I would prefer it if she wins. Of course I would prefer it if she wins. But she wins all the time, and I just want this to be over. I sigh. I have a friend who stacks the deck in situations such as this. I may have to start down that morally ambiguous road. “OK, sweetie, your turn.” The game will go on. And apparently on and on and on.
But after a few more single-reds, and lost turns, I am given sweet respite. The phone rings and the caller ID announces it's my wife, Denise. “It's mommy!” I say, and Lily leaps up and runs over to the phone, our endless slog through Candy Land momentarily forgotten. She grabs the phone. “Mommy!” she shouts. Then I hear my wife's voice on the other end of the line lilting up and down as happens when speaking on the phone with a small child.
They chat incoherently for a few minutes, then my child does the back and forth thing with my wife that they do at the end of a phone call.
“I love you.” My wife says.
“I love you.” My child says.
“I love you.” My wife says again.
“I love you.” My child says again.
This goes on for some time before she hands me the phone. “Mommy says it's you're turn, Daddy.”
I take the phone.
“John, how are you?”
I love how sincere my wife is. She calling from Dubai, and has the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she asks how I'm doing first.
“I'm good. You know, we're good. I'm currently being eviscerated in a particularly heinous game of Candy Land.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, it's the only thing she'll play right now.”
“God, I'm sorry.”
“I know, right? When we decided to have a kid, I had no idea.”
She laughs, and it's good to hear her laugh.
“So what's up?”
“John, I . . . I won't be coming home like we talked about.”
I sigh out loud, though I know I shouldn't.
“John, I know things are tough right now, but the President, well, the President's in some trouble.”
“I don't really want to know.”
“Thanks. I can't really talk about it anyway. You're always so good that way,” she says distantly.
“I just want to know when we'll have you back.”
“I know. The President wanted to make the trip to Dubai a one-stop.”
“But . . .?”
“But I can't really talk about it.”
“But there's another stop, right? He's already in the Middle East, might as well stop in Asia?”
“I can't confirm or deny that.”
It's our way of talking when she's giving me classified news. I make a conjecture. Then she tells me she can't confirm or deny my guesses when I'm right, or at least close enough to right. I sigh audibly again, even though I know when I do, it hurts her. She's doing her job, and she's good at it. I have told her I fully support her, that I'm happy to be the stay-at-home parent. But I miss her. Lily misses her. It's a fight we've had before, though it's one I'm actively, though not always successfully, trying to have less often.
“Okay.” I say, trying to sound supportive. “Do your best. Be your best. We support you. We love you. We're glad you're there for our President.” That last bit comes across a little too canned. I try to compensate. “I mean all of that.” But the strain is there, and she knows it.
“Thanks John. Really, thanks. You're a great partner and a great dad.” She's not lying, but it's clear we're both upset. We just don't want to have a fight over the phone to Dubai.
“Thanks Dee. Give us a call when you can. We love you.”
“I love you too.”
After my daughter is in bed, I stay up late scanning the news channels. Apparently, no one knows how the deal in Dubai went, though my guess is not great. If the President had been able to hammer out a deal with the new rulers there, he wouldn't have needed to run off to China. The news wasn't on to it yet, but it was just a matter of time. And if the Chinese aren't amenable to some kind of deal? I didn't want to think too hard about it. If things went badly with the new power brokers in the Middle East, and then with China, well, my wife would be dusting off her resume after the election this fall.
And that was too much to think about. It's no secret my wife's boss is holding things together. He'd been elected on a platform of reconciliation, but hadn't made much progress in three years. When the dust settled after the fall of the House of Saud last month, he saw an opportunity. The press was mad with it. The “President's Gamble” is what they're calling it.
There are so many issues associated with the movement known as The Block, it's impossible to list them all. But what it really comes down to is, can the President offer a large enough bribe to keep The Block states happy enough so they won't try to exit the Union. This is the question on the lips of every pundit, though still when I think about it, I can't believe a group of states would actually try to secede from the Union. It seems like a plot from a bad movie. In this case, a tragically bad sequel.
Never-the-less, the next day, it's announced that the President is headed to China. Despite the congratulatory tone of the President's press secretary, everyone knows he's come up short, and needs another option. The Block is howling. The President's own party is shrill in their calls for him to end his attempt to appease the Block Traitors. I'm able to catch a glimpse of my wife in the background during one of the televised press conferences. From what I can see, she looks harried.
“Look, there's mommy,” I say to our daughter, but she's busy pretending to shuffle the deck of cards for our latest round of Candy Land torture. This time, it's my daughter who gets the peanuts card right as she's about to win.
“Nooooo!” She cries, though I know she's just imitating me. Her subsequent laughter makes it clear she'd be happy as a clam if the game went on forever. It just might.
I get a call from my wife early the next morning.
“Hey babe.” I try to keep it light. “What time is it in Beijing?”
“It's late, John.” She sounds tired and somewhat defeated.
“Not going well?”
“I can't talk about it.” She pauses. We've had this kind of phone call so many times. She wants to talk, but knows she can't. She's reaching out, but can't say why.
“That's okay. Did you get the video I uploaded?”
“No, US servers must be blocked here. There isn't even that much WiFi available. It's strange . . .”
“Strange how?”
“Well, it's like, somehow there's less tech here now than last time the president visited.”
“Huh.” I'm not sure where this is going, but it's important for me to be supportive, and follow her lead. “Could be that you're just more senior now, and you're more tied in to the president and his entourage, more restricted somehow?”
“Maybe . . . listen, John, I've got to go.”
“Okay, Dee.”
“John, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Give our little rascal a squeeze for me okay?”
“Sure babe. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Not now. Sweep me in your arms when I get home, okay?”
“You got it.”
They chat incoherently for a few minutes, then my child does the back and forth thing with my wife that they do at the end of a phone call.
“I love you.” My wife says.
“I love you.” My child says.
“I love you.” My wife says again.
“I love you.” My child says again.
This goes on for some time before she hands me the phone. “Mommy says it's you're turn, Daddy.”
I take the phone.
“John, how are you?”
I love how sincere my wife is. She calling from Dubai, and has the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she asks how I'm doing first.
“I'm good. You know, we're good. I'm currently being eviscerated in a particularly heinous game of Candy Land.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, it's the only thing she'll play right now.”
“God, I'm sorry.”
“I know, right? When we decided to have a kid, I had no idea.”
She laughs, and it's good to hear her laugh.
“So what's up?”
“John, I . . . I won't be coming home like we talked about.”
I sigh out loud, though I know I shouldn't.
“John, I know things are tough right now, but the President, well, the President's in some trouble.”
“I don't really want to know.”
“Thanks. I can't really talk about it anyway. You're always so good that way,” she says distantly.
“I just want to know when we'll have you back.”
“I know. The President wanted to make the trip to Dubai a one-stop.”
“But . . .?”
“But I can't really talk about it.”
“But there's another stop, right? He's already in the Middle East, might as well stop in Asia?”
“I can't confirm or deny that.”
It's our way of talking when she's giving me classified news. I make a conjecture. Then she tells me she can't confirm or deny my guesses when I'm right, or at least close enough to right. I sigh audibly again, even though I know when I do, it hurts her. She's doing her job, and she's good at it. I have told her I fully support her, that I'm happy to be the stay-at-home parent. But I miss her. Lily misses her. It's a fight we've had before, though it's one I'm actively, though not always successfully, trying to have less often.
“Okay.” I say, trying to sound supportive. “Do your best. Be your best. We support you. We love you. We're glad you're there for our President.” That last bit comes across a little too canned. I try to compensate. “I mean all of that.” But the strain is there, and she knows it.
“Thanks John. Really, thanks. You're a great partner and a great dad.” She's not lying, but it's clear we're both upset. We just don't want to have a fight over the phone to Dubai.
“Thanks Dee. Give us a call when you can. We love you.”
“I love you too.”
After my daughter is in bed, I stay up late scanning the news channels. Apparently, no one knows how the deal in Dubai went, though my guess is not great. If the President had been able to hammer out a deal with the new rulers there, he wouldn't have needed to run off to China. The news wasn't on to it yet, but it was just a matter of time. And if the Chinese aren't amenable to some kind of deal? I didn't want to think too hard about it. If things went badly with the new power brokers in the Middle East, and then with China, well, my wife would be dusting off her resume after the election this fall.
And that was too much to think about. It's no secret my wife's boss is holding things together. He'd been elected on a platform of reconciliation, but hadn't made much progress in three years. When the dust settled after the fall of the House of Saud last month, he saw an opportunity. The press was mad with it. The “President's Gamble” is what they're calling it.
There are so many issues associated with the movement known as The Block, it's impossible to list them all. But what it really comes down to is, can the President offer a large enough bribe to keep The Block states happy enough so they won't try to exit the Union. This is the question on the lips of every pundit, though still when I think about it, I can't believe a group of states would actually try to secede from the Union. It seems like a plot from a bad movie. In this case, a tragically bad sequel.
Never-the-less, the next day, it's announced that the President is headed to China. Despite the congratulatory tone of the President's press secretary, everyone knows he's come up short, and needs another option. The Block is howling. The President's own party is shrill in their calls for him to end his attempt to appease the Block Traitors. I'm able to catch a glimpse of my wife in the background during one of the televised press conferences. From what I can see, she looks harried.
“Look, there's mommy,” I say to our daughter, but she's busy pretending to shuffle the deck of cards for our latest round of Candy Land torture. This time, it's my daughter who gets the peanuts card right as she's about to win.
“Nooooo!” She cries, though I know she's just imitating me. Her subsequent laughter makes it clear she'd be happy as a clam if the game went on forever. It just might.
I get a call from my wife early the next morning.
“Hey babe.” I try to keep it light. “What time is it in Beijing?”
“It's late, John.” She sounds tired and somewhat defeated.
“Not going well?”
“I can't talk about it.” She pauses. We've had this kind of phone call so many times. She wants to talk, but knows she can't. She's reaching out, but can't say why.
“That's okay. Did you get the video I uploaded?”
“No, US servers must be blocked here. There isn't even that much WiFi available. It's strange . . .”
“Strange how?”
“Well, it's like, somehow there's less tech here now than last time the president visited.”
“Huh.” I'm not sure where this is going, but it's important for me to be supportive, and follow her lead. “Could be that you're just more senior now, and you're more tied in to the president and his entourage, more restricted somehow?”
“Maybe . . . listen, John, I've got to go.”
“Okay, Dee.”
“John, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Give our little rascal a squeeze for me okay?”
“Sure babe. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Not now. Sweep me in your arms when I get home, okay?”
“You got it.”
The next day follows the same routine as the previous. I entertain our four-year-old and keep her fed and happy while simultaneously searching anything on the net or news channels for info about where Dee is headed or how they're doing. The President spends a day, then two, then three days in China. The press is howling. The parties are screaming. The governor ofSouth Carolina calls up a big chunk of her national guard for “training exercises.”
Still, the President is silent.
Then on the fourth day, he leaves China. He just leaves. There's no press conference, no announcement. He just gets on Air Force One and heads back to the States. Twenty-two hours later Denisee walks through the door.
“Finally, some other poor sap to draw the damn peanuts card.” I'm sitting in a chair in the living room nursing a glass of red wine. Dee is on the floor with Lily. Candy Land is spread out between them. They're laughing together, and I get the sense that my wife would play the game with our daughter for ever and ever. She seems to be soaking in every moment with our child. I have a tight feeling in my stomach. It looks like Dee is trying to store up time with Lily.
Later, when the four-year-old is finally in bed, we talk.
“John,” Dee says, “I . . .”
I stand, not to interrupt her, but just to hug her, to hold her. She returns my hug perfunctorily, and then steps away.
Then on the fourth day, he leaves China. He just leaves. There's no press conference, no announcement. He just gets on Air Force One and heads back to the States. Twenty-two hours later Denisee walks through the door.
“Finally, some other poor sap to draw the damn peanuts card.” I'm sitting in a chair in the living room nursing a glass of red wine. Dee is on the floor with Lily. Candy Land is spread out between them. They're laughing together, and I get the sense that my wife would play the game with our daughter for ever and ever. She seems to be soaking in every moment with our child. I have a tight feeling in my stomach. It looks like Dee is trying to store up time with Lily.
Later, when the four-year-old is finally in bed, we talk.
“John,” Dee says, “I . . .”
I stand, not to interrupt her, but just to hug her, to hold her. She returns my hug perfunctorily, and then steps away.
“John . . .”
I smile. “Is it really so bad? You've always been so optimistic, that's part of why you've done so well.”
“I know, John. I know. But this . . .”
“Is different somehow?”
I smile. “Is it really so bad? You've always been so optimistic, that's part of why you've done so well.”
“I know, John. I know. But this . . .”
“Is different somehow?”
She looks away. “Yes John, this is different.”
There's a short silence between us. I know she's trying to reach out to me somehow, but I can't quite wrap my head around it.
“You've spent the last three years in the President's office, if he doesn't get re-elected, so be it. You'll land on your feet. We'll land on our feet.”
“John,” she says, searching for words, “this goes a lot deeper than that.”
“What do you mean?”
She didn't answer for a moment. Then she turned and gave me a very professional smile. I'm not great at figuring these things out, but I think she means for me to know her smile is disingenuous, as a clue that what she says next will be true, but lacking contextual scale. Maybe.
She says, “I think we should visit your sister in New York. Tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“Look, John, we'll put together a few suitcases and go visit family for a little while. It doesn't have to be a big deal.” Denise looks at me plaintively. “Let's try to have a nice night tonight, you know?” She picks up the bottle of red and pours herself a glass, then sits down close beside me. She reaches over a places a hand suggestively on my thigh. “In the morning, we'll start packing. We'll call your sister, and if we catch an early train, we can be there by Lily's bed time.”
I pour myself another glass of red. If I've learned anything being married to a high level White House staffer, if I'm told to not ask questions, I don't. And if I get the chance to be alone with my wife, I take it.
The next day starts very early. Denise and I both find ourselves up in the early hours of the morning unable to sleep, so we decide to quietly begin our day at around 3:30AM. There is something important behind my wife's measured assurances, but I have the feeling I'll find out eventually what's up, so I don't press her to explain. We get our suitcases packed and ready to go by breakfast time. Denise orders up some high-speed train tickets and a cab before we even get a hold of my sister. We wait until the reasonable hour of seven AM to call her. By that time, we're on our way out the door.
When the cab arrives, Denise gets Lily buckled in as the cabbie and I load our suitcases in the trunk. Just for a moment, before we get in, she takes my hand and we turn to look at our little townhouse. It's a rental, but we'd been in it longer than any other place we'd lived together. She looks at me, squeezes my hand, and smiles. I've seen my wife smile a million times, but this smile, I swear, is the most beautiful I've ever seen. I try to take a mental snapshot, to save that smile forever.
In the cab, on the way to Union Station, Denise turns to me and says over the top of Lily in her car-seat, “John, something very important is going to happen tomorrow night at seven PM. I want you to promise me that you'll be inside with Lily at your sister's house by the TV. Make sure your sister and her family are there too.”
“Dee, what are you talking...”
“You know I can't tell you what's going on, I just want you to know what to do, and what to be prepared for.”
“You're not coming with us.”
She sighs. “No.”
I sit back in my seat. I should have known. The somewhat forced romantic evening – a kind of last night together. We've had them before, but this seems different.
“John,” she says in a wavering voice I'm not accustomed to. “I'm . . . do you remember when I got my last promotion?”
“Yeah.”
“Do remember the joke we made?”
“You mean about getting to join the President's staff in the bunker from now on?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“What the . . . ?”
“John, whatever happens, take care of Lily. I'll be with the President if things get tough.”
I'm scared now. “Dee, what happened in China? What are you talking about?”
My wife swallows hard. “John, I really can't tell you, but sufficed to say, what we're doing now, the problems we're about to face, are much bigger than energy policy.” She looks away and out her window. Very softly she says, “they offered to bail us out, in return for . . . for Hawaii . . .”
“Shit, Dee.” I'm totally lost. Surely that's just political posturing. “That's crazy. What did the President tell them?”
She looks at me again, and I swear I can't tell what's behind those big sad brown eyes. She blinks away a tear. “So tomorrow morning, start early,” she says. “Focus on essentials, food and supplies for as long as you can. Some kind of home defense. Guns, John. Potable water.”
There's a short silence between us. I know she's trying to reach out to me somehow, but I can't quite wrap my head around it.
“You've spent the last three years in the President's office, if he doesn't get re-elected, so be it. You'll land on your feet. We'll land on our feet.”
“John,” she says, searching for words, “this goes a lot deeper than that.”
“What do you mean?”
She didn't answer for a moment. Then she turned and gave me a very professional smile. I'm not great at figuring these things out, but I think she means for me to know her smile is disingenuous, as a clue that what she says next will be true, but lacking contextual scale. Maybe.
She says, “I think we should visit your sister in New York. Tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“Look, John, we'll put together a few suitcases and go visit family for a little while. It doesn't have to be a big deal.” Denise looks at me plaintively. “Let's try to have a nice night tonight, you know?” She picks up the bottle of red and pours herself a glass, then sits down close beside me. She reaches over a places a hand suggestively on my thigh. “In the morning, we'll start packing. We'll call your sister, and if we catch an early train, we can be there by Lily's bed time.”
I pour myself another glass of red. If I've learned anything being married to a high level White House staffer, if I'm told to not ask questions, I don't. And if I get the chance to be alone with my wife, I take it.
The next day starts very early. Denise and I both find ourselves up in the early hours of the morning unable to sleep, so we decide to quietly begin our day at around 3:30AM. There is something important behind my wife's measured assurances, but I have the feeling I'll find out eventually what's up, so I don't press her to explain. We get our suitcases packed and ready to go by breakfast time. Denise orders up some high-speed train tickets and a cab before we even get a hold of my sister. We wait until the reasonable hour of seven AM to call her. By that time, we're on our way out the door.
When the cab arrives, Denise gets Lily buckled in as the cabbie and I load our suitcases in the trunk. Just for a moment, before we get in, she takes my hand and we turn to look at our little townhouse. It's a rental, but we'd been in it longer than any other place we'd lived together. She looks at me, squeezes my hand, and smiles. I've seen my wife smile a million times, but this smile, I swear, is the most beautiful I've ever seen. I try to take a mental snapshot, to save that smile forever.
In the cab, on the way to Union Station, Denise turns to me and says over the top of Lily in her car-seat, “John, something very important is going to happen tomorrow night at seven PM. I want you to promise me that you'll be inside with Lily at your sister's house by the TV. Make sure your sister and her family are there too.”
“Dee, what are you talking...”
“You know I can't tell you what's going on, I just want you to know what to do, and what to be prepared for.”
“You're not coming with us.”
She sighs. “No.”
I sit back in my seat. I should have known. The somewhat forced romantic evening – a kind of last night together. We've had them before, but this seems different.
“John,” she says in a wavering voice I'm not accustomed to. “I'm . . . do you remember when I got my last promotion?”
“Yeah.”
“Do remember the joke we made?”
“You mean about getting to join the President's staff in the bunker from now on?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“What the . . . ?”
“John, whatever happens, take care of Lily. I'll be with the President if things get tough.”
I'm scared now. “Dee, what happened in China? What are you talking about?”
My wife swallows hard. “John, I really can't tell you, but sufficed to say, what we're doing now, the problems we're about to face, are much bigger than energy policy.” She looks away and out her window. Very softly she says, “they offered to bail us out, in return for . . . for Hawaii . . .”
“Shit, Dee.” I'm totally lost. Surely that's just political posturing. “That's crazy. What did the President tell them?”
She looks at me again, and I swear I can't tell what's behind those big sad brown eyes. She blinks away a tear. “So tomorrow morning, start early,” she says. “Focus on essentials, food and supplies for as long as you can. Some kind of home defense. Guns, John. Potable water.”
I'm shaking my head.
“John, listen to me. You protect Lily, protect your sister and her family, and we'll be laughing about this in two months when we're still eating the cans of beans you'll be buying tomorrow. But John, and this is important, we don't know what's going to happen.”
The cabbie pulls up outside the station and we all get out. There's silence as we get the bags out of the back of the cab. I pay the cabbie and he pulls away. Standing on the corner there are so many questions I have, so many things I want to say. Denise pulls Lily into a long hug. I hear her speaking softly into Lily's ear. Our daughter is smiling. She's seen her mother go away so many times, for her this is routine.
Finally, Denise pulls away from Lily and wraps me in a hug. She holds my hands in hers between us. “Remember, please be back and safely in your sister's house at seven. Watch the announcement. The rest . . . well, we'll see what happens,and hope for the best.” She gives me her best reassuring smile, but it's pretty clear she's just barely holding it together. We hug again, then kiss briefly.
The cabbie pulls up outside the station and we all get out. There's silence as we get the bags out of the back of the cab. I pay the cabbie and he pulls away. Standing on the corner there are so many questions I have, so many things I want to say. Denise pulls Lily into a long hug. I hear her speaking softly into Lily's ear. Our daughter is smiling. She's seen her mother go away so many times, for her this is routine.
Finally, Denise pulls away from Lily and wraps me in a hug. She holds my hands in hers between us. “Remember, please be back and safely in your sister's house at seven. Watch the announcement. The rest . . . well, we'll see what happens,and hope for the best.” She gives me her best reassuring smile, but it's pretty clear she's just barely holding it together. We hug again, then kiss briefly.
“Should we get another taxi for you?”
“No. I need to clear my head a bit. The rest of the staff isn't expected to be in until around 10.”
“He gave everyone time to be with their families.”
She nods.
“Damn, Dee.”
“I know. You'll find out along with the rest of the country. Actually, we're not done planning the next step, we just want to be first to make a move.”
Now it's my turn to nod.
“Keep Lily safe.”
“I will.”
She turns and walks away toward the Mall. Her suitcase is large, but has wheels. It's not too far a walk to the White House. I get Lily sorted out and we head into the station. An hour later we're on a train, and a little after lunch we're in Grand Central. After a short layover, we get on a regional train to Dover Plains, the little town up-state closest to where my sister lives.
“No. I need to clear my head a bit. The rest of the staff isn't expected to be in until around 10.”
“He gave everyone time to be with their families.”
She nods.
“Damn, Dee.”
“I know. You'll find out along with the rest of the country. Actually, we're not done planning the next step, we just want to be first to make a move.”
Now it's my turn to nod.
“Keep Lily safe.”
“I will.”
She turns and walks away toward the Mall. Her suitcase is large, but has wheels. It's not too far a walk to the White House. I get Lily sorted out and we head into the station. An hour later we're on a train, and a little after lunch we're in Grand Central. After a short layover, we get on a regional train to Dover Plains, the little town up-state closest to where my sister lives.
My sister, Kelley, lives in an old farm house on ten or so acres outside of town. Her husband is older than her by a decade or so, and came to their marriage with money and work that was very portable. He was some kind of international consultant – I never really knew what for – but now is semi-retired. He wanted to live in the country, but still be close enough to New York for the occasional business meeting he might need to attend. Despite having “settled down,” he still keeps quite busy.
Kelley has three boys, which from my perspective as the care providing parent of a single child, seems crazy. We've actually joked together about how we've found ourselves in the same situation, each in the full-time care of our kids. Really, though, our lives are more different than they are similar. She's doing some kind of Waldorfy home-school thing with her boys, who are five, seven, and ten. They seem to spend most of their time chasing chickens or swimming in the nearby-creek. Our Lily attends a K-prep school with the word “academy” in its title. She has a French tutor. We order almost every meal out. Kelley's boys seem like a band of savage wildlings to me. Lily is very much the cosmopolitan four-year-old by comparison, but she loves her cousins, and they love her.
Kelley and I have always gotten along. We weren't close growing up, she's five years older than me, but we've grown closer over the years. We talk on the phone at least once a week, and we visit a few times each year. When I asked if we could drop in at the last minute, she agreed without hesitation.
Kelley and her boys show up at the station in their Suburban a few minutes after we arrive. After hugs all around, I get our luggage stowed in the cavernous back of the van and buckle Lily in.
“Hey sis,” I say casually, “can we hit the country store while we're in town?”
“Sure, but you know we always have lots of food on hand.”
“I know, but I want to make sure we're not eating you out of house and home.”
“That's nice of you, John, but I'm not sure if you noticed the three ravenous beasts in the back? They're the ones I worry about. Lily seems to have a strict diet of air.”
She's right on that account, Lily's not a big eater. “I'll tell you more later, but we should stop at the store now, if that'sokay.”
The cart I push out to the van is ridiculously over-filled. When Kelley sees it, she pulls a look like I'm a crazy person. I wave her off as lightly as I can. “I know, I know,” I say. “I'll fill you in later. I promise.” Though, in reality, I feel like I know next to nothing.
The boys push their way out of the car and race to be the first to the door. Then they're racing to be the first to the kitchen. Then they're just wrestling.
“Boys!” Kelley's voice is strong and authoritative. The wrestling ebbs slightly. “It's chore time. Let's go!”
Her oldest immediately disappears outside. The middle child sags and heads to the kitchen. The youngest just seems to ignore her and starts talking about something unintelligible. Kelley drags him off somewhere. I take Lily and our luggage to the spare room. Then I start the laborious process of bringing in the groceries. Kelley has a generous pantry, and despite how much I've bought, the bulk of my purchase incorporates seamlessly into its depths.
Next comes dinner, then washing up. Finally, it's evening and there's a little lull before bedtime. In that space, Lily makes what is to her a tremendous find among my sister's shelves of kid stuff. “Candy Land!” she shrieks with joy. My heart sinks, but I quickly and deftly suggest that she take on her cousins. Thankfully, they take the bait.
I sit back in my chair and sigh with relief. Kelley, her husband Roland, and I begin work on a nice bottle of white.
Kelley has three boys, which from my perspective as the care providing parent of a single child, seems crazy. We've actually joked together about how we've found ourselves in the same situation, each in the full-time care of our kids. Really, though, our lives are more different than they are similar. She's doing some kind of Waldorfy home-school thing with her boys, who are five, seven, and ten. They seem to spend most of their time chasing chickens or swimming in the nearby-creek. Our Lily attends a K-prep school with the word “academy” in its title. She has a French tutor. We order almost every meal out. Kelley's boys seem like a band of savage wildlings to me. Lily is very much the cosmopolitan four-year-old by comparison, but she loves her cousins, and they love her.
Kelley and I have always gotten along. We weren't close growing up, she's five years older than me, but we've grown closer over the years. We talk on the phone at least once a week, and we visit a few times each year. When I asked if we could drop in at the last minute, she agreed without hesitation.
Kelley and her boys show up at the station in their Suburban a few minutes after we arrive. After hugs all around, I get our luggage stowed in the cavernous back of the van and buckle Lily in.
“Hey sis,” I say casually, “can we hit the country store while we're in town?”
“Sure, but you know we always have lots of food on hand.”
“I know, but I want to make sure we're not eating you out of house and home.”
“That's nice of you, John, but I'm not sure if you noticed the three ravenous beasts in the back? They're the ones I worry about. Lily seems to have a strict diet of air.”
She's right on that account, Lily's not a big eater. “I'll tell you more later, but we should stop at the store now, if that'sokay.”
The cart I push out to the van is ridiculously over-filled. When Kelley sees it, she pulls a look like I'm a crazy person. I wave her off as lightly as I can. “I know, I know,” I say. “I'll fill you in later. I promise.” Though, in reality, I feel like I know next to nothing.
The boys push their way out of the car and race to be the first to the door. Then they're racing to be the first to the kitchen. Then they're just wrestling.
“Boys!” Kelley's voice is strong and authoritative. The wrestling ebbs slightly. “It's chore time. Let's go!”
Her oldest immediately disappears outside. The middle child sags and heads to the kitchen. The youngest just seems to ignore her and starts talking about something unintelligible. Kelley drags him off somewhere. I take Lily and our luggage to the spare room. Then I start the laborious process of bringing in the groceries. Kelley has a generous pantry, and despite how much I've bought, the bulk of my purchase incorporates seamlessly into its depths.
Next comes dinner, then washing up. Finally, it's evening and there's a little lull before bedtime. In that space, Lily makes what is to her a tremendous find among my sister's shelves of kid stuff. “Candy Land!” she shrieks with joy. My heart sinks, but I quickly and deftly suggest that she take on her cousins. Thankfully, they take the bait.
I sit back in my chair and sigh with relief. Kelley, her husband Roland, and I begin work on a nice bottle of white.
“So, John,” Kelley says at last, “what's the deal with the groceries, and why the last minute trip?”
“Right.” I lower my voice so the kids can't hear. I needn't worry. Grown-ups talking is the most boring thing in the world. “This is going to be a little strange, but you need to trust me on this.” I have their attention now. “Tomorrow is going to be a very unusual day.”
“Right.” I lower my voice so the kids can't hear. I needn't worry. Grown-ups talking is the most boring thing in the world. “This is going to be a little strange, but you need to trust me on this.” I have their attention now. “Tomorrow is going to be a very unusual day.”
I tell them everything I know. They've seen the news, but I'm able to fill them in on some details that haven't leaked to the press yet. The President failed in the middle east, he failed spectacularly with China in some as-yet unknown way. The Block is probably involved. Some big announcement is coming tomorrow evening. I tell them about Denise's warnings, that we should spend the day in Poughkeepsie stocking up on supplies.
I mention guns. Roland recoils. Kelley does too, but somewhat less so. She and I spent Fall days out with our dad, trying to track down deer and drop geese in our rural Pennsylvania home town. We know about rifles and shotguns, though it'sbeen a while for both of us.
“It'll be easier for you to get a rifle or two,” I say to them. “You're New York state residents.” I'd looked up a couple of pawn-shops in town on our way up, and gave them a plan. “You're just a happy couple that wants to get into hunting. Get a pair of 270s or thirty aught sixes. Get the same kind so we only have to get one kind of ammo. Then get as many boxes of ammo as seems reasonable. Tell them you're going to hit the range if they ask. This is America,” I say with obvious irony, trying to lighten the mood, “so they probably won't ask.”
“It'll be easier for you to get a rifle or two,” I say to them. “You're New York state residents.” I'd looked up a couple of pawn-shops in town on our way up, and gave them a plan. “You're just a happy couple that wants to get into hunting. Get a pair of 270s or thirty aught sixes. Get the same kind so we only have to get one kind of ammo. Then get as many boxes of ammo as seems reasonable. Tell them you're going to hit the range if they ask. This is America,” I say with obvious irony, trying to lighten the mood, “so they probably won't ask.”
Roland shakes his head. “This is crazy.”
I nod. “It sounds crazy to me too. But I trust Dee.” I pause. “The last thing she told me, before she left for the White House from the station was, 'Don't worry, I'll be with the President in the bunker if things get tough.'” Okay, it's a paraphraseand melodramatic, but Kelley and Roland both sink heavily back into their chairs.
“Shit.” says Roland.
“Shit, indeed.” I reply.
I nod. “It sounds crazy to me too. But I trust Dee.” I pause. “The last thing she told me, before she left for the White House from the station was, 'Don't worry, I'll be with the President in the bunker if things get tough.'” Okay, it's a paraphraseand melodramatic, but Kelley and Roland both sink heavily back into their chairs.
“Shit.” says Roland.
“Shit, indeed.” I reply.
I don't mean to sleep in the next morning, but I was pretty wiped from the long day before and I don't get out of bed until eight.
Lily is up with her cousins running around the house. There's a note by the pot of coffee:
John,
Roland and I went out to the pawn shops to get an early start in case that takes a while. We've arranged for a neighbor girl, Roxy, to come by at nine to watch the kids for the day. The keys to the truck are on the rack. We'll see you at lunchtime. Please feed the 'animals.'
- K
Roland and I went out to the pawn shops to get an early start in case that takes a while. We've arranged for a neighbor girl, Roxy, to come by at nine to watch the kids for the day. The keys to the truck are on the rack. We'll see you at lunchtime. Please feed the 'animals.'
- K
It seems like an hour ought to be enough time to get four children dressed and fed, but I'm just getting them to sit and actually put food in their bodies when Roxy shows up. She seems like as well adjusted a teenager as I've ever met. I tell her we'll all be back at lunchtime, and that Lily will be her friend forever if she plays Candy Land with her. That seems like enough instruction. A minute later I'm out the door with the keys to Kelley and Roland's pickup truck.
The lady in the checkout looks at me like I'm a space alien. “You gotta lot of kids, mister?”
I giver her my best “I'm not a serial killer” smile and explain that we're stocking up to go on vacation. She nods absently. The fellow at the next grocery store I visit doesn't even blink. He seems impervious to his job. In all, I hit four grocery stores, and even clean out a few gas stations. I've spent enough on non-perishable groceries to buy a decent used car.
At lunchtime, Roland and Kelley walk into the house carrying several boxes that look like they could hold rifles. Roland gives me a funny smile and says, “well, you know, if World War Three comes our way, we thought we might as well have one for each of us.” Denise's absence is palpable, and I can't help thinking that I wish he'd have needed to get four.
After Kelley stows the morning's purchases, she clicks on the TV. “Check this out.” On CNN, they're showing live coverage from several state capitals. There are columns of what look like National Guard forming in front of each. “It sounds like six or seven of the Block states have called up their National Guard. The biggest deal is North Dakota.”
“Why?” I ask.
“The governor there has called up National Guard units to quote, “protect vulnerable state assets,” unquote.”
I still don't understand. “What assets?”
“Nukes, John. There's a vast field of silos in North Dakota. The governor has essentially appropriated them.”
“That's ridiculous. . .” I say, but it has a kind of logic. “Surely the government has some kind of kill switch to turn them off remotely or something. Nukes? That's crazy.”
Reporters on TV are now discussing a planned press conference with the President. The talking heads are even more ramped up than they usually are. On a normal day, they're trying to manufacture a sense of crisis, but it appears that they now get to report on an actual one.
I'm thinking about something Denise said to me. “You know, Kelley, before we left, Dee told me, “we're not sure what we're going to do, but we just want to make the first move.” It kind of seems like maybe the Block is making the first move.”
“This whole thing is crazy. It's starting to feel like maybe this isn't a drill, you know?” Kelley is slathering peanut butter on whole wheat, making a towering stack on a serving platter.
Suddenly, I'm not hungry. “Did you get everything you felt like you needed to get for the rifles this morning?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. You guys spend the afternoon battening this place down as best you can. Dust off your generator. Get our supplies stored away somewhere safe. Call Mom and Dad. Have Roland call his family. Get Roxy sorted out. I'm going back into town to make a few more stops.”
Kelley meets my worried gaze and nods. “Boys! Lily! Lunchtime!”
I have the radio on NPR in the truck on the way back to Poughkeepsie. By the time I get to the Army Navy, the news has broken in to full-time reporting. The White House has recalled all unnecessary foreign service-members, and sent a whole battalion to Nebraska.
“What the hell's in Nebraska?” I say to the radio.
I'm in the Army Navy for more than an hour finding my way through any kind of gear I think might be helpful. It seems a little bit busier than I might expect, and people don't seem to be browsing. I let go a little sigh when my credit card is accepted at the cashier, and I'm on to the next stop.
It feels like I'm in a movie or a bad teen novel preparing for a zombie apocalypse, which would be funny if it weren't so not funny on the news when I get back in the pickup. Reports are coming in from Oklahoma now that the governor has “seized” all National Guard assets and federal buildings, and set up “security check-points” along major interstates and highways leading in and out of the state. Are they really using the words “seized” and “checkpoints?” It seems too dramatic to be real. It's like because we've been fed a constant stream of dire-sounding news all our lives it's hard to tell if what's going on now is really dire, or just media-dire.
A thought occurs to me as I pass a large gas station. I swing in and a few minutes later I'm pulling as much cash as I can from the ATM, filling up seven ten-gallon gas cans, and topping off the truck. I clean them out of chips and bottled water too, just for good measure. Across the street I can see the grocery store parking lot start to jam up. I jump back in the truck and get back on the road. It's time to hunker down and wait.
Every few minutes on the way back to my sister's house the news reports some new strange and hard to imagine situation. The President has mobilized two battalions from the 174th infantry brigade out of New Jersey to take up positions in Nebraska along the border. Civilian militias there are seen riding in gangs of pick up trucks armed to the teeth. The governor of Nebraska has implemented a curfew, and declared a state of emergency. I keep wondering, “why Nebraska?”
By the time I'm safely back on my sister's property, the local news has reported about a run on supplies at local stores. The country store in Dover Plains is out of stocks, and people are flocking to the larger hamlets to buy food and guns and tarps and duct-tape and anything that seems like you wouldn't want to run out of it in an emergency.
The lady in the checkout looks at me like I'm a space alien. “You gotta lot of kids, mister?”
I giver her my best “I'm not a serial killer” smile and explain that we're stocking up to go on vacation. She nods absently. The fellow at the next grocery store I visit doesn't even blink. He seems impervious to his job. In all, I hit four grocery stores, and even clean out a few gas stations. I've spent enough on non-perishable groceries to buy a decent used car.
At lunchtime, Roland and Kelley walk into the house carrying several boxes that look like they could hold rifles. Roland gives me a funny smile and says, “well, you know, if World War Three comes our way, we thought we might as well have one for each of us.” Denise's absence is palpable, and I can't help thinking that I wish he'd have needed to get four.
After Kelley stows the morning's purchases, she clicks on the TV. “Check this out.” On CNN, they're showing live coverage from several state capitals. There are columns of what look like National Guard forming in front of each. “It sounds like six or seven of the Block states have called up their National Guard. The biggest deal is North Dakota.”
“Why?” I ask.
“The governor there has called up National Guard units to quote, “protect vulnerable state assets,” unquote.”
I still don't understand. “What assets?”
“Nukes, John. There's a vast field of silos in North Dakota. The governor has essentially appropriated them.”
“That's ridiculous. . .” I say, but it has a kind of logic. “Surely the government has some kind of kill switch to turn them off remotely or something. Nukes? That's crazy.”
Reporters on TV are now discussing a planned press conference with the President. The talking heads are even more ramped up than they usually are. On a normal day, they're trying to manufacture a sense of crisis, but it appears that they now get to report on an actual one.
I'm thinking about something Denise said to me. “You know, Kelley, before we left, Dee told me, “we're not sure what we're going to do, but we just want to make the first move.” It kind of seems like maybe the Block is making the first move.”
“This whole thing is crazy. It's starting to feel like maybe this isn't a drill, you know?” Kelley is slathering peanut butter on whole wheat, making a towering stack on a serving platter.
Suddenly, I'm not hungry. “Did you get everything you felt like you needed to get for the rifles this morning?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. You guys spend the afternoon battening this place down as best you can. Dust off your generator. Get our supplies stored away somewhere safe. Call Mom and Dad. Have Roland call his family. Get Roxy sorted out. I'm going back into town to make a few more stops.”
Kelley meets my worried gaze and nods. “Boys! Lily! Lunchtime!”
I have the radio on NPR in the truck on the way back to Poughkeepsie. By the time I get to the Army Navy, the news has broken in to full-time reporting. The White House has recalled all unnecessary foreign service-members, and sent a whole battalion to Nebraska.
“What the hell's in Nebraska?” I say to the radio.
I'm in the Army Navy for more than an hour finding my way through any kind of gear I think might be helpful. It seems a little bit busier than I might expect, and people don't seem to be browsing. I let go a little sigh when my credit card is accepted at the cashier, and I'm on to the next stop.
It feels like I'm in a movie or a bad teen novel preparing for a zombie apocalypse, which would be funny if it weren't so not funny on the news when I get back in the pickup. Reports are coming in from Oklahoma now that the governor has “seized” all National Guard assets and federal buildings, and set up “security check-points” along major interstates and highways leading in and out of the state. Are they really using the words “seized” and “checkpoints?” It seems too dramatic to be real. It's like because we've been fed a constant stream of dire-sounding news all our lives it's hard to tell if what's going on now is really dire, or just media-dire.
A thought occurs to me as I pass a large gas station. I swing in and a few minutes later I'm pulling as much cash as I can from the ATM, filling up seven ten-gallon gas cans, and topping off the truck. I clean them out of chips and bottled water too, just for good measure. Across the street I can see the grocery store parking lot start to jam up. I jump back in the truck and get back on the road. It's time to hunker down and wait.
Every few minutes on the way back to my sister's house the news reports some new strange and hard to imagine situation. The President has mobilized two battalions from the 174th infantry brigade out of New Jersey to take up positions in Nebraska along the border. Civilian militias there are seen riding in gangs of pick up trucks armed to the teeth. The governor of Nebraska has implemented a curfew, and declared a state of emergency. I keep wondering, “why Nebraska?”
By the time I'm safely back on my sister's property, the local news has reported about a run on supplies at local stores. The country store in Dover Plains is out of stocks, and people are flocking to the larger hamlets to buy food and guns and tarps and duct-tape and anything that seems like you wouldn't want to run out of it in an emergency.
The President looks haggard. I can't see my wife, but I know she'll be in a similar state. Our focus, he says, needs to be holding on to the solidarity of our great nation. The Block states and their supporters, he says, have brought us to this place. Their demands, their inability to put the good of the many before the welfare of the few, he says, has created a state of emergency in our country.
“What the fuck?” I say despite the fact that there are children in the room. My question hangs in the air and goes unanswered. I wonder what it's like at the Stop & Shop in Poughkeepsie tonight and I shudder. My sister and I exchange a glance that tells me she's thinking something similar.
The President declares a national state of emergency. A nation-wide curfew is imposed. A travel ban is imposed. He's calling up more military personnel to “keep the peace.” He quotes Lincoln. The President tells the country that despite our political divisions, he will not allow our country to fall into chaos. It's a rousing speech by the end. We don't, however, know too much more than we did before about what would happen next.
We keep the TV on until the late hours of the night, long after the kids are asleep. At around 11, my phone rings. I'm so relieved to see that it's Dee, I can hardly breath.
“John?”
“Dee! I'm so glad you called. What's going on?”
“John, are you okay, did you do all the stuff I told you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “What's happening over there?”
“Well, you saw the broadcast, right?”
“Sure we did.”
“Well, just after that, six of the Block governors called the President to tell him that their states were seceding from the union. We expect more to follow.”
“What? Is that a phone call that can even happen?”
“Yup. Just like that. I'm sure it'll get to the news soon.”
“What, uh, what the hell, Dee? What's going to happen?”
“We don't know. The President is meeting with his generals in the situation room now.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
“You'll see it live on CNN here in a minute.”
“Dee --” I'm at a total loss. She's saying these things so matter-of-factually.
“What the fuck?” I say despite the fact that there are children in the room. My question hangs in the air and goes unanswered. I wonder what it's like at the Stop & Shop in Poughkeepsie tonight and I shudder. My sister and I exchange a glance that tells me she's thinking something similar.
The President declares a national state of emergency. A nation-wide curfew is imposed. A travel ban is imposed. He's calling up more military personnel to “keep the peace.” He quotes Lincoln. The President tells the country that despite our political divisions, he will not allow our country to fall into chaos. It's a rousing speech by the end. We don't, however, know too much more than we did before about what would happen next.
We keep the TV on until the late hours of the night, long after the kids are asleep. At around 11, my phone rings. I'm so relieved to see that it's Dee, I can hardly breath.
“John?”
“Dee! I'm so glad you called. What's going on?”
“John, are you okay, did you do all the stuff I told you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “What's happening over there?”
“Well, you saw the broadcast, right?”
“Sure we did.”
“Well, just after that, six of the Block governors called the President to tell him that their states were seceding from the union. We expect more to follow.”
“What? Is that a phone call that can even happen?”
“Yup. Just like that. I'm sure it'll get to the news soon.”
“What, uh, what the hell, Dee? What's going to happen?”
“We don't know. The President is meeting with his generals in the situation room now.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
“You'll see it live on CNN here in a minute.”
“Dee --” I'm at a total loss. She's saying these things so matter-of-factually.
“I know John. Just hang in there, okay? Keep Lily safe.”
“Dee, when do you think we'll get to see you again?”
“I know, John, I know, that's just something I don't have an answer for. It could be that we get past this crisis in a few days, or it could be . . .” She trails off in a scary way. “John, I've got to go. I love you. Squeeze the little one for me.”
“Dee, when do you think we'll get to see you again?”
“I know, John, I know, that's just something I don't have an answer for. It could be that we get past this crisis in a few days, or it could be . . .” She trails off in a scary way. “John, I've got to go. I love you. Squeeze the little one for me.”
Nobody sleeps very well that night. In the early morning, there are multiple pots of coffee brewed, and we click the TV on. The news is showing clips from Kansas of the governor standing on the capital steps in Topeka surrounded by state legislators who are all signing some kind of document. In the crowd, people are cheering and chanting. Some are waving rifles in the air.
Around breakfast, the first violent clashes happen. Kansas attempts to infiltrate Nebraska, to send military support for thesecessionists there. They are rebuffed in a small skirmish by the troops the President moved in. Even with national guard troops in the mix, the militias are no match for Army regulars. The President sends another battalion for reinforcements.
It's pretty clear, now, why the president wants to protect Nebraska. If North and South Dakota fall to the Block, Oklahoma is already gone, and Kansas is too. That leaves Texas and Nebraska connecting the East with the West. No one really knows what's going on in Texas at the moment, though it's assumed they'll join the Block.
A line of cars leaving Oklahoma along interstate 40 is stopped by local militia and national guard soldiers. Their cars are left on the freeway as buses are brought in to take the fleeing citizens away. The news presumes that they'll be taken to detention centers.
Cars full of “refugees” start fleeing Arkansas, Kansas, Kentucky, the Dakotas. By the next afternoon there are reports of skirmishes between local and South Dakotan militias and US troops. Few, if any, casualty reports are issued, but shots have been fired. The governor of Nebraska declares martial law, and issues a statement asking local national guard troops to stay at home. The protection of the state will be undertaken by the regular enlisted army under federal control. He announces that the state government will be suspended until further notice. For all intents and purposes, Nebraska is now a military state, under federal control. It is assumed that a great percentage of those local national guard forces will slip over to the now insurgent Block Militia.
For a few days, a tense stalemate exists in the country. Wyoming and Montana waffle on whether to join the Block or to stay with the Union. Montana's governor makes a statement to the effect of wanting to be neutral. They will defend their own borders, they say, but not take sides. Wyoming quickly follows suit. This doesn't prevent those two states from sending national guard troops to their borders with North and South Dakota. Colorado is solidly backing the Union, and sending support to the military state in Nebraska. New Mexico says they're staying in the Union, but decline to do more than support their own border security. It sounds like Idaho would like to join the Block, but being surrounded by states that aren't, it's keeping a low profile. The upper mid-West is solidly backing the Union, and so with the exception of Nebraska, the Dakotas, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas form a kind of dividing line in the country. Most of the southern states are on board with the Block, and so the secessionist states form a kind of “L” shape through the middle of what was once the United States ofAmerica.
We take turns taking walks around the property. No one goes out without a rifle. No one leaves for anywhere. We're pretty far from the action, and things are quiet here in cozy up-state New York. But in other parts of the country, things are not going well. The interstate transportation system is at a stand-still. After four or five days, there aren't any grocery stores anywhere with any food or supplies at all. In some parts of the country there have been riots, and clashes between Union supporters and Block supporters. The news can't cover it all. People are desperate. People are dying.
Lily and I are out for a walk on a crisp sunny morning. We're nearing a grove of trees at the back end of the property. I shift the rifle on my shoulder. It's still unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
“Daddy, when's Mommy coming home?”
“I don't know, bug. I miss her too.”
“Is something bad happening?”
“Yes, baby, something bad is happening. But you know, Mommy is a super-helper, right? She's out there working hard to help people feel better, and find a way to make things better.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweatpea?”
“I think Mommy's prob'ly going to figure it aaaall out.”
I smile and take her little hand. “I'm sure she is, pumpkin. I'm sure she is.”
When Lily and I get back to the house, everyone is gathered around the TV. The news is coming live from Austin, where the entire 181 member bicameral legislature is voting for independence.
A line of cars leaving Oklahoma along interstate 40 is stopped by local militia and national guard soldiers. Their cars are left on the freeway as buses are brought in to take the fleeing citizens away. The news presumes that they'll be taken to detention centers.
Cars full of “refugees” start fleeing Arkansas, Kansas, Kentucky, the Dakotas. By the next afternoon there are reports of skirmishes between local and South Dakotan militias and US troops. Few, if any, casualty reports are issued, but shots have been fired. The governor of Nebraska declares martial law, and issues a statement asking local national guard troops to stay at home. The protection of the state will be undertaken by the regular enlisted army under federal control. He announces that the state government will be suspended until further notice. For all intents and purposes, Nebraska is now a military state, under federal control. It is assumed that a great percentage of those local national guard forces will slip over to the now insurgent Block Militia.
For a few days, a tense stalemate exists in the country. Wyoming and Montana waffle on whether to join the Block or to stay with the Union. Montana's governor makes a statement to the effect of wanting to be neutral. They will defend their own borders, they say, but not take sides. Wyoming quickly follows suit. This doesn't prevent those two states from sending national guard troops to their borders with North and South Dakota. Colorado is solidly backing the Union, and sending support to the military state in Nebraska. New Mexico says they're staying in the Union, but decline to do more than support their own border security. It sounds like Idaho would like to join the Block, but being surrounded by states that aren't, it's keeping a low profile. The upper mid-West is solidly backing the Union, and so with the exception of Nebraska, the Dakotas, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas form a kind of dividing line in the country. Most of the southern states are on board with the Block, and so the secessionist states form a kind of “L” shape through the middle of what was once the United States ofAmerica.
We take turns taking walks around the property. No one goes out without a rifle. No one leaves for anywhere. We're pretty far from the action, and things are quiet here in cozy up-state New York. But in other parts of the country, things are not going well. The interstate transportation system is at a stand-still. After four or five days, there aren't any grocery stores anywhere with any food or supplies at all. In some parts of the country there have been riots, and clashes between Union supporters and Block supporters. The news can't cover it all. People are desperate. People are dying.
Lily and I are out for a walk on a crisp sunny morning. We're nearing a grove of trees at the back end of the property. I shift the rifle on my shoulder. It's still unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
“Daddy, when's Mommy coming home?”
“I don't know, bug. I miss her too.”
“Is something bad happening?”
“Yes, baby, something bad is happening. But you know, Mommy is a super-helper, right? She's out there working hard to help people feel better, and find a way to make things better.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, sweatpea?”
“I think Mommy's prob'ly going to figure it aaaall out.”
I smile and take her little hand. “I'm sure she is, pumpkin. I'm sure she is.”
When Lily and I get back to the house, everyone is gathered around the TV. The news is coming live from Austin, where the entire 181 member bicameral legislature is voting for independence.
“Ho. Lee. Shit.” Roland says out loud.
The vote is 181 to 0. Texas is out. They're not part of the Block, they're not part of the Union. They're the Independent Republic of Texas. The governor is sworn in peacefully as the acting President. A constitutional convention is called. The National Guard and all military assets are summarily appropriated by the new nation. The governor gives anyone who wants to exit or return to the state a week to do so peaceably. Anyone in Texas one week from today will become an IRT citizen. Crowds throng the capital waving the “Lone Star” flag. Apparently the decision is very popular, and given that the Union and Block attention has been focused so intensely on each other these past days, there isn't really anything either can do. Neither is positioned militarily to intervene.
The vote is 181 to 0. Texas is out. They're not part of the Block, they're not part of the Union. They're the Independent Republic of Texas. The governor is sworn in peacefully as the acting President. A constitutional convention is called. The National Guard and all military assets are summarily appropriated by the new nation. The governor gives anyone who wants to exit or return to the state a week to do so peaceably. Anyone in Texas one week from today will become an IRT citizen. Crowds throng the capital waving the “Lone Star” flag. Apparently the decision is very popular, and given that the Union and Block attention has been focused so intensely on each other these past days, there isn't really anything either can do. Neither is positioned militarily to intervene.
The same day, China lands in Hawaii on the island of Niihau. Within a few hours they have “liberated” it. It turns out that most of the US fleet in the Pacific has been recalled to California. The military base on Oahu is basically empty. Pundits everywhere are screaming. One hawk is famously captured on loop screaming, “… missiles, god damn it, what about our god damn missiles?!” For about three hours, it trends, beating out the latest cute cat video loops. Again, Union military assets are elsewhere, and there doesn't seem to be anything anyone can do about this either.
I think back to our conversation in the car about China wanting Hawaii. “Damn it!” I say. Everyone turns to look at me.
I think back to our conversation in the car about China wanting Hawaii. “Damn it!” I say. Everyone turns to look at me.
“What's going on, John?” Kelley walks over to me.
“The President. He knew about Hawaii. He gave Hawaii to China. I'll bet he knew about Texas too.”
“What do you mean?” Kelley is looking at me incredulously.
“The President. He made a deal with China, for Hawaii.”
“That's . . . that's impossible.”
“Not impossible, the least bad outcome. He made a deal, a classic one. Resources for land.”
“I don't believe it,” Kelley says, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” Roland chimes in, “that's crazy talk.”
“The President. He knew about Hawaii. He gave Hawaii to China. I'll bet he knew about Texas too.”
“What do you mean?” Kelley is looking at me incredulously.
“The President. He made a deal with China, for Hawaii.”
“That's . . . that's impossible.”
“Not impossible, the least bad outcome. He made a deal, a classic one. Resources for land.”
“I don't believe it,” Kelley says, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” Roland chimes in, “that's crazy talk.”
“No. It's real. Dee practically admitted as much. Think about it. What does a big company do when they're up against an economic wall? They liquidate their most expensive assets. Watch, in the next few days Hawaii will be bleeding people making for the mainland. Conveniently for China, there isn't any military there, but I'll bet that there just happens to be enough transportation in place to get civilians out who want to go. Part of the deal, no doubt.”
It happened. Giant flotillas formed headed for California. Any seaworthy vessel is packed to capacity. Several empty cruise ships “happen” to be docked there, capable of holding thousands of passengers each. The Chinese military does nothing to stop them. There turn out to be several times as many air liners in Oahu than are usually scheduled to be there. China takesup residence in what amounts to a ghost town when they march into Pearl Harbor during the next week.
“But what could possibly be worth all of that? Hawaii was a fucking state for Christ's sake. What about security in the Pacific? What about . . .” Roland seems angry, even though Hawaii is actually a tiny island on the other side of the planetwith only the merest shreds of an economy, and has very little direct impact on up-state New York. None of us have any answers, but it's starting to look like the President made the first move after all.
The next morning we're all up early again, huddled around the TV. News trickles out in fits, but it looks like a Union backed bloodless coup took place in South Dakota over night. The governor has been replaced, the state legislature sent packing. By the end of the day, what was being reported as “military resistance” the day before is now being described as “clean-up operations.” It doesn't take long for other Block states to capitulate. North Dakota holds out the longest, but eventually it too backs down. The governor there doesn't step down, but he dissolves the state legislature and calls for new elections. He relents to having federal troops enter and occupy Bismark, and calls on pro-Block militia groups to disband. The next day, the President announces a giant aid package for the Block states. Governors of Block states are vociferous in their outrage, but they take the bribe, and don't seem too surprised about it.
“So they get a big fat hand-out? After seceding from the Union?” Kelley is making coffee.
The next morning we're all up early again, huddled around the TV. News trickles out in fits, but it looks like a Union backed bloodless coup took place in South Dakota over night. The governor has been replaced, the state legislature sent packing. By the end of the day, what was being reported as “military resistance” the day before is now being described as “clean-up operations.” It doesn't take long for other Block states to capitulate. North Dakota holds out the longest, but eventually it too backs down. The governor there doesn't step down, but he dissolves the state legislature and calls for new elections. He relents to having federal troops enter and occupy Bismark, and calls on pro-Block militia groups to disband. The next day, the President announces a giant aid package for the Block states. Governors of Block states are vociferous in their outrage, but they take the bribe, and don't seem too surprised about it.
“So they get a big fat hand-out? After seceding from the Union?” Kelley is making coffee.
“Trying to secede. There's a technical difference there. I think Lincoln split the same hair.” She hands me a coffee. “It makes sense, though, doesn't it? The President had to negotiate with China for the resources to hold the Union together, but he couldn't just give them Hawaii. There had to be a state of emergency, to make it at least appear like China simply took advantage of a bad situation.” I'm on the floor playing Candy Land with Lily. I've just gotten off the phone with Dee. The riots have all but ended around the country. Grocery stores and other businesses are opening again. She tells me that the President is going to lift the state of emergency tomorrow. She'll be on a train the next day to join us. I can't wait to see her. Lily is super excited. She can hardly draw cards without upsetting the whole board.
Kelley cradles her cup in her lap on the sofa nearby. The TV is off for the first time in days. The boys are out hunting for snakes or building a death-trap tree fort or something. “So we get past this crisis losing only Hawaii and Texas. I suppose if you're the President that's pretty good considering the alternative is a huge bloody civil war.”
I nod. “For now.”
Kelley cradles her cup in her lap on the sofa nearby. The TV is off for the first time in days. The boys are out hunting for snakes or building a death-trap tree fort or something. “So we get past this crisis losing only Hawaii and Texas. I suppose if you're the President that's pretty good considering the alternative is a huge bloody civil war.”
I nod. “For now.”
“Daddy,” Lily taps me hard on the knee to draw my attention back to our riveting game. “You got a single orange. That's a lose-your-turn orange.” She laughs at my misfortune. Despite the fact that Lily would probably like to hear me wail in agony, I'm pretty calm about the draw. I do hate Candy Land, but I'm pretty happy to be sitting here with Lily as she giggles and laughs. Anyway, losing a turn isn't the worst that can happen in this game.
