The bracelet is titanium and rose gold, a simple flat cuff with fragments of dinosaur bone and a meteorite inlaid in the shape of the infinity symbol. Engraved inside is the date, and To Lucy, Love Aunt Kay, reminding her that who we are endures forever.
I knew she was in for a gloomy time on her birthday, and her remedy of late is the same. When she has spaces to fill and moods to chase away, she’s on her computer, lost in the invisible world of open-source artificial intelligence （AI） coding. The machine-learning platforms she uses are available to anyone, and I suspect she’s professionally networking in the anonymity of cyberspace.
Maybe she’s personally connecting as well. That’s dangerous when you can’t be sure who or what’s on the other end. Someone good or bad, and are we certain your new contact is even human? Maybe it’s an Internet bot masquerading as a person.
Of more concern is what Lucy might be doing on her own, hour after hour, day in and day out. What occupies her attention when no one’s looking, when she’s not logged onto one of her preferred shared sites? I imagine her possessed, a magician conjuring up what she must have to give her meaning and a purpose, a reason for trying.
“I’m deciding she might be better off on her own again somewhere else.” Dorothy aims another dart at me, always hurled with a smile.
Her Grinch booties jingle whenever she moves, constantly looking at her phone, typing with her thumbs.
“I would think that living with you simply serves as a reminder of what she needs to get over. It’s time to move on and not look back,” she says, as if it’s that simple or even possible.
“I’ve not talked to her yet,” Benton replies. “I haven’t seen her since I got home a little while ago. Usually, she’ll step outside to say hello as I’m putting my car inside the garage. But she didn’t this time.”
“I’m going to check on her, tell her to come over.” I intend to do that before anything else. “Somehow we’ll salvage what’s left of her birthday.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” He doesn’t suggest accompanying me, and I know why.
Benton is in favor of my spending quality time with Lucy, just the two of us. Except for exercising, riding her motorcycle or running a few errands, she’s been holed up inside our guest cottage since moving here in the early fall. There are days when I don’t see her at all, only her cat wandering about, and it’s not for a lack of trying on my part.
Maybe Lucy will show up for dinner, maybe she won’t. She might call me or drop by for a chat. Then again, she might not, and that’s not terribly unusual. But she became increasingly isolated during the worst of the pandemic after Janet and Desi were stranded in London, and she wasn’t able to get to them.
Locked down in their flat, they couldn’t have been more responsible and careful during the months following the last postholiday peak. This was before the vaccine was available, and mother and son managed to stay away from everyone until a leaky pipe required an emergency visit from a plumber.
Later it would turn out he was positive for a variant of the coronavirus, an asymptomatic spreader. While replacing a corroded pipe joint, he was inside the flat with the windows shut for almost two hours, at times pulling down his inadequate mask. Several days later, Janet lost her sense of smell. Desi developed a cough and a fever, and Lucy couldn’t be there.
The fatality rate in the U.K. was so high at the time that funeral homes ran out of body bags. I remember hearing the dire anecdotes from colleagues about not being able to order them from anywhere. Hospitals were storing the dead in refrigerator trucks, and some cemeteries resorted to mass burials in trenches.
There were no viewings or funerals. No graveside services in a peaceful resting place, no flying the bodies home to loved ones. Most people dying from the virus were cremated, the remains sealed inside cheap boxes shipped by mail or UPS. Such a parcel was delivered to Lucy, and I can’t think of anything colder or more callous.
She never got the chance to say good-bye, and I fear she won’t accept that Janet and Desi are gone. In a way, they aren’t if she didn’t witness it. If she never saw the bodies, she has no evidence really. Leaving her in a state of limbo, her family neither here nor there, and technology has added to the problem while making it better.
“See you in a few,” Benton says as I head to the door. “In the meantime, we’ll start getting things ready,” he adds, and I go on to give a few instructions.