In truth, Whitney felt compassion for Geoff. Climate change was obviously real, though everyone was trying their best to ignore it. Something about the impossible fact that life was changing, and fast, made it preferable to talk about Instagram, wine varietals, snacks. The strategy Geoff shared with many of his co-workers at Google—buy a luxury doomsday bunker and prepare for the hordes of starving climate refugees by making sure your bunker was fortified and impossible to access—was both immoral and disgusting, but was it worse than ignoring the looming collective fate? This was something Whitney found it hard to discuss with her friends.
Five years ago—even two years ago—it seemed as if something was going to change, someone was going to find a solution. Scientists. World leaders. But as wildfires spread and glaciers melted, Whitney felt as if everyone just stopped processing. It was too horrible. Whitney admired the millennial millionaires for at least accepting the truth and making a plan, no matter how selfish.
Geoff was talking about “ecological burgers,” made from an “epic meat substitute.” Whitney made encouraging noises as they neared the turnoff for The Park, which was, in fact, a park on the surface but a sprawling world underground. Geoff fell silent, fingering his goatee as he surveyed the expanse of grass stretching before them.
“There’s nothing here,” said Geoff.
“The entire complex is underground,” said Whitney. She cut her eyes to him, to see his reaction.
He raised his eyebrows and pursed his chapped lips, impressed.
“So no exterior walls,” continued Whitney. “Instead, there is a series of tunnels and steel doors.”
“Steel doors,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“Concrete and steel blast doors,” she elaborated. “They can withstand any catastrophic natural disaster or man-made event.”
It was hard not to wonder, as Whitney put the Tesla in park, whether this could possibly be true. The nature of disaster preparedness was so weird, as no one actually knew which disaster to be scared of. Steel doors, for example, weren’t going to help with anthrax. Fifty years of gourmet freeze-dried foodstuffs, which a nearby project promised, weren’t going to fix a bad marriage.
Whitney made her voice bright. “Just wait until you see the pool, Geoffrey,” she said. “They even have technology to turn the sky above it from day to night!”
“I’m not a super pool party person,” said Geoffrey, looking unsure. He reminded Whitney of her son, Xavier, in that moment.
As if conjured from her heart, Whitney’s phone chirped. “Pardon me,” she said.
“My time is valuable,” said Geoff. She’d heard this exact statement from other young men who worked in tech…was there a workshop?
“I’m well aware,” said Whitney, stopping short of apologizing.
Geoff reached into the Yeti cooler, opened a second Red Bull. He looked pointedly at his wristwatch, sighing. Whitney, who had to study these things, knew it was a limited edition Carrera Calibre 1887 SpaceX chronograph watch, designed by Elon Musk. She smiled at Geoff, as if impressed. And then she answered her phone.
“Mom?” said Xavier. His voice was reedy, too high. “Mom?” he said again.
“Yes, honey?” she said. “What is it?”
“There’s a big problem,” said Xavier. “Mom! We’re in trouble, Mom! It’s Charlie!”
Whitney touched her fingertips to her forehead. Charlie was a bit na?ve, not nearly as street-smart as her own children. He was…ordinary. Whitney doubted Charlie had anything to do with what had happened on the greenbelt, but if he’d done anything to harm Xavier—or Xavier’s rocket ship of a future—Whitney would have to act fast. There was no question that she would protect her son.
“What is it?” she said, her mind turning, readying for battle. “What did Charlie do?”
-9-
Annette is an American!
LET’S PARTY!
You’re invited to a pool party where we will celebrate Annette Fontenot,
our favorite new American citizen!
WHEN?
June 4, from six p.m. to???
WHERE?
The Fontenot Home
DRESS?
Bathing Suit & Dancing Shoes We’ll have a buffet dinner, fireworks, and dancing under the stars. We’re so proud and happy for our Annette!
-10-
Annette
“AMERICAN FLAG CAKE,” SAID Louis. “Sparklers, Party in the USA playlist…what else?” Louis held a pen aloft, his MacBook Air balanced on his lap. When they had furnished the house, Louis had insisted on Ranch Luxe style, creating a living room reminiscent of the Driskill Hotel Bar, complete with cowhide furniture, a giant longhorn steer head mounted over the fireplace, and antique guns displayed as art.
Louis even hired Barvo Walker, famed sculptor of the Widow Maker statue in the Driskill （depicting life-sized cowboys getting tangled in their stirrups and falling to their deaths）， to create an enormous bronze statue of Louis’s beloved childhood pony, Red.
Annette had been unsure about the living room, but too busy with a new baby to protest. Now, she avoided the room whenever possible. Even Red had a maniacal gleam to his eye when the light hit him wrong.
“This party is too much,” she said now.
“For my American citizen wife?” said Louis. “Who loves barbecue even more than a real Texan? Can’t have too much, Annette. I’ve got a call in to Aaron Franklin to see if he’ll cater.”
Annette swallowed a sour taste—she was just as much a “real” Texan as Louis. “I think Aaron is a bit busy,” she said. “Didn’t Obama go to Franklin’s recently?”
“Can’t hurt to put a call in, right?”
Gazing at her pudgy husband, Annette felt a wave of affection soothe her irritation. Louis was a quarter inch shorter than she was, but he loved her in high stiletto heels anyway. The way Louis allowed the world to delight him was a marvel to Annette, though sometimes his willful ignorance could grate.
Annette and Louis had met at the University of Texas. He was an oil heir from Midland, she an undocumented basketball superstar. It had been different in the nineties for border kids, especially gifted athletes. UT hadn’t even mentioned Annette’s status when they recruited her: She’d turned down full rides at small northeastern colleges because she wanted Div I, and she’d wanted to stay home. Or near home, anyway—Laredo was a three-and-a-half-hour drive from Austin.
The first time Louis introduced himself was after a game. Annette was on her way to the locker room and he’d stepped in front of her. “I’m going to marry you,” he said.
Annette had sidestepped him—laughing, bewildered.
But Louis was sweet and serious. “I mean it,” he’d said. “I’m Louis. Can I take you to dinner tonight?”
“Annette!” her assistant coach called.
Annette said, “I have to go.”
“Mars Restaurant, eight o’clock?” he’d said. “It’s on San Antonio Street.”
“I…” she said
“I’ll be there until you come,” said Louis.
“Tonight’s not good,” she said.
“I can wait,” said Louis.