59 Epilogue

2035

New York, New York

A middle-aged woman wearing a black suit jacket with a tan, wool trench coat hung over one arm strolls into a quiet coffee shop. Her thick heels clack on the wooden floors as she approaches the counter. She digs into her coat pocket to retrieve her wallet. There are no lines; she always exits her job fifteen minutes before the usual lunch crowd arrives. When she straightens up to order, spiked wallet clutched in her manicured grasp, the barista smiles up at her.

"Hey, Ms. Jackson. Same as usual?" The young man sports a handlebar mustache and is wearing a black employee uniform button up with the name tag pinned to the front.

"No, actually I'm thinking of just a large hot chocolate with a lot...a lot of whipped cream." Ms. Jackson lifts her hands to demonstrate how high she wants her mountain of whip creme to be.

"Sure thing. It'll be ready in a jiffy." The young man spins on his heel and grabs a large cup out of the cup dispenser.

The woman adjusts her coat in her arms while she waits.

"Got good news today?" The young man, Adam, shouts over his shoulder has he makes her beverage.

"Just successfully finished a big presentation and wanted to celebrate." She blows a braid out of her face and searches the cafe for available seats.

There are a few students on computers occupying the round wooden tables near the counter, but farther back in the room is an empty corner.

"Here you go!" Adam hands the hot chocolate over with a napkin.

The woman turns back to the counter and grasps the delicious smelling drink. The generous helping of whipped cream quivers as she struggles to hold it while digging out her credit card. She settles the drink down and pulls out her card to pay. Adam swipes the card and hands it over.

"Thanks, Adam."

"My pleasure, Ms. Jackson. It's nice to see you in a good mood."

She smiles at her wallet as she zips it up and puts it back in her coat pocket. She folds the coat back over her arm and grabs her drink by the protective cover to sit at the vacant table in the corner.

She sets her coat across the lap of her black suit pants and digs in.

Her head dips down into the whipped cream and moans in appreciation at the sugary flavor. She takes a sip of the hot chocolate. The heat scolds her tongue a bit, but the refreshing taste flows down her throat. It forces an even wider smile upon her face.

Self consciously, she dabs at her brown skin to remove the whipped cream mustache from her upper lip. While she folds the napkin and sets it down on the table, her eyes wander to the other customers.

One table sticks out the most. Near the shaded windows along the side of the cafe, a father is sitting at a table with a stroller beside it. He's breaking apart a muffin and slipping small pieces to the child in the stroller. He's a lean man with high cheekbones and is wearing relaxed exercise wear. His sleepy eyes are bright and joyful as he makes faces at his small child.

'What a lovely man,' she thinks for a moment while raising the hot chocolate once again to her full lips.

The moment vaguely reminds her of her own father, but she ignores the sadness that clings to that thought and pushes her seat back.

'I should get back before everyone is rushing out the main doors for lunch. I can start on my emails...' She puts on her coat, grabs her drink, and marches out of the cafe without looking back.

When she enters her jobs glass facade, she waves at the guard before he buzzes her in. She strides through the security barrier and metal detector.

"That was quick," the guard comments as she dumps her empty container into a trash can beside the guard's reception desk.

Her heels clack against the polished, speckles black granite flooring as she makes her way to the elevators.

"Time is money!" she yells over her shoulder before pressing the elevator button with her pale blue nail.

When she gets to her work level, she exits the elevator so a group of people leaving for lunch can hop on. While she is making her way to her office, she hears a coworker weeping in their cubicle. From the opposite side of the room, she can see a bent head of brown hair bobbing up and down. The older woman's signature polka dotted headband, worn overtop her curled brown locks, is missing.

'Cheryl again?' She rolls her eyes before sighing and approaching the distraught woman.

"Cheryl, is everything alright?" she stands beside the cubicle with a frown.

'Stressing over stuff that isn't work related is a misuse of company time.'

Cheryl's cubicle is cluttered. She has stacks of papers scattered across one side of her work area and multicolor sticky notes decorating the walls along with a tattered animal calendar.

"What's happened?" Ms. Jackson waits for Cheryl's reply, but the crying woman hiccups and continues weeping with a tissue pressed up against her nose.

Another coworker pops their head up, "She was reading an article about the latest findings in New Cinalia by the Purple Diamond Humanitarian group."

Ms. Jackson's frown deepens and she swallows the comment she was going to make.

Cheryl sniffles, "They've stopped searching the islands that were evacuated when River City was bombed, but they've resumed contact with the mainland...and...and.."

Ms. Jackson walks around to the other side of the cubicle and sets a comforting hand on Cheryl's back. She rubs little circles on the blue, cotton sweater. Cheryl tosses a soiled tissue into her small trash bin and pulls a tissue out of the box beside her keyboard. She takes a few calmly breathes and blows her nose.

Ms. Jackson takes her hand off Courtney's shoulder and steps back around the other side of the cubicle. The other coworker watches from their cubicle. Cheryl takes a few more breathes before continuing her explanation.

"These relief workers have finally gotten access after a lot of the humanitarian groups have stopped looking and working over there. It's been years and-" her voice cracks.

She takes another breath and starts again, "They've found one of the missing persons. A man named Chen Sia was found at one of the campsites they brought supplies to. God bless his family. They will be so...I was just thinking of the relatives we still haven't...we have no idea."

"Has his family come forward? They know?" Ms. Jackson's eyes widen and she rushes around the cubicle wall to view Cheryl's computer screen. "Are there photos?"

The screen displays humanitarians grouped together next to a crate smiling widely. Their hazmat clothing looks dirty around the knees and one of the volunteers isn't wearing a hood to his hazmat suit. His shirt appears to have some stains on it resembling blood.

"No, no. The author said they are trying to make contact with the family now. This is so exciting I want to see a reunion," Cheryl hiccups and tears begin streaming down her face once more. "It will be so heart wrenching if even now while these...They've told us we weren't turning our backs on Cinalia because no one is left, but this is proof. They made contact with around 50 people so far. There might be hundreds! Thousands out there needing help!"

"Life finds a way," Ms. Jackson pats the woman's shoulder and gives her a little squeeze," I understand what you're going through is —-"

Cheryl shakes the hand off her shoulder and turns in her chair, "No, it's okay. You don't have to pretend...I just ... it's been almost 17 years and we still can't return home. The place I was born and raised is still a part of the radiated zone."

Ms. Jackson straightens up and looks down at the sobbing woman with pity. "I think you should clock out early today, Cheryl, and just email in the documents needed for today."

"No, no I can—"

"Take your time, Cheryl. I know how hard this can be. Truly."

Ms. Jackson walks away from the cubicles as composed as always.

Cheryl calms down. When her coworkers come back from their lunch and see her ruined makeup a couple pause at her cubicle.

"Got railed for a late assignment?" a middle-aged woman with glasses guesses.

"No. I'm just not having a great time right now. I'm going now actually."

Cheryl puts some paperwork into a folder and slips it into her pink purse. Her coworkers leave to continue working, but the woman in glasses remains leaning on the cubicle wall.

"Ms. Jackson know about this?"

"She's the one who granted it to me."

"Oh. Hope you feel better soon, Cheryl," the woman taps the cubicle wall and strolls toward another side of the room.

Cheryl waves, adjusts the strap on her shoulder, and heads toward the elevator.

After pressing the button to call the elevator, she turns toward her manager's office and raises her hand to give a goodbye wave. Unfortunately, the privacy shutters are down. She lowers her hand and departs.

*******************

Within Ms. Jackson's office, the phone is in use.

"Mom. Have you gotten any calls today?" Ms. Jackson is leaning forward in her large leather chair with a finger rubbing circles on her temple. The landline phone is held up to her left ear, "No. I'm okay, Mom, it's just. I think maybe they've found Sia. They said it's a man but they've been wrong before, right? I remember...I remember she was tall. It could be a misunderstanding. I think we should call these people."

There is a pause before she shakes her head, "No, I don't know who, but..."

Her mother interrupts her. She blows air out her nose and swivels around in her chair to blankly stare out the window at the reinforced glass. She sighs when a cloud drifts by and makes it hard to view the world outside. Instead, her own face is reflected back at her. The unhappiness in her dark eyes is matched by her clenched jaw and slouched shoulders.

Finally, her mom allows her to reply, "I'm at work, but when I get off I want to call. Could you try to find out some more information on this? Please?"

Her mother's reply is curt.

"Ma. This won't be like last time. I feel it."

Her mother doesn't agree, but she won't let this go.

"And they stopped working! It was never confirmed what areas were destroyed! We don't know anything! I've heard talk that they didn't even let any of the workers go beyond the coasts. They only flew around before calling off most of the rescue teams!"

Her mother finally responds, but not to the part she wants her to respond to.

"It's not a conspiracy, Mom. They have evidence, sources. I...alright. I have to finish this and then I'm coming by your place."

Ms. Jackson hangs up and sits back in her chair. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and picks up a photo from her desk.

It's a picture of her older sister and her at five years old. Sia's face is frozen in laughter while Aliyah's face has a bit of fear on her face as she tilts to one side of Sia's shoulders.

******************

They were in the front yard of their grandmother's house, standing on a stone walkway. Sia had placed her upon her wide shoulders, and their fingers were interlocked. Their father had taken this photo after Sia spun in a circle a few times. Sia's usually straight locks were sticking up in random directions. Her own hair texture was similar to her mothers and is in two "afro puffs".

Her father had snapped it right before she fell off of Sia's shoulders and slid down the side of her arm.

Sia caught her, "Whoops, sorry. I gotcha."

She had been afraid she was going to hit the ground, but being caught and swung up into a hug released a giggle from her instead of a scream. Sia shuffled from side to side trying to regain her balance.

"Aaliyah! Sia! We're going to eat out with Grandma! Head to the car!" their mother ordered from the screen door.

*****************

Her heart clenches as she relives the memory frozen in the photograph. Her lower lip quivers as she takes a deep breath to compose herself. She swallows and wipes a hand down her face. She misses her sister more than ever now.