“Yeah, no problem.” Connor went back to the couch, leaving father and daughter in the kitchen.
“You’re acting weird,” Summer said, her head cocked.
Patrick waited a few seconds for Connor to be out of earshot. He spoke in a whisper. “I’m sorry for upsetting you on Wednesday. I just want you to be happy.”
Summer whispered back. “Connor’s my fiancé, Dad. I love him.”
“I’m sorry. If you love him, and he makes you happy, I’m happy.”
“He does.”
“Great.” Patrick took a breath and said, “I love you very much, Summer. You’re the most important person in the world to me. I want you to know that.”
She reached out and hugged her dad. “I love you too, Dad.”
They disengaged after an abnormally long hug, Patrick holding extra tight.
“Are you okay?” Summer asked.
“I’m great.”
Summer thought about telling Patrick about the baby, but she was still raw from telling Connor and not getting the reaction she’d hoped, thereby possibly confirming Patrick’s criticisms. The last thing she needed was more doubt.
“I should get going,” Patrick said.
Summer smiled at her dad. “Thank you for stopping by.”
Patrick kissed her on the cheek and left the apartment, saying goodbye to Connor on the way.
Summer readied her dinner, pouring herself some water and making a small salad to go with the pizza. That makes it healthy, right? A few minutes later, Summer joined Connor in the living room. He sat on the couch waiting for her, the movie on Pause, the opening credits on the screen. She set her plate and glass on the coffee table. A plain white envelope sat on the table.
“I restarted the movie,” Connor said.
Summer kissed him on the cheek and sat next to him. “That was sweet of you.” She gestured to the envelope. “What’s that?”
“Your dad gave it to me on his way out, told me it was for you. By the way, did you tell him?”
Summer grabbed the envelope and opened it. “It’s too early. Most people at least wait until the second trimester.” She read the handwritten letter.
Summer,
I’m going away for a while. I’ve done some things that I don’t regret, things that are good for humanity, but these things have gotten me in a bit of trouble with the government. If I stayed in the States, I could be in serious danger.
Please don’t try to find me. When it’s safe, I’ll find you. I don’t know when or where that’ll be. Don’t worry about me. I have a plan.
I love you so much. You’ll always be in my thoughts.
40
Naomi on CNN
The CNN tech helped Naomi with her earpiece. She sat behind her desk, a camera pointed at her. Vernon and Katherine stood off to the side, out of the shot.
Another tech said, “You’re on in five, four, three, two, one.” He pointed to Naomi.
The CNN anchor spoke into her ear. “I’m your host, Brooke Bixler, and this is CNN News Tonight. We have Democratic congresswoman Naomi Sutton with us, live from Capitol Hill. Welcome, Mrs. Sutton.”
“Thank you for having me, Brooke,” Naomi replied, her tone and expression solemn.
“Earlier today, 448 people died in a series of fires across the mid-Atlantic, mostly related to poorly maintained heating equipment. Who’s to blame for these tragedies, and how do we prevent them in the future?”
“This was a tragedy of epic proportions. My heart and prayers go out to each and every victim and their families. These Americans were failed by multiple egregious acts of incompetence, corruption, and greed. First, there’s a shortage of firefighters and equipment in poor areas of this country. In the case of Luray, Virginia, it took the firefighters nearly ninety minutes to arrive on scene. These firefighters fought valiantly, but they’re expected to cover too much area with only one truck, and, when multiple fires broke out this morning, they did the best they could, but they can’t be in three places at the same time. It’s a travesty that we still spend over one trillion Fed Coins a year on the military, even though the world’s been at peace for over a decade, but we can’t fund adequate firefighters to protect our citizens.”
Naomi stared into the camera as she spoke. “Second, most of the casualties came from Housing Trust–owned and Housing Trust–maintained low-income housing. This is a perfect example of corporate greed in action. Housing Trust is paid by the US government to construct and maintain these homes. They save money by neglecting the maintenance and providing the worst living conditions they can get away with. Then, when there’s a disaster or a series of lawsuits, they go to the Federal government for a bailout. They’re privatizing the profits and socializing the losses.”
“Do you think Housing Trust should be nationalized?” Brooke Bixler asked.
“Housing Trust is already a Government Sponsored Enterprise, but technically the federal government is forbidden from an outright nationalization. But we can buy the company with Fed Coins and assume control. Taking care of people isn’t meant to be a for-profit business. Comfortable and safe housing for Americans should be an inalienable right.”
“What would you say to those who believe we can’t afford to provide and to maintain suitable housing for everyone?”
Naomi frowned at the camera. “That’s nonsense. We have more than enough empty houses to house every homeless person in America. And, with a fraction of the military budget, we could assume control of Housing Trust and then repair and upgrade every building to a standard befitting the dignity of the American people.”
41
Derek Almost Eight Months Later
Since the fire, Derek’s farm had been foreclosed by the Bank of China. With the destruction of the Hillside Grove Apartments in Luray, he’d had to move elsewhere to take advantage of low-income housing, which, for him, was really no-income housing, if you didn’t count UBI. Low-income housing wasn’t free, just affordable, with most of the residents paying with their UBI. He had found an apartment in Washington, DC, to be closer to the police station investigating April’s disappearance. Even with the government subsidies, the apartment still consumed over half of Derek’s monthly UBI.
Derek flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Even at just after seven in the morning, the air was stale, humid, and suffocating. On the hottest days, the building’s air-conditioning often ceased to function or simply spewed warm air from the vents. Derek was equipped for this hardship. He’d spent most of his life working in the heat.
The apartment had one tiny bathroom with a shower stall. He ran his hand through his beard. He was swarthy and unkempt, his wavy hair touching his collar and his beard covering his face and neck. Men on the street occasionally spoke to him in Arabic, even though he didn’t speak a word. Derek padded to the kitchen.
Apart from the bathroom, the apartment was one room, roughly twenty-by-twenty. A single bed sat along the wall opposite the window. His clothes were kept in two old suitcases under the bed. A table for two sat near the kitchen, his old laptop on the tabletop.
He cooked eggs and toast for breakfast, with a banana and a large glass of questionable water from the tap. His UBI payment was barely enough to survive. If he wasn’t careful, he might not be able to eat toward the end of the month. He bought the healthiest but cheapest food he could afford. Sometimes he had to go for cheap calories at the expense of his health. He ate a lot of bread, peanut butter, eggs, milk, bananas, and whatever veggies and meat were on sale at the time. He was actually broke at this moment, but he’d gone shopping yesterday and was expecting his UBI payment to post today.