A Beginning at the End Page 16

  “What’s that?”

  “Once a year, you’re allowed to tell a little white lie. The kind that doesn’t hurt anyone.” Krista congratulated herself for her ability to make up crap on the fly. “So, I’m going to use my one little white lie today so you can have fries. Okay?”

  “Okay. But fries will make me sick.”

  “No, they won’t. They’re great. The best fries in the world are...” Krista stopped herself before finishing with “better than sex.”

  “The best fries in the world will make you happy. They won’t make you sick.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise. Try it.”

  Sunny grabbed one of the smaller fries and took a tiny nibble. “I don’t feel sick.”

  “You see?”

  “I like this a lot,” she said, grabbing a second and a third.

  “I can’t believe Rob won’t let you have them.” A tiny part of Krista admired Rob’s apparent dedication to health, but it got quickly overshadowed by the horror of a world without fries.

  “He says they’re bad for you.”

  “All right, look. See, fries are like...well, look at this.” Krista pointed to her bacon patty melt. “If you had this every day, you would get sick. And you’d probably be all sweaty and gross and stuff. So you can’t have it every day. That is bad. Every now and then is okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s good for you. I usually have smoothies for lunch, but sometimes you need more.”

  “It makes you strong?”

  “In a way, yeah. I mean, it’s never good for you from a diet perspective, but it’s just so good that it’s like...it’s like, you know, okay to occasionally break the rules. It, um, keeps things balanced. And sometimes the rules aren’t the best thing. Like in history, did you learn about George Washington?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So he broke rules against England, but that was a good thing. And now we’re sitting here in this diner because of him.”

  “So...” Sunny’s eyes narrowed, and she paused in midbite. “Sometimes you should break the rules. But how do you know when?”

  Krista considered the question—not the literal interpretation, but the fact that her response would somehow nudge this little girl’s path. The weight of such responsibility bore down on her, making any words hesitate in their formation until she told herself to get over it; clearly she overthought such a trite request. “I think you just know.”

  Sunny resumed attacking her fries, losing the restrained pace she’d used with her chicken fingers. “So, Sunny,” Krista started. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, each word carefully selected. “You know how I’ve been hanging out with you a lot lately?”

  “Yeah. It’s fun.”

  “Right, so here’s the thing. I was helping your dad out.” Krista skipped the part about getting paid. “But his, um, work stuff is finishing up. So when that’s done, I’m not going to be around as much.”

  Sunny stopped in midbite, half-eaten fry in hand. “Are we still friends?”

  “Of course. Of course we are.” Krista spoke quickly and emphatically, so much so that it surprised herself. Her gut suddenly ached, and it had nothing to do with diner food. “I’m, um... I’m sure we’ll get to see each other sometime.”

  “Oh! My school project. Will you help with that?”

  “What school project?”

  “We get to talk about what we want to be when we grow up. And I wanna plan weddings. Like you.”

  A flood of excuses came into Krista’s mind, all the ways she could tell Sunny that she wasn’t getting involved. Time wasn’t a factor, not with the way business was going. And as for money, Rob’s daily payments worked as a little bit of a buffer. And there was still the matter of Moira and that mega reward.

  Sunny’s bright blue eyes remained wide with anticipation, the half-eaten fry still in her hand.

  “I, um, have to check my schedule. This is...unexpected.”

  “So...maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Cool!” The diner booth filled with the sound of her little hands clapping, her enthusiasm sprinkling into the air and even catching on Krista. Somehow, even the voice that told her to not get involved managed to quiet itself. It let a smile slip through, at least until Krista remembered the audit.

  As Sunny cleared off the remaining bits of fries the waitress returned with the check.

  “Oh,” Krista said, “I have it right here.” She handed a ten and a five over to the waitress. Somehow, dipping into her stash of Rob Donelly payments for this didn’t feel steps away from financial doom. “We don’t need any change.”

  “Daddy says cash is bad,” Sunny said, brow narrowed in disapproval.

  Jesus, what else did Rob say was bad? French fries were bad, paying cash was bad, was Mick bad too because he stunk up the litter box? “Why does he say that?”

  “He says bad people steal cash, so you shouldn’t use it unless you want bad people to take it from you.”

  “Ironic. I use cash so bad people can’t find me.”

  Sunny responded with a twisted look.

  “What I mean is that credit cards leave records that can track back to you...” Krista stopped before going into any detail about her family history. “What I really mean is that, um, cash is good.”

  “But what about the bad people?”

  Krista mulled an answer—she’d never been mugged, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. “Well, you just have to know how to protect yourself.” She shuffled out of the booth and motioned Sunny to follow suit. As Sunny gathered her things, Krista stood back and took in the scene: here she was, giving advice—no, being a mentor—to a young girl, and it all seemed so easy. Broaden her horizons? Check. Give her real-world advice? Check. Listen to her? Check. For someone fairly new to this whole kid thing, Krista gave herself an A or even an A-plus; who knew it’d come so easily?

  Sunny grabbed Krista’s hand as they ambled toward the exit, but stopped a few feet before the door. “What’s that?” She pointed at a vintage photo booth.

  “Oh that?” Krista said. “You sit—” As she turned, she realized that everyone remaining in the diner stared at their phones. This happened all the time before the End of the World, but with the slow-loading Metronet, such a sight was an artifact from another age, much like the photo booth that caught Sunny’s attention. “You sit inside it and it takes pictures of you.” Murmurs rippled through the diner’s space, prompting Krista to reach for her own phone.

  “Can we do it?” Sunny squeezed Krista’s free hand, pushing three of her four fingers so hard the knuckles pressed against each other.

  The news could wait. She wanted to give Sunny a good time. If a photo booth stemmed the tide of whatever lay ahead, who was she to judge? “Sure.” They settled in, the machine eating up a quarter and spitting back a nickel and a dime before its screen came to life, showing Sunny’s beaming face and Krista’s amused smirk. It counted down: three, two, one, then took four photos in rapid fire. Within seconds, the machine whirred and several photos dropped out in the tiny slot below.

  Sunny grabbed them, their developing colors still coming in. “I love it!” she said, waving it in front of Krista. Krista took one and studied it: Sunny’s bright eyes and wide smile sat next to Krista’s expression, which didn’t come out nearly as bemused as she’d expected.

  In fact, it was kind of nice.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rob

  Dorms.

  The idea repeated over and over in Rob’s mind. If he failed, Sunny would be shipped into Family Stability Board dorms. The thumping in his chest may as well have been a jackhammer. A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead, and his fidgeting fingers kept finding anything to do while he sat.

  Something covered them, a steady warmth that sent a calming sensation up and down his
body. Moira’s hand squeezed on top of his, and she stole his attention despite him staring at the clock above the door. “It’ll be fine,” she whispered.

  “Thanks,” he said, the word more instinctive than considered.

  In the background, the news shifted from some sort of incident in Detroit to an exposé on how Japan and China reflected polar opposite states in the post-MGS world. Rob heard the broadcast, he comprehended the sentences, but none of it felt like listening.

  “You know what,” Moira said, her voice stronger. “I only said that because that’s what you’re supposed to say. Or what people think you’re supposed to say. But we’re past those kind of fronts, you and me. I don’t know if it’ll be fine. I hope it will. All I can say is that knowing you as I do, I believe it will be fine. I hope that helps a little.”

  Rob’s eyes broke from the clock as he turned to her. He took in a breath, nerves barely able to take the air in, though he settled enough to get a genuine thought out. “It does.”

  “We’ll get—”

  The door opened and a man’s voice called out. “Rob Donelly?”

  “Here we go,” he said, and as they rose together, Moira’s hand lingered on his enough for one more squeeze to echo through his body.

  “I’m Bernard Langston, Family Stability Board advisor. And the first thing I tell people is to not worry. Our goal is to strengthen families, not tear them apart.”

  Rob nodded as he scanned the office. So much of the economy was driven by restoration work, and even though they were only a few years removed from quarantine, government offices must have been remodeled at least twice by now. How else could they explain an office as pristine and modern, all interactive screens and furniture at sharp angles?

  “I’m sure you’ve heard stories over the past year. Greenwood, the Fourth Path, all of that. I wish the media would stop talking about that, it makes it worse. Even parents taking their children to Reclaimed Territory against their children’s wishes. We believe the pillar of society is the bond of family. Newlywed credits, the expedited adoption program, support for LGBT couples wanting to adopt orphaned children, the highway and transportation projects. These encourage people to come into the Metros, to stay in the Metros, to keep the infrastructure of society together. So don’t worry. In fact, we’re often told that parents feel better about things after a social normalcy audit.”

  How long did it take for these advisors to come up with that spin?

  “Now, your daughter—Sunny. She had an incident two weeks ago. And it looks like she’s been having some behavioral issues as reported by her school. Of course, there are many reasons why children—and parents—have problems in this landscape. We’re here just to make sure none of them become extreme. Shall we begin?”

  Over the next twenty minutes, Bernard grilled Rob on family history, quarantine life, Sunny’s upbringing, and Elena. Receipts and forms followed, along with Krista’s written testimonial, then explanations of his various attempts at social normalcy. Those topics seemed obvious, and Rob retorted practiced answer after practiced answer, even remembering when to take emotional breaks between statements.

  It wasn’t that easy. Speaking to a mirror was one thing, but saying them to another person, with Moira next to him, that turned the volume on emotions up.

  “Mr. Donelly, you seem like a straightforward person,” he finally said after scribbling in a notepad.

  “I like to think so.”

  “Do you have any theories about why your daughter has been acting out?”

  The hallway TV was loud enough that its broadcast bled through the walls and wooden door of the office. Rob’s lips pursed as he considered the question—not so much the answer, he knew that, but how much of it he should actually say.

  He could hide the fact that Sunny thought Elena was alive. Or come up with a twisted version that tried to plausibly tie it all together.

  Or he could tell the truth. That he made the wrong choice.

  Once the idea appeared, a wave of relaxation hit him, nearly causing him to sink back into his chair, a full-body exhale that broke his inner-pressure release valve.

  The truth. Hadn’t that been the focus of all his conversations with Moira?

  The words came out before he could consider the consequences.

  “Sunny thinks Elena is alive.”

  Bernard continued writing, as if he’d heard such a thing before. Beside him, Moira gasped, then sat straight up.

  “I like to think—used to think—that I’m protecting her, but a lie is a lie.” His hands clasped in front of him, an unintentional prayer pose. “And the stupid thing is I know it’s wrong. I’ve tried to talk with Sun about it a few times, but it’s, well, not exactly something that just comes up in conversation.”

  A tremor ran through his voice, and he blinked quickly over wet eyes, fighting back against what desperately wanted to come out. “That’s it. Sunny thinks Elena is still alive. Sick, in treatment away from us, but still alive. And the constant battle that comes from that lie, I think that’s why she’s been acting out.” He cringed, though in his peripheral vision, he could see Moira’s posture soften.

  That subtle gesture was almost enough to tell him that he’d done the right thing.

  Bernard clicked the pen’s top button twice before putting it down. He took off his glasses and looked at Rob without giving anything away. “Why did you do it?”

  “Sunny was so young when it happened. Elena died in quarantine when she was almost two. Not from MGS. A riot happened in our sector when they were handing out weekly rations. It was a year or so in and supplies ran tight, they prioritized people with children. We’d get all sorts of offers to trade our supplies but we tried to keep to ourselves. That night, a riot broke out. She got knocked over and kicked in the head. Over and over. No one knows if it was intentional or not, it just happened. Mob mentality. It happened all over the world, usually when rations were low. I actually saw a documentary on it last year, people pieced it together from cell phone photos and videos. And Sunny, she doesn’t really remember it now, but she screamed and screamed. I wouldn’t let her see Elena on life support. Not with the swelling and her skull knocked in. How do you explain that to a child?”

  His hands pushed against his temples, rubbing back and forth. Moira’s chair squeaked next to him as she shifted.

  “I don’t think there’s a right answer to that question,” Bernard said.

  “I had to do something when they removed her from life support.” The words came out low and dry, drained of energy or feeling. “I had to say something. Didn’t plan on it. It just came out, and Sunny believed it.”

  “You wanted to protect her from the pain instead of sending her into it,” Moira said, her first interjection of the meeting.

  “I don’t know how much kids retain at that age, but that’s the story I put out and I stuck with it. She’s so sensitive. I’m not sure how I’m going to break it to her. But I need to. Sooner rather than later.”

  Bernard repeated his line of “mmm-hmmm,” and Rob studied his every move while he finished his notes. Was his neutral face from desensitization, hearing too many of these stories? Or was apathy a necessary protection against family stories? “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Moira, “your name was...”

  “Moira Gorman,” she said, then spelling out her last name while Bernard wrote on his pad.

  “We typically want testimonials in writing but I’m happy to listen to you now, if you’d like to speak.”

  “I would.”

  “Please tell me how long you’ve known Mr. Donelly and your assessment of his situation.”

  “Well, I work with Rob at PodStar Technologies. A year now, I think? We...” She blinked a few times in thought. “We go to the same lunchtime support group. We walk there together every day. We talk on the way.” Moira looked over at Rob. “We talk. We ta
lk about this world. Sometimes about nothing at all. But I can say this: we’re honest with each other. Which is rare these days. And I think that says a lot about someone. He’ll do the right thing. He made a mistake, but really, who doesn’t have a decision haunting them these days? Rob loves his daughter and he’ll do right by her. That’s really all you need to know.”

  The muffled scratch of pen and paper ran at a furious pace until Bernard looked back up. “I’m afraid we’re out of time. But thank you both for your input. Mr. Donelly, you can expect a response soon.”

  “What does ‘soon’ mean? I mean, in a week you could just show up on my doorstep and take her away?”

  The pen landed on the desk with a click and he tented his fingers. “It’s not that simple. There are many steps here. Next week’s response is our assessment of the social normalcy audit to determine if there is any imminent emotional or physical risk to the child. Then there’s an appeal process.” He looked at Rob and Moira, back and forth. “Things like the Greenwood incident sometimes come out of nowhere.”

  The pounding heartbeat returned, Rob’s nerves tangling his feet in the chair beneath him as he tried to get up. He turned to leave when Moira caught him midstep.

  “I just need to say something. Not about Rob, but what you’re doing.” Her voice turned from polite to harsh. “I get it. I understand what you’re trying to protect against. But you have to understand, there is nothing worse you can do than rip a child out of her home at Sunny’s age. Nothing. Things may not be perfect, Rob may have some things to set straight, but rehoming will never replace that. I should know.”

  Moira’s words drew Rob’s focus to her.

  “My dad sent me away to an academy when I was eight. I learned to be the best at everything. I excelled, I practiced, I did everything that was the opposite of normal. And I hated every minute of it. I wanted to be home with my family. And instead, I was pushed into something else. Don’t ever take that away. If you think there’s a danger, be absolutely sure that there is a danger. You don’t get to undo this. And there is no danger with Rob and Sunny.”