information.

Linda called. Her message went like this:Hi! This is Linda Farmer. I’m a pediatrician in Plymouth Valley. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I’m wondering if I can volunteer to act as a resource for your children’s treatment. I know idiopathic leukemia is very rare and it’s hard to get consensus on best practices. I also have a patient I believe might have the disease. Anyway, thank you. Please call me back.

Trish didn’t respond. In the time leading up to the holidays, Linda left three additional messages.

Christmas came fast. Linda couldn’t get Hip or Josie involved, the former because he was busy with his girlfriend, the latter because she was blue. So, she went to the farm on her own and clipped a few branches from the evergreen trees, made a wreath, and set up some lights. Parson’s Market had mistletoe, which she hung from the parlor ceiling.

They celebrated in their pajamas, just the family. They drank pomegranate juice and ate croissants with cured krill, cream cheese, and capers. She put on holiday music. But the presents got opened too fast, and all were from stores on Main Street—warm socks and video game apps. The Fabric Collective had finished their formal attire for the big prefestival party at the Parson family mansion. Russell and Hip both tried their suits on, and she and Josie both teasingly hooted in admiration.

Then, it was over. Everyone took naps or went to their room. Feeling lonely, Linda knocked on Josie’s door. “Can I come in?”

Josie opened the door and moved back to where she’d been, lying in her bed with no books or screen.

“Tired?” Linda asked.

Josie blinked, which in its way was an answer.

Linda felt nervous. Didn’t know how to do this correctly. Decided that the point was doing it at all. “I thought you could talk to someone. A doctor. There’s one at the hospital who specializes in teens.”

Josie’s lips curled into an ugly sneer. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“No. There isn’t. You’re perfect. But I think something’s got hold of you. I think you need help wrestling it down.”

“It’s not me. It’s this town,” Josie said.

“I believe you,” Linda said. “But the town’s not hurting. You’re hurting.”

Josie flopped over onto her stomach, her face in her pillow.

“Can you tell me why you’re hurting? Didn’t you like any of your Christmas presents?”

Josie didn’t answer.

Linda set down the snow globe her dad had given her when she left home. It showed a bear plucking a honeycomb from a tall tree in what looked like the Catskills. “I have one more thing. I should have wrapped it.”

Josie sighed out. “I don’t want your junk, Mom.”

“My dad gave it to me when I was about your age. It’s home. Where I come from,” Linda said. “Like you come from Kings. You never forget your first home.”

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