“Sir,” Claudia said. “It’s time for your Madrid call.”
“All right,” Perez said. He hung up and looked back at the camera. “Mr. Dettling?”
“Yes, sir?”
“The next time we talk, you will tell me the mess is cleaned up.”
“Absolu—”
Perez hit the key that terminated the call.
21
After retracing their path back into the San Joaquin Valley, Martina and her friends headed north again on the I-5 until they reached Highway 58. Because of their experience with the man back on 166, they kept their speed down as they traveled through the mountains, and whenever they came to a blind turn, they slowed to almost a crawl. But there were no roadblocks this time. In fact, they saw very few cars at all.
By the time they reached the 101 freeway, the sun was nearing the horizon. Martina pushed her friends a little farther, but when they crossed into the Paso Robles city limits thirty minutes later, it was too dark to continue.
They found a motel just north of what appeared to be the local fairgrounds, and scrounged some food from a place called Margie’s Diner down the street before calling it a night.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Noreen asked, as they lay in their room waiting for sleep to take them.
“Who?” Martina said.
“Jilly and the others. I’ll bet the UN’s put them up in a nice place with hot meals and clean clothes and showers.”
“We’ve got a shower here,” Martina said. “And if you want clean clothes, we can stop at Target in the morning.”
“Not the same.”
Quiet for a moment.
“How many people do you think there are?” Riley asked. She and Martina were sharing a bed tonight.
“I don’t know,” Martina replied. “A hundred? Two hundred?”
“Maybe a thousand,” Riley said. “Can you imagine what it would be like to see a thousand people in one place right now? I’d love that.”
Silence again.
“Do you…do you think my dad and sister are there?” Riley asked.
“I hope so.” It wasn’t really an answer, but Martina didn’t want to tell her friend what she really thought.
This time the silence went on for several minutes, and Martina started to think she was the only one still awake.
Then Noreen whispered, “What’s going to happen?”
“We find Ben,” Martina said.
“No, I mean, you know, what’s going to happen? Next year. The year after that. The rest of our lives. What are we going to do?”
Martina was quiet for several moments before giving Noreen the only answer she could come up with.
“We live.”
When the resort had simply been a resort, the bar was where everyone gathered in the evenings. The nights had been filled with laughter and celebrations then — accounts and lawyers and managers in vacation mode, letting loose in ways they never did back home. Since those on the island had become isolated, there was little laughter and no celebrations, but attendance at the bar remained high.
Surprisingly, few abused the new open-bar policy, most choosing to have only a drink or two at most, and many none at all. It was simply the place where some people could pretend everything would be okay, while others could at least feel they weren’t alone. It was where many started their day, and most ended it.
Since the radio contact with the UN plane the day before, the mood of the residents gathered at the bar had turned hopeful. Soon the UN would bring them the vaccine, and everyone might be able to get off the island and look for loved ones who might have survived.
A favorite guessing game at the bar was: When would the UN arrive?
“I’d bet it won’t be more than a couple more days at most. They know we’re here. They can’t leave us unprotected for long.”
“The fact we are here is why they won’t be getting to us for a while. We’re contained. Safe. Why waste time on us while there are probably others in more danger?”
“We’re in plenty of danger. Plenty!”
“I don’t think it will be much more than a week. That’s what they said, right? A week? Hey, Robert, they said a week right?”
Robert had been nursing a cold glass of water at a table along the railing of the deck. The conversation had been going on over at the bar. He’d been trying to ignore it, but had known at some point they’d try to pull him in. It had happened with others several times already.
He looked over and said, “They told us it could be a few days, maybe more.”
“Could be,” one of the men in the group pointed out to his friends. “Could be a few weeks, too.”
Just like that, Robert was once more forgotten. He returned his gaze to the dark rolling sea. Of all the people at the bar, he was the only one who seemed to be still worried. Not about the UN and the vaccine, of course. He was happy about that. But until everyone was inoculated and started leaving the island, Robert was in charge of making sure they were all fed and safe. It was a responsibility that seemed to grow heavier every day.
“You should never drink alone.”
He looked up and found Estella standing next to his table.
“Don’t know if this qualifies as drinking,” he said, picking up his glass. “Water.”
“Drinking is drinking.” She pulled out the other chair, scooted it closer to his, and sat down.
Ever since their morning on the beach the day before, he’d begun to notice her around more. He wasn’t sure if she’d always been there, or if her presence around him was something new. He had to admit he didn’t mind.
“So when do you think they will come back?” she asked.
“They’ll get here when they get here,” he said.
“A smart answer.”
“Don’t know if it’s smart, but it certainly saves me a lot of grief.”
She cocked her head. “Grief?”
“Uh, keeps me from, let’s see, um, having people get mad at me for no reason.”
“Ah, okay. I understand.”
She raised her glass toward his. As they clinked, he noted she was either drinking a tumbler full of straight vodka or was also having water.
She took a sip, and put her glass down. “You are a busy man.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look busy?”
“You do.” She tapped her temple. “Inside, you thinking very much.”
“Well, hazard of the position, I guess.”
Again, her head cocked.
Before she could ask, he said, “Part of doing my job.”
A nod and a smile.
“What do you do back home?” he asked, wanting to move the spotlight away from him.
Her face clouded. “I do not do anything now, I think.”
“I mean before,” he said.
“I worked at a university. In the library.”
“You’re a librarian?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“You don’t strike me as the librarian type.”
“Strike you as the librarian type?”
“It means—”
“I know what it means. You do not strike me as the bartender type.”
“I’m not a bartender anymore.”
“And I’m not a librarian now, either.”
He smiled and looked back out at the sea.
A minute passed, or two or three — he wasn’t keeping track. When he heard Estella’s chair scrape against the ground, he looked over and watched her rise to her feet.
“Thanks for joining me,” he said. “It was nice.” He meant it. For a few moments as they’d talked, he’d been able to forget about everything else.