The Dead And The Gone (12 page)

Father Franco had made a point of stopping Alex after church to tell him he’d heard from Sister Grace that Briana was making a successful adjustment to her new life.

Alex wasn’t certain whether he’d tell Julie. She hadn’t mentioned Bri since that first afternoon, except to complain that her toothbrush was missing. Alex found an unused one in the medicine cabinet, and that seemed to satisfy her. He knew Julie missed Bri as much as he did, but whatever pain Julie was feeling she kept to herself, for which Alex was very grateful. He had no words to comfort her, not having any to comfort himself.

The electricity was out when he got home. They hadn’t had any on Saturday, either, and the apartment, which never got much natural light, was dark and unwelcoming. Alex picked up a flashlight and his chemistry textbook. Finals were coming and this was as good a time to study as any.

He was startled by a tapping on the window. Looking up, he saw Uncle Jimmy. The last time Jimmy had done that, there had been food. Maybe Jimmy had gotten a delivery and was offering to share some with his sister’s children. Alex rushed to open the door.

Jimmy entered the apartment and sat down on the sofa. “You kids are taking good care of the place,” he said. “Your parents would be pleased.”

“Thanks,” Alex said.

“I feel kind of funny about this, but Lorraine seems to think it’s a good idea,” Jimmy began. “The thing is, we’re moving out. There’s a little bit of food coming in, but I can’t afford what they’re charging and even if I could, my customers sure can’t, so there’s no point pretending I can make a go of the bodega. And Lorraine’s convinced New York is going to sink. You know how she is.”

Alex nodded.

“She may be right,” Uncle Jimmy said. “Things are going from bad to worse; a fool can see that. I have my kids to take care of. Anyway, we’re getting out while we can. Lorraine has cousins in Tulsa,
si Dios quiere,
we’ll be able to get gas on the way.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” Alex said. “You and Aunt Lorraine saved our lives with the food you gave us. I hope you get there without too many problems.”

“Me too,” Uncle Jimmy said. “But the reason I came over —well, of course we wouldn’t have just vanished on you—but Lorraine and I talked about it, and we’d like to take Briana with us. Ordinarily we’d offer to take all of you, or at least the girls, but it’s hard to know just what’s going to happen with food and everything. Lorraine’s pregnant again.”

“I didn’t know,” Alex said. “Congratulations.”

Jimmy scowled. “Not great timing,” he said. “Four little ones under the age of six with all this going on. Bri would be a big help, and if things are okay in Tulsa, we’d be providing her with a good home. Is it a deal?”

“No,” Alex said. “I mean it’s very nice of you, Uncle Jimmy, but Bri isn’t here anymore.”

“No?” Jimmy said. “Where is she?”

“I should have told you,” Alex said. “Our priest heard there was a convent upstate that was taking in teenage girls. Bri left Thursday.”

Uncle Jimmy nodded thoughtfully. “That would make Isabella very happy,” he said. “Well, Lorraine might not like it, but we could take Julie, I guess. She’d be better than nothing. And I liked how she worked at the bodega that morning. Yeah, I think I could convince Lorraine to take Julie instead. How about it?”

“Do I have to let you know right now?” Alex asked, feeling a strong need to make lists of arguments in favor and against.

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “It’s gonna be hard enough, me convincing Lorraine Julie’ll work as hard as Bri, without me going home saying ‘Alex don’t know.’ We’re leaving first thing tomorrow. Where is Julie, anyway?”

“At a friend’s,” Alex said. He pictured what things would be like without Julie around, without the constant tension.

Then he thought about how it would feel to have nobody, to have his entire family gone. Maybe Jimmy would end up in Tulsa, but maybe not. Phone service came and went. The mail couldn’t be counted on. Julie could vanish, the same as Carlos, the same as Papi and Mami.

And he’d vowed to Bri that he and Julie would stay home. What kind of vow was it if he broke it four days later?

“I don’t think so,” Alex said. “I’m really sorry, Uncle Jimmy, but I think Julie’ll be better off here with me.”

“I know Lorraine and Julie don’t get along too good, but that’ll change,” Uncle Jimmy said. “You won’t be able to stay here much longer. When it’s time for you to go, it’s going to be easier if you don’t have Julie to worry about. You did the right thing sending Bri away. Now do the same for Julie.”

Alex knew Uncle Jimmy was right. Sure, he and Lorraine would work Julie hard, but as long as they had food and a home, Julie would, too. And things might be better in Tulsa. He couldn’t even be sure schools would be open in New York in the fall, assuming they could get enough food to make it until then.

But Julie would be miserable and Alex just couldn’t do it to her. Not to her, not to Bri, not to himself. Besides, what if Papi or Mami came home, and he had no way of finding Julie?

“Thanks,” he said. “But we’ll manage. If it gets too bad, we’ll find someplace to go.”

Uncle Jimmy got up and hugged Alex hard. “You’re a good boy,” he said. “Isabella was always so proud of you, how-good you do in school. You’re not so tough, but you’re strong. We’ll be staying with Miguel Flores on East Eightieth Street. Maybe someday you’ll make it there, all of you.”

“My prayers are with you,” Alex said as he saw his uncle out. What was he doing, he asked himself, sending Bri into the arms of strangers and preventing Julie from going off with family?

Oh Mami, he cried silently. Papi. Come back. I’m more lost now than you are.

Tuesday, June 14

“Before we celebrate Mass, I have been instructed by the archdiocese to take a survey,” Father Mulrooney thundered. Alex remained impressed with how much sound could come out of such a thin body. “I want a show of hands. How many of you have been informed by your parents that you will be leaving New York City for good at the end of the school year?”

About a third of the boys raised their hands.

“Very well,” Father Mulrooney said. “How many have been told your families will be leaving New York City by September?”

Maybe another third raised their hands.

“Just to make sure that you’re listening,” Father Mulrooney said. “Raise your hands if you’ve been told you will not be returning to St. Vincent de Paul Academy next September. Seniors, raise your hands as well.”

So many hands went up, Alex began to fear he was the only student who intended to stay in the city.

“Now let me see a show of hands of those who have not been informed that they’re leaving New York,” Father Mulrooney instructed.

Alex reluctantly raised his hand. He was relieved to see at least some other hands go up. Some of them, he thought, probably would be gone also, but just didn’t know it. And under ordinary circumstances there would be a class of seventh graders to replace the seniors. So he doubted the accuracy of the numbers.

Were any of his friends among those planning to stay? Hands went down too fast for him to be sure. But then again, did he really have any friends? Or were they all like Danny O’Brien, friendly on the outside but cold where it counted?

At least with Chris I knew where I stood, Alex thought.

After Mass Kevin Daley sauntered up to him. “Hey, Morales,” he said. “I see you’re planning to stick around for a while.”

“That’s the plan,” Alex said as though he had plans.

“I’ll be here,” Kevin said.

“Great,” Alex said. At least he’d have one runty, cynical weasel to hang out with.

Wednesday, June 15

It had been four weeks since the asteroid had knocked the moon just a little closer to earth, four weeks of untold devastation and death. Four weeks since Alex had last heard from his parents and one day short of that since he’d last spoken to his brother.

He and Julie went to the evening Mass for the dead at St. Margaret’s. Two Masses in one day, he thought. Mami would be sure I had a vocation.

The church was full to overflowing. If other people there took comfort from the service, Alex couldn’t tell. Julie, he noticed, looked a little bored. And he felt nothing. It was easier that way.

Saturday, June 18

“I tried calling Uncle Jimmy,” Julie told Alex over what passed for lunch, half a can each of kidney beans, “to see if he had any food he could give us. But no one answered.”

“He’s gone,” Alex replied. “He and Lorraine took the kids. They’re hoping to get to Tulsa. They left a few days ago.”

“Oh,” Julie said.

“We’ll be fine,” Alex said, a shot of guilt piercing his heart. What had he condemned Julie to?

Julie pushed away her plate, even though there was still a forkful of food left on it. “No one says good-bye to me,” she said. “Bri spoke to Papi and you spoke to Carlos and Bri and Uncle Jimmy, but I didn’t get to speak to any of them.”

“You still hold that against me?” Alex asked. “That I didn’t wake you when Carlos called?” He longed to eat Julie’s remaining kidney beans. It would teach her a lesson if he did.

“At school they asked how many of us are coming back next year,” Julie said instead. “Most of the girls are leaving.”

“Same at Vincent de Paul,” Alex said. “But we’re staying. You and I aren’t going anywhere. Now
⁷
finish your lunch.”

“Some lunch,” Julie grumbled, but she did as she was told.

What if we die? Alex asked himself. What if we starve to death, and something happens and Papi and Mami and Carlos and Bri all come back, only to find our dead bodies? Maybe it was the sheer awfulness of the thought, or maybe it was hunger, but Alex found himself laughing for the first time in weeks.

Sunday, June 19

Alex was sitting on the living room sofa, taking advantage of unexpected electricity on a Sunday afternoon to illuminate his Latin textbook. Finals began on Monday, and with Father Mulrooney teaching Latin, Alex was determined to ace the exam.

“Electricity really does make things easier,” he muttered to himself, but that was just the kind of statement that aroused Father Mulrooney’s scorn. Of course Father Mulrooney was so old, electricity probably hadn’t been invented when he first learned Latin. Most likely it was Julius Caesar who taught him his declensions.

Alex was picturing Father Mulrooney in a toga when he heard footsteps coming toward their apartment. For a second his heart stopped.

Julie raced from her bedroom. “Who could it be?” she cried.

Alex gestured for her to be quiet and go back to her room. Julie pouted for a moment then did as he told her.

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Alex called.

“Greg Dunlap,” a man replied. “Apartment twelve B.”

Oh God, Alex thought. They had a plumbing problem. He opened the door. “Mr. Dunlap,” he said, “I’m sorry my father hasn’t gotten around to making that repair. It’s just . . .”

“He never came back,” Mr. Dunlap said. “That’s been my guess. Am I right?”

Alex couldn’t come up with a reasonable lie, so he simply nodded.

“We’ve heard a lot of stories like that,” Mr. Dunlap said. “May I come in?”

“I’m sorry,” Alex said. “Please. We haven’t been getting a lot of visitors lately.”

“Are you all right?” Mr. Dunlap asked. “I should have checked up on you, since I knew Luis was in Puerto Rico, but things kept getting in the way. That’s how it is with good intentions. How is your family holding up? Have you heard from Carlos?”

Alex nodded. “He’s fine.”

“Good,” Mr. Dunlap said. “And your mother? Is she around? I’d like to speak to her.”

“She’s out right now,” Alex said. That wasn’t a lie exactly, and it was a lot easier than the truth.

“All right, then, I’ll discuss this with you,” Mr. Dunlap said. “Bob and I are leaving the city tomorrow for Vermont. We have friends there. The only thing that kept us here for this long is that we’ve been taking care of the cat in sixteen D. friends of ours live there and they were vacationing in Maui when it happened. They were due back that weekend, and we haven’t heard anything from them, so we just kept taking care of the cat. But this is ridiculous. We’re not going to die just so we can keep taking care of a cat for people who are . . . Well, they won’t be coming back. We gave them a month. We’ll take the cat with us.”

“So you won’t need the plumbing repair,” Alex said.

“Plumbing’s been the least of our problems,” Mr. Dunlap said. “You know
⁷
, I came home with that pizza and Bob was hysterical because he had the TV on, so he knew what happened. I didn’t. I just remember walking home thinking it was going to rain. That was the last happy moment in my life, maybe the last one ever. Anyway, I came down here so I could give you the keys to my apartment and to sixteen D.  Bob and I have eaten most of their food, but there are still a few things left, and there’s stuff we’re not taking that maybe your family can use.” He handed Alex two sets of keys. “Bob says it’s better if the stuff goes to a Vincent de Paul man,” he said. “I hope it’ll help.”

“Yes, thank you,” Alex said. “We really appreciate this.”

“I guess you’re sticking around waiting for your father,” Mr. Dunlap said. “I know how hard it is to give up your home. But New York is in for some very bad times. Bob works for the
Daily News,
and naturally he hears things. It’s going to get very rough, and it won’t get better anytime soon. Maybe never. Tell your mother she should think about making other plans, at least for your sisters so they’ll be safe.”

“Yes, I will,” Alex said. “Thank you again, Mr. Dunlap, and thank Bob for us as well. I hope things work out in Vermont.”

“I’m not sure things are going to work out ever again,” Mr. Dunlap replied. “Sometimes the best you can do is postpone the inevitable. Please tell your mother that our thoughts are with her.”

“I will,” Alex said. “And thank you.”

As soon as he closed the door, Julie ran out of her bedroom. “Let me see,” she demanded as though two sets of keys were worth looking at. “Oh, Alex, can we go up to sixteen D now and get their food?”