Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

Naomi sat on the couch in her office, watching the Today show with Vernon Hayes, her chief of staff, and Katherine Lively, her campaign manager.

“I’ve seen enough.” Naomi turned off the OLED television, the ultrathin screen becoming transparent, revealing the wall-mounted mirror behind. Naomi placed the remote on the coffee table and said, “If I didn’t know better, I might vote for her. We should’ve announced before her.”

Vernon leaned back in his chair. “We did the right thing. Let her have the spotlight now. We’ll announce after her buzz has died down.”

“The sooner we announce, the sooner we’ll start receiving campaign donations,” Katherine said, sitting in the chair next to Vernon. Katherine was fifty years old, tall, blonde, and fit, with a face pulled tight as a drum. “Funding is a serious issue. Financially, we’re nowhere close to where we need to be for a presidential campaign.”

Naomi sighed. “If we don’t have enough money, we can’t win, but we can’t get the campaign donations unless the public thinks we can win.”

Vernon chuckled, his gaze on Naomi. “We have a chicken-and-egg problem. We have to get the public to believe in you, without spending much money.”

“Any ideas on how to do that?”

“We have to take some chances. We have to get your face on the news and on the internet. You can’t walk the line, like a politician. You have to be up-front with the public. Don’t sugarcoat socialism. Don’t shy away from your convictions. People will follow just about any idea if the leader is certain.”

“I agree,” Katherine said. “We have to be aggressive to win, but we also have to be careful not to lose the moderate Democrats. Even if we run a grassroots campaign, we’ll still need money. Much more money than we have now.”

Naomi sighed and stood from the couch. “We’ll find the money.”

Vernon and Katherine stood from their chairs.

“Thank you, Katherine. Vernon, would you stay for a minute?”

Katherine smiled, turned on her heels, and left the office.

“I know what you’re gonna ask,” Vernon said with a crooked grin. “I already have my guy checking out Corrinne. I doubt we’ll find anything though. If she had skeletons, they’d have been unearthed a long time ago.”

“Nobody’s that perfect.”

“We’ll find out.” Vernon walked to the door. Before he reached his destination, someone knocked. He opened the door to find Katherine.

“We received a phone call from Jacob Roth’s office.” Katherine stepped into the room, and Vernon shut the door behind her.

Naomi approached them. “Did you say, Jacob Roth ?”

“Yes,” Katherine replied. “He wants to meet with you.”

“The CEO of Housing Trust?”

“Yes.”

“And heir to the Roth banking dynasty,” Vernon said.

It had been a week since his mother had collapsed on the kitchen floor. He’d spent most of the week at the hospital, unsure if each day might be her last. Then, over the weekend, she had improved. She wasn’t out of the woods, but he had felt comfortable leaving her at the hospital to finish the all-important late-season orange harvest.

Without the harvest, they’d lose the farm, and, if the cancer didn’t kill her, losing the farm certainly would. Derek had calculated that, if he ran the picker twelve hours per day through Thursday, he’d be ready for the farmers’ market on Friday.

For the first few hours of the morning, the picker had run flawlessly. Ricky and Carlos had worked behind the machine, gleaning whatever oranges Derek and the machine had left. Then it shut down. Derek figured it was overheating like usual, so he waited a few minutes and tried to restart the machine, but it wouldn’t start.

Ricky and Carlos approached.

“Did it overheat again?” Ricky asked.

“I think so.” Derek let out a breath. “I’m gonna take a break and come back. You guys want somethin’ to drink?”

The boys walked with Derek to the farmhouse. Along the way they passed one of the ponds and the apiary. The ponds were used to gravity irrigate the trees, using the swale system to spread the water evenly. The apiary consisted of twenty-five beehives underneath an open-air structure that measured fifty by ten.

The structure had wooden posts and a composite roof. The north and east sides of the structure were covered in lattice to stop the strong northerly and easterly winds. Derek understood that the bees were sensitive to changes in humidity and temperature, so keeping the rain, sun, and wind off the hives made for healthier, more productive bees.

“How come you got so many bees?” Carlos asked.

“They help with pollination,” Derek said.

“What’s that?” Ricky asked.

“It’s like when flowers do it ,” Carlos said with a smirk.

Derek shook his head and herded the boys from the bees’ flight paths. “Not too close. I don’t want you to get stung.” Inside the farmhouse, Derek sat the boys at the kitchen table and opened the refrigerator. “We have orange juice, apple juice, water.” He picked up the milk carton and checked the expiration date. “Sorry, milk’s bad.”

“Apple juice,” Carlos and Ricky said, one after the other.

“I’m tired of oranges,” Ricky said.

“Me too,” Derek said, dumping the spoiled milk into the sink.

Derek poured three glasses of apple juice and sat at the table with the boys. They both looked dirty, their clothes and shoes worn and holey. Carlos had a dark tan, his teeth caked with a yellow film. Ricky was red from the sun and skinny as a beanpole, but at least his teeth were white.

“Where’d you go last week?” Carlos asked.

“My mom got sick,” Derek replied.

“Is she okay?” Ricky asked.

“She should be fine. Thanks, Ricky.” Derek finished his apple juice and stood from the table. “Wait here. Get some more juice if you want.”

“Can we have something to eat too?” Carlos asked.

“How about a sandwich?”

“Peanut butter and jelly?” Ricky asked, a grin on his freckled face.

“We could do that.” Derek grabbed two plates, bread, a butter knife, peanut butter, and jelly. “Wash your hands. You can fix your own sandwiches. I’ll be right back.”

Derek left the boys in the kitchen and went to Lindsey’s room. He found some old clothes that could pass for boy’s clothes. In the bathroom, he found a new toothbrush and toothpaste that he’d bought for Lindsey a month ago. He returned to the kitchen where the boys enjoyed their sandwiches. Derek set the clothes on the table.

“I was gonna throw away these clothes,” Derek said. “I thought they might make good work gear, so you two don’t ruin your good clothes.”

Carlos laughed. “We don’t have any good clothes.”

Derek grabbed a cloth grocery bag from under the sink and placed the clothes inside the bag. “Take this with you when you go home.”

“Thanks, Derek,” Ricky said.

After the boys ate their sandwiches, Derek cleaned their plates and dried his hands. “Carlos, can I show you somethin’ real quick?”

Carlos narrowed his eyes at Derek. “What?”

“I have somethin’ for you.” Derek addressed Ricky. “Would you mind waitin’ here for a minute, Ricky?”

“Okay,” Ricky replied.

Derek led Carlos into the bathroom. He removed the toothbrush and toothpaste from his pocket. “You have a toothbrush at home?”

“Yeah.”

“If you don’t brush your teeth at least twice a day, your teeth will rot out of your mouth. I’m assumin’ your family doesn’t have the money to pay for implants.”