David stood. He was halfway across the living room when Kathy appeared in the entranceway, the portable phone still to her ear. The look on her face was enough to cause David to freeze in midstep. He knew right then and there that the little girl from Ellie’s school was dead.
“Okay,” Kathy said into the phone. Her voice wavered, unsteady. “Yes, hon. You, too. Please. Okay. Okay. Thank you, Carly. Good night.” She lowered the phone and stared at him, her eyes impossibly wide. David had never seen her look more fearful, more terrified in her life.
“It’s not good,” he said.
“That was Carly Monroe. She just got a call and wanted to pass along the info. Jesus, David, she died,” Kathy said. “The poor kid died.”
“God.” David went to her, hugged her. She shuddered against him. “Did Carly say what caused it? Was the girl sick?”
“No one knows anything yet,” Kathy said, not sobbing now, but just resting against his chest. David smelled her hair, fresh with lavender shampoo, and savored the warmth of her face against the crook of his collarbone. “Mostly rumors. But she’s dead, David. That poor kid. And Eleanor . . .”
“Ellie’s fine. Let’s not overreact. It’s a horrible thing that’s happened, but let’s not lose sight of the fact that our daughter is absolutely fine.”
She pulled away from him, stared up at him. There was a hint of conspiracy behind her eyes now. “What if she’s not?”
“Hon—”
“What if it’s contagious?”
“No one knows what it is,” he told her.
“Which means,” she said, “that no one knows whether it’s contagious or not.”
“We’ll take Ellie to see the pediatrician, if it’ll ease your mind.”
“I don’t know if it will. I don’t know if anyone even knows what to look for. Don’t you watch the news? This is happening all over.”
“I think we just need to stay calm.”
“I’m scared to death, David.”
He nodded, then told her things would be all right. But in his head, all he could hear was Burt’s final comment from that afternoon in the teachers’ lounge, clanging now like a death knell: “It’s some epidemic, some new disease, David. That’s my take, anyway. And the reason no one’s got answers is because it’s like the first appearance of the Black Plague—no one’s ever seen it before.”
14
He pulled off the road and bumped along the uneven shoulder until he spun the wheel and cut across a swath of grass. A large billboard advertising new homes stood in the weeds and faced the highway; some joker had spray-painted END-OF-TIMES PLAGUE SALE—ALL HOUSES ARE FREE! across the billboard in bloody red letters. David pulled the Olds directly behind the billboard, hoping that he’d angled it in a way that would make it invisible to any passing traffic, and shut it down.
In the passenger seat, Ellie continued to sob. He stared at her profile for a while, watching the tears stream down her cheeks, unsure what he could possibly do to comfort her. Her face was a mottled red. He reached over and removed the ball cap from her head. With her freshly cut hair, she still looked like someone else beneath the hat, and David couldn’t help but marvel at how much someone’s haircut defined their entire look.
When he reached out to caress her face, she slapped his hand away. Her eyes blazed on him.
“What’d you do?” she shrieked at him. “What’d you do? What’d you do?”
“Baby,” he said, and reached out for her again.
This time she grabbed his wrist. Her eyes flared . . . and David felt a sudden tingling sensation radiate up his arm and flood through his body. A moment later, something like a surge of electricity rocketed through his body, so powerful he jerked in his seat and yanked his wrist from his daughter’s grasp.
“You’re a liar!” She gritted her teeth and threw her head back against the headrest. A solitary sob ratcheted up her throat before she turned and stared at him again, her face blotchy and red but radiant, her eyes both angry and imploring. “Is she dead? Is it true?”
“Ellie . . .”
“Tell me!” She slammed one small, pink hand against the console.
“Yes,” he said. “Mom’s dead.”
A high-pitched keening sounded from her. But then she quickly regained control of herself. “On the news . . . they said . . .” She fought back another sob. “What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything, baby.”
“It was on the news! The news wouldn’t lie! You’re the liar! What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything to her. I would never hurt your mother in a million years, Ellie. It was the doctors. They said she would be okay, and that they would take care of her, but they were wrong—Ellie, they were the liars—and now she’s gone. They killed her.” And now he was crying freely, too. His grief was suddenly so great he was unable to keep it together, even for the sake of his daughter.