I deserve it. Jessica has ghosted me. For more than a week, Jessica hasn’t responded to a text, answered a call, called me back, or answered an email. Yup. I know I did wrong. I know she’s angry. Even without hearing it straight from her.
A paper cup of soda left last night on the coffee table has been overturned. When I realize it, I’m suddenly fully awake, holding my breath as I check my computer. Last thing I remember, I left it on and open.
I’m in trouble. That sticky stuff is all over it. Brown goo has pooled between the A and the S and all around the return key. When I type, the A, or rather the aaaaaaaaaaa, taunts me for being a stupid boy. Never leave root beer and a keyboard near each other when there’s a cat in the house.
What do I do about Dan? He promised he wouldn’t mention Lori to anyone.
If I can’t trust him with one little, but very important, promise, how can I trust him with anything else?
I deserve it. Jessica has ghosted me. For more than a week, Jessica hasn’t responded to a text, answered a call, called me back, or answered an email. Yup. I know I did wrong. I know she’s angry. Even without hearing it straight from her.
When I started writing my pandemic romance back in March, I thought life would be back to normal by now. Stores and restaurants would be operating normally…we’d be gathering for concerts and festivals…we’d be well and the hospitals would be empty of all the covid-19 patients. I was wrong. Consequently, I plotted out my novel…
“How’s Lori holding up?”
“She’s fine. We has a visitor yesterday and I’m waiting for her to ask me about him.”
“Yeah?” Now I’m curious.
“Her dad came to see us.”
I did not see that coming.
May 5, 2020 2:00 p.m.Jessica: Private lives “Is everything all right, Rashima?” We’ve spent the past hour dividing the work on our Memorial Day story, reviewing our interview list. And it looks like it’s going to be a really good story. Really sad, too. We’re talking to veterans who have survived both war and covid-19.…
“Your daddy?” My heart shudders to a stop as I grab a kitchen chair for support. It can’t be.
“That’s what he said, Mommy.” Lori takes a bite of her sandwich, watching me like I’m about to perform a magic trick. I’d like to disappear but that isn’t possible.
I don’t even know how long I was sleeping on this couch. A glance at the clock tells me the truth. I lay down around supper time yesterday and it’s suppertime again. Poor dog, I look with extreme guilt at Rex. He hasn’t had a thing to eat all day.
As I listen for the sixth, or maybe it’s the seventh time, to bits of what I recorded, I hear exhaustion, a little fear or maybe it’s just concern for their own health, and I hear pride, too. These people, from the techs to the EMTs to the nurses and doctors, signed up to save lives.
That’s what they’re struggling to do now.
And I’m trying to figure out how to tell their story so my readers know there are lots and lots of heroes out there.
Mary K. Tilghman, writer 