The Way We Fall (7 page)

Leo,

When I started writing in this journal, I was doing it for me. But now I feel like I have to keep writing for you too. So there’s some record of what’s happening. You won’t be able to come back, not for a while, and when you do you’ll want to know everything. Maybe I’ll be able to show you this someday.

Hopefully.

After Mom came in from the backyard, I told her what Dad had said about closing off the island, and we called Drew down and turned on the TV. Our story made the six o’clock news. The camera zoomed in on the harbor—on soldiers wearing masks that looked like scuba gear who were marching across the docks. “Government sources haven’t confirmed the reason for this military operation,” the reporter said. “But it seems clear their presence is related to the recent medical emergency on the island.”

What Dad had told me didn’t feel real even then. The harbor they’d shown looked like ours, but it had to be somewhere else. Or footage from a movie someone had filmed here. It couldn’t actually be happening.

Dad got home just before midnight. He ushered us into the living room, and then he got right to the point. “Public Health has decided to quarantine the island,” he said, his voice flat. “At least until we’ve isolated the virus and developed a successful method of treatment.”

“What does that really mean—quarantine?” Drew asked. “We’re all confined to our houses?”

Dad shook his head. “It means no one except government medical and military personnel are allowed to come to or leave the island, for the time being,” he said. “The ferry’s docked until the quarantine is lifted, and the military will be patrolling the harbors to make sure no one tries to sneak off on a private boat.”

So we’re trapped here. The uneasiness in my gut solidified into a rubbery ball. Then I thought of Uncle Emmett and Meredith.

“What happened to setting up a containment area on the mainland so people who aren’t sick have a chance to leave?” I said.

“They’ve decided there’s too much risk involved in moving people around,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

All the schools will stay closed. If possible we’re supposed to continue working from our textbooks, but the year will resume where we left off—classes just might run a little into the summer holidays. All nonessential businesses are advised to stay closed. Mom agreed she’d forego her shifts at the café until the epidemic is over.

“They said they’ll make sure we have everything we need,” Dad said, while my head was spinning. “There’ll be a boatload of food and medical supplies every week.”

“They think the quarantine’s going to last longer than a week?” Mom said. Her hands were clasped together on top of the table.

“A lot of progress still needs to be made,” Dad said, which obviously meant yes.

That news took a moment to sink in. Thanksgiving’s in three weeks. I had my brilliant plan to talk to you when you came home then, Leo. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.

We could all die. If no one finds a cure, the government will just hold us here until the virus has infected every person on the island. Until we’re all screaming in the streets like Rachel’s dad, like Mrs. Campbell.

“How can they do that?” I said. “All because a few people died? What about the rest of us?”

Dad looked even more tired than he had a minute ago. “We lost twelve more patients in the last twenty-four hours,” he said, and paused before going on. “One of them was Rachel.”

For a moment I just sat there frozen. It didn’t make sense. Rachel’s dead? Rachel, who was perfectly healthy before any of this happened. I still can’t believe it, not really. It seems so impossible.

And all of a sudden I was furious. At the government for imposing the quarantine. At Dad for not having found a cure in time. At Mom for making us move back here. At everyone. I stood up and walked out of the room, because I knew if I stayed any longer, I’d either throw something or burst into tears.

I managed to get to my bedroom before I started crying.

How could Rachel be dead? A couple weeks ago she was laughing, dancing. And now that girl just doesn’t exist?

We should have left. I don’t care about Dad’s reasoning. We all should have followed Mackenzie’s family and gotten out of here when we could. Because now it’s too late.

I’m sorry I freaked out last night, Leo. I don’t really think we’re all going to die. Of course we can beat this. It’s not like new diseases have never sprung up before. There are three different sets of experts helping us—one of them has to find a cure. And I have to keep reminding myself the quarantine’s in place for a good reason: to make sure the virus doesn’t get to you in New York, or Gran and Grandpa in Ottawa, or anyone else outside the island.

When I woke up this morning, I was tempted to pull the covers over my head and just wait until it was safe to come out. But when I started writing here, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who hides away anymore, and I still don’t. Yeah, there’s a lot more to be scared of now. But if I’m doing something to make our situation better, maybe I won’t feel so hopeless.

So I got up in time to catch Dad before he left. “I want to help out at the hospital,” I said. “There’s got to be something useful I can do. I could run errands, or you could show me how to use some of the equipment in the lab.”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t want you anywhere near the hospital or the research center,” he said. “Those are the most dangerous places on the island right now.”

I’d sort of figured he’d say that. “What about outside the hospital, then?” I said. “Everyone there’s busy dealing with the virus, but someone should let the rest of the island know about the quarantine, right? Stick notices in people’s mailboxes or something? I could take care of that.”

“Kae…” he started, and then paused. “There is a plan in place to notify every household by phone, but I’m not sure we’ve even gotten started. I suppose you could take that on. Let me talk to the Public Health representatives—they have an official statement they want used.”

Which meant I had to wait until he came back this evening. So I found another way to keep busy. When I came down later to grab lunch, the first floor of the house was full of this buttery vanilla smell, so good I closed my eyes and just breathed for a few seconds. Mom was in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies.

“A little treat to cheer us up,” she said, but the worry lines around her eyes looked twice as deep as they did a few days ago.

Suddenly I wondered how the hospital workers are managing to get together meals for all those people who’ve been catching the virus. They must be just as overwhelmed as the doctors. There wouldn’t be much time for baking.

“Is there enough to make more?” I asked. “Maybe we could cheer up a bunch of patients too.”

We ended up baking six more batches. By the time Dad got home, we had the cookies packed into the tins left over from Christmas. I’d been worried he might have forgotten our conversation, but he handed me a bunch of papers as soon as he’d taken off his shoes.

“Here’s a copy of the master phone list we’re working from,” he said. “The people who have already been contacted are marked. And here’s the script you’re supposed to use. There’s an extra section for anyone who sounds as if they’re sick—we’d like you to ask them to stay home, and make a note so someone from the hospital can pick them up.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

“I can set up a database for you,” Drew offered. “To keep track of who you’ve reached, and so you can generate reports on the people showing symptoms.”

“And since you volunteered,” Dad said to me, pulling a small package from his coat pocket, “I’ve got another job if you want it. The virus appears to be attacking nerve cells, but the standard medications are barely slowing it down. Before the quarantine was announced, I’d started looking into experimental treatments, and I found a chemical used in some areas of Asia. The compound hasn’t been approved here, but I ordered seeds for the plant that produces it. Our priority has been isolating the contagion, so no one’s looked into growing them yet. What do you think?”

“I’ll give it a try,” I said.

“The family that moved here a few years back,” Mom said. “The Freedmans, isn’t it? I remember hearing they had a greenhouse built on their property. They must be interested in gardening. Maybe they’d have some tips.”

The suggestion sounded fine for the five seconds before I remembered Freedman is Tessa’s last name. But obviously Mom was right about her family—I just saw her shopping at the garden store, didn’t I? I figured even if Tessa didn’t think I was worth her time, her parents would help. So after dinner I looked up their number.

Tessa answered the phone. I recognized her level voice.

“I’m calling on behalf of Dr. Weber and the St. Andrew’s Hospital,” I said, feeling I should try to sound official. “May I speak with one of your parents?”

“Sorry,” Tessa said. “They’re not available right now.”

My heart stopped. I’d been so focused on the job, I hadn’t considered that they might not be okay.

“Are they sick?” I made myself ask.

“No,” she said firmly, and even though I’m not sure I’d recognize her parents if I saw them, I was so relieved I almost laughed. But then she said, “They still can’t talk right now. They’re busy. We’re already aware of the quarantine and the precautions to take. You really don’t need to call again.”

She sounded like she was about to hang up on me.

“Look, Tessa,” I said quickly. “It’s Kaelyn Weber, from school. I’m not calling to give you the standard message. I need to talk to your parents about something important.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s kind of complicated,” I said. “Can’t I just speak to one of them?”

She hesitated, and then she said, “You can’t. They didn’t make it home.”

“What?” I said.

“They were supposed to get in on Saturday,” she said. “But there was a thunderstorm, and their flight was delayed. By the time they made it down, the ferry had stopped running.”

“Oh,” I said. My mind slipped back to that moment the other day when I was alone in the house and felt like no one would ever come back. That yawning loneliness. Tessa’s been on her own for more than a week, and who knows how much longer the quarantine will last? That must be terrifying.

“So what’s this important issue?” Tessa said evenly. Obviously she’s not so easily terrified.

I explained what Dad had said about the plants, and Tessa asked a few questions. “You wouldn’t be able to throw something together very easily,” she said finally. “If you want to make sure the seeds germinate, I mean. Why don’t you bring them over here tomorrow, and I’ll take care of them in the greenhouse. I’ve had a good success rate with rare plants.”

I couldn’t see why not. I’ve never had much of a green thumb. Better to leave the seeds in the hands of someone who knows what she’s doing.

“Just…don’t mention to anyone about my parents, okay?” she said. “One of the neighbors found out, and she keeps coming over to check on me, even though I refuse to let her in. She sounds like she’s sick.”

I promised I wouldn’t. So I lied to Mom when I was convincing her that I needed to go over to Tessa’s place. “I talked to her and both her parents—no symptoms,” I said. That’s true in Tessa’s case, anyway. And I swore up and down that I’d take off right away if I saw the slightest sign that they were sick.

“All right,” Mom said. “I know you’re taking this seriously. I want you to drive the car over; you don’t know who might be on the streets.”

“Sure,” I said, and then, because it felt right, I hugged her. She looked a little surprised, but she squeezed me back.

Whatever else might go wrong, at least I’ve got her and Dad and Drew.

Well, that wasn’t what I expected.

I headed over to Tessa’s place right after breakfast. It seemed strange to be driving when she only lives a ten-minute walk away, but having those steel walls around me did make me feel safer, like I had this impenetrable shield against the virus. I don’t think Mom needed to worry, though. I only saw one person on the way—a man sitting on his porch, who grinned and waved as I drove by.

I was almost at her house when a helicopter whirred overhead. A news chopper, probably. Trying to get the scoop the only way they can with the quarantine in place. I imagined some reporter or cameraman up there, peering down at us, and all of a sudden I felt really small. Like an ant in some kid’s ant farm. My hands clenched the wheel and wouldn’t relax until the sound of the propeller had faded away.

Tessa opened the door as I came up her front walk, and hurried me in. She led me through the house to the backyard, talking about soil zones and sun ratios and other gardening terms that went right over my head. When we stepped outside, she stopped, and we both looked at the greenhouse.

I hadn’t realized it was going to be so big. They have a good-size yard, and the greenhouse fills up almost the whole thing except the little patio area right by the house.

But of course you already know that, Leo.

“Wow,” I said. Part of me was impressed, and part was wondering what the effect on the local bird population has been. It’s like one huge window.

“We had a smaller one when we first got here,” Tessa said. “But it was always getting cramped. This was my sixteenth birthday present.”

She was smiling like it was a Ferrari or a trip to Cancún. And I realized then that I’d gotten a hold of the right person after all. Tessa’s parents aren’t the gardeners—she is.

Inside the greenhouse, the air was heavy and humid, and the sun felt somehow brighter filtering through the glass. The heat and light combined with all the green smells made me kind of dizzy. But I liked it. It was this warm, peaceful space removed from the craziness happening outside.

“Have you been able to talk to your parents?” I asked as Tessa set up what she called a seedling tray.

“They phone every day,” she said. “They’re trying to get an exception made to come back.”

She sounded way more calm than I’d have been in the same position. I looked around and noticed a bench near the back of the greenhouse, by a bush with pink flowers. Suddenly I had an image of you and her sitting there, your arm around her, and the words just popped out: “How about Leo?”

“Oh, we e-mail back and forth a couple times a week,” she said. “He’s really busy, and I told him I’d rather get two good messages than short ones every day.”

I remembered how you and I were when I first moved away—sending photos and jokes and random things eleven-year-olds say. For a second, my voice caught in my throat. I swallowed and asked, “Have you told him what’s happening?”

“Of course not,” Tessa said. “He hasn’t asked about it—either the American news hasn’t picked up the story, or he hasn’t had time to watch—so why bring it up? There’s no way he can help. Leo wanted to get into that school more than anything else in the world. I don’t want to distract him.”

She had a point. But if your parents haven’t said anything to you either…And your mom wouldn’t, would she? She’d be afraid you’d insist on trying to come back and make sure they’re okay.

It feels wrong to me. To keep you in the dark, when people you care about are in danger. Shouldn’t it be your decision what you do?

No matter what Tessa or your parents think, I know you’d want to know. So just a few minutes ago, even though it made me feel ridiculously nervous and sneaky at the same time, I sent a short message to your old e-mail. It bounced back. I guess you switched to a new address sometime in the last couple years. I tried! Maybe I can come up with an excuse to ask Tessa for your current one—I’ll definitely be seeing her again.

After she planted the seeds, she ushered me into the house and got us both glasses of lemonade.

“I think it’ll take a couple weeks for the plants to start sprouting,” she said. “But you can come by and check on them whenever.”

“I’ll call first,” I said. “So you know I’m not sick.”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t come over if you were. You were the one trying to make sure
I
was okay the other day.”

She said it as a simple statement of fact, but my face heated up, remembering, and I looked away. That was when I noticed the board of keys on hooks by the fridge. Tessa must have followed my gaze.

“My dad does maintenance on a bunch of the summer houses,” she said. “Checking for leaks and other problems during the winter.”

Then her eyes lit up, and she said, “You know, I bet the owners have all sorts of medications in those places. They always talk about taking pills for their nerves or their blood pressure. If the hospital starts running out…I could get in, no problem.”

“The government’s going to be sending meds over from the mainland,” I said. “We should be okay.”

“Well, if anything goes wrong, think about it,” she said. “The summer people don’t need whatever they’ve left here.”

When I got home, I asked Mom if Dad had mentioned anything about the hospital’s inventory. Apparently the hospital got a good supply of medication before the quarantine started, and he said not to worry. If even Dad doesn’t believe the situation’s desperate, we must be all right.

But I’m going to keep Tessa’s idea in mind anyway. Maybe we’re okay for now, but who knows what’ll happen tomorrow?