“Make sure…?”
“She wasn’t exposed… to… you know—radiation.”
Jen vividly recalled the birth, how the young teacher’s labor became intense, and they knew she would never make it to the hospital. Jen took direction from the nurse who seemed to know what she was doing.
“You got a pillow by any chance? It’s for under her hips.”
“I’ll check.”
Luckily, there was a small pillow in the trunk. Just as she was about to close it, she saw the edge of Kaylee’s orange beach towel in the far corner. How could she have missed that? Was it still contaminated? She dismissed the worry. It was her daughter saying hello from heaven.
Jen offered to support the teacher’s back as the nurse guided her to breathe, to push, and breathe again. It was a timeless labor, and when the teacher gave the final push, Jen was oblivious to the cars inching forward, horns honking. For that moment, there were a bunch of reasons to celebrate. The birth was truly a miracle. Secretly, Jen hoped that a piece of Kaylee’s soul had woven itself into the new child.
“They’re smart to check for radiation,” Diana said to her on the phone. “Listen Jen, I need your help. Would you be a dear and come into school for a bit and help me clean up?”
“You’re in school? It must be a mess! I suppose I could come over, but can I bring Ricky along? He’s still rattled. Actually we’re both a little clingy with each other.”
“I guess. He’d have to be careful, though. Bring work gloves.”
Diana had an ulterior motive to talk to Jen, and it had to be in person.
When she arrived, Jen took one look at where the large window had been.
“Oh my God! What happened?”
“A hysterical parent had the bright idea to create a new entryway. Doesn’t quite fit in with my sense of decor.”
Ricky found a seat in the front and pulled out his Game Boy. Diana motioned Jen to her desk.
“We’re organizing a bunch of meetings because the time is right to close the plant. Do you want to be involved? You could be a key person,” Diana said to her, treading carefully.
“Me? A key person?”
“Because of Kaylee.”
“What about Kaylee? They never proved anything—never connected her death to the plant….”
Diana looked at Jen. “You really want to talk about this? About Kaylee, children, or babies with weak immune systems, how sick they get when exposed to radiation?”
“There were other complications with Kaylee,” Jen said. “And Mrs. Aron’s baby will be fine.”
“I certainly hope you’re right. But, if strontium 90 or any other radioactive isotope was released in the air, it could wreak havoc with a baby’s undeveloped immune system.”
“We’ve already talked about this. Kaylee didn’t die of leukemia. Or bone cancer.”
“They never said what she really died of, did they, Jen? The fact of the matter is we don’t really know, do we?”
Jen was uncertain about putting her dead daughter out there as a poster child for the anti-nuke movement. Could she do it? Would it adversely affect Ricky? Then there were the kids still swimming at the river beach….
“What… what would I have to do?”
“You would have to talk about Kaylee. About her death.”
“How? Where?”
“Here’s how it will work. We will organize meetings, rallies, right now on the heels of yesterday’s terrible accident. The media will be all over us like white on rice, I’ll make sure of that. They might put you on the spot about Kaylee’s unsolved death. You’d have to be ready for their questions. Think you could do that?”
“I’m still not sure. What would I say?”
Diana smiled. “Use your own words, words from your heart. You and I will work on a sound bite or two, ones you feel comfortable about. I promise.”
Chapter 24
Stella didn’t realize how hard she was gripping the paper. She glared at the headline and felt her stomach churn. In her fantasy she was beating on Bob’s bedroom door, thrusting the paper in his face.
This was bad. Yesterday she and her neighbors were paralyzed in their homes. Every hour the emergency officials sent out prerecorded phone messages urging everyone to stay inside and keep their windows closed. And why? Because of the behemoth power plant spewing poisonous steam. The place where her son not only worked for a living, but promoted the industry as a modern-day necessity.
Bob’s bedroom door creaked open. He walked out fully dressed.
“Don’t even talk to me, Ma.”
“What. Don’t you even want to try out today’s sound bites on me about the accident?”
He walked past her and pulled a raincoat out of the front closet.
“I don’t have to talk to you about this. It’s been a long night, and I already know what you’re going to say.”
He reached the front door and flinched when he saw the newspaper’s screaming headline.
With a fleeting moment of remorse he said, “I know this shouldn’t have happened, but you know what? I’m not the power plant, Ma. I really wish you could respect me for the job I’m doing and not blame all this stuff on me.”
Unexpectedly she softened, but he hastily opened the door and was gone. Flushed and teary, she thought that maybe he was right. Maybe it was all hype and they’ll find out the release wasn’t so bad. Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on her son.
Bob got busy. A week after the accident he had built a campaign guaranteed to keep ALLPower in business. He stepped into the conference room and surveyed the long pristine table with pads and pens laid out for all twelve board members. At the head of the table was a marble ashtray for ALLPower’s CEO, Harry Halby, whom everyone called Hal. The ashtray was a resting place for the cigar that he would light up during a meeting, puff once for show, then let it die a long and smelly death.
Bob called his publicity agenda “ALLPower: Moving Forward and Securing Our Future.” He waited for everyone to get seated to talk them through it and show them the PowerPoint presentation. He had to sell them on the big ticket idea that was guaranteed to keep the company in a positive light, especially after the accident.
Bob’s boss Mike walked in looking haggard and sunk in.
“I’m sick of talking to reporters. They’re slimy, and they misrepresent themselves. First they’re your pals; the next thing you know you’re misquoted. The newspaper guys are the worst. And did you catch me on TV? I look like I’ve been exposed to a lethal dose. Ya think they’re using special affects to make me look green?”
“Not funny, Mike. Relax. Hal and the others will be here any minute.”
It would be a huge PR campaign with ads on the giant scoreboards at sports stadiums in New York City and New Jersey. Television and radio commercials would run on the hour; full-page ads would be placed in widely read newspapers and magazines circulated throughout the Northeast. Make people feel safe, secure. The real message: where would everyone be without the electricity made by ALLPower?
Bob was set to hire Dingham and Brown, the largest ad agency in New York City—if not the world. They were known for their work with the first Bush administration in selling the first Mideast war. From oil spills to nuclear accidents, Dingham and Brown specialized in tidying up a company’s image and burying the demons that threatened to lower the value of shareholder stock.
To land the ALLPower account, Dingham and Brown prepared a glitzy PowerPoint outlining an upbeat campaign, and when it finished, everyone nodded enthusiastically. Bob and Mike looked anxiously at Hal fingering his acrid stub.