Eternal Heat

Jillian Graves always wakes at eleven in the morning, nestled in her bayside condo, with twilight curtains to block the morning sun at both its source and the reflection off of the water. She wakes up naturally, like her body is in sync with nature. Besides the fact she hosts a vastly popular, syndicated radio talk show late at night, she wakes at this same time every day, without an alarm. Often, she will contemplate the self- indulgence of device-enhanced masturbation. Regardless, she will still be half-asleep while engaging her coffee maker to coax eye-opening libation from it, first thing every morning.

This morning is auspiciously different.

She instinctively knows something really big has changed in her world and sets about getting to the bottom of it. Bolting to sit upright in her bed, she quickly draws her smart phone from the bedside table. Sliding a finger across its face, she stares at it with her blue eyes in disbelief at the twelve forty-five display and wrangles out from under the covers to her feet, heading to the kitchen. Once there, she checks the time on her coffeemaker against that of the microwave. They show the same quarter of one. But the light coming in her kitchen window, which overlooks her expansive patio, is right in line for eleven o’clock, her usual waking time. Forgetting all about coffee this morning, she heads out to her typical second stop upon waking, the luxurious piazza with European- inspired furnishings. All is in place, undisturbed but again the shadows are all wrong for

the time posted by her kitchen appliances and her phone. In fact, the angles of light and dark are exactly the way they would be had she not overslept.

The wave of panic that shoots through her body makes her gasp out loud and she intuitively covers her mouth with one hand. Immediate implications are paralyzing. She wrestles with the physical evidence before her. Surely the sun could not have stopped moving and she is just remembering the shadows erroneously. Of course, it has to be an error in judgment because if it were true then the entire world would be on the cusp of an extinction event. Subsequently, she knows this thinking is wrong. Her natural instincts tell her the aberration is real and time is short.

Smart phone still in her hand, she sets to calling the most rational man she knows, and speaks into it, “Call Dad.”

“’lo,” the comforting voice on the other end sings out after four rings.

“Daddy, something’s terribly wrong!” Jillian tries to keep her composure, but it was her dad on the phone and she is frightened.

“I know it is, pumpkin. You’re living and working in the city. Done cast off your country roots, you might say,” he speaks then mumbles an affirmation to himself, always hopeful of her return home but does not miss his little girl’s tone. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“No, Dad. The sun, it’s all wrong.” She swallows, trying gallantly not to panic. “What do you mean the sun is all wrong?” Knowing of his daughter’s innate

sense of nature, he gives credence to her alarm and to her words without question. “It’s pushing one o’clock but the shadows on my patio look like eleven in the

morning. And I’m just now waking up. I always wake at eleven, you know this.”

“You mean the shadows on that great big, honking porch?” He attempts levity. “Yes, that great big honking porch you like so well,” she catches her breath and

runs her fingers through her long, blonde hair similar to a lion’s mane. “Daddy, is anything strange happening on the ranch?”

Silence, then the man of forty-eight years clears his throat, “A-hmm. Now that you mention it, the horses are out of sorts today. Every last one of them, even Blaze the mule, came in from the fields and are in their stalls. That, and the dog’s kind of extra clingy today, but Bascom is always under foot.”

From his venue on the tractor, which he had turned off when his phone vibrated, he turns sideways in his seat to take a look back in the direction of the barn although it’s out of sight, adding, “The horses weren’t asleep the last time I checked on ’em. Just acting odd is all.”

She had been listening attentively, but now redirects the discussion, “Daddy, I know, go look at the sundial I gave you last Father’s Day, the one outside Mamma’s garden. And say hello from me to Bascom.”

Without objection, he trots over to his ATV parked nearby, scrubs the ears of the maple syrup colored Labrador Retriever nearly asleep in the passenger seat and hollers, “Jillian says hello, boy. Hold on.”

He turns the key that was left, as always, in the ignition, guns a little gas through the motor then wheels toward the main house. The noted sundial is in the back yard, near the entrance to Katy’s garden. Inside a minute, he is on the ground and walks up to the seven-foot-high Gothic sculpture. Drawing near, but mindful to not let his shadow fall on the ground level dial, he observes where the shadow from the high, vertical needle strikes

the scale.

XI. The sun is still at eleven am.

Waves of practical explanations and possible courses of action sweep over him like a zephyr.

“You there, Pumpkin?”

“Yes, Daddy. What does it say?” she exclaims, a victim of building anxiety over the past minute.

“It says eleven o’clock! How is this possible? It’s almost one, like you said.” He checks his watch. Ideas begin to race through his mind and he doubts his own spoken words.

Eventually, Jillian breaks the flustered quiet by speaking in vacant thoughts, “I best be getting on in to work. There’ll be lots to do.”

“Do us both a favor, Jillian,” he rarely uses her given name. “Don’t let things get too crazy in San Francisco before you hightail it back home. I feel like things are going to get bad, real bad, with people panicking and all. You always have a place here at home.

We’ll take good care of each other.”

She did not object to his invitation, so surreal this time because she feels it, too. A gnawing, free-falling sensation growing in the pit of her stomach, telling her that things are about to go to hell in a handbasket real soon. Suddenly, she is so taken by fear that she doubts her instinct to immediately go in early to the radio station or whether to go in at all. But she is not going to tell her father this because she likes to be seen as strong in his eyes. Since her mother’s death, due to cancer, she had been so strong and had stayed with her dad for a month after the funeral. That was three years ago and she still fights

the heart strings that pull her back home to help out. But now it is different. Now she wants to go home.

“Daddy, I think I’m going to accept your offer, come out to the farm for a few days, at least until this thing blows over.” Though spoken, she has little faith that this phenomenon will end so easily. Her sensitivities are screaming in alarm.

“That’s great! But what about your job at the station?”

She didn’t have to think it through as that contingency had been covered, informing him, “It was already worked out before this. Vince had said I could work remotely if I ever need to, so...”

“You make it sound like I’ll be seeing you later today,” he remains excited. “I just have to go to the station and pick up some equipment. As luck has it, I

filled my gas tank yesterday. I should be there by the close of business, that’s five for you country folk.”

She knows her daddy is smiling on the other end as city dwellers versus country folk is their favorite go-to for family jokes.

“It’s going to be great seeing you. You be careful now, hear?” “I will. Daddy, I love you!”

She swipes the phone off and thinks for a precious moment. The thought of going home coalesces all her random emotions and gives her purpose. She knows that, in the very least, she can make it that far.

“Call Vince,” she says to her smart phone and heads inside, so strangely aware that the sun has not moved in the sky for two hours. She locks the sliding glass doors for the first time in years and heads to the bedroom. She pulls a pre-packed overnight bag

from the bottom of her closet, then deals with a large suitcase, the kind with coaster wheels for tooling around airports and such.

“There won’t be any use for wheels where I’m going,” she says aloud to keep her thoughts well centered while packing the suitcase.

“Jillian?”

“Vince, yeah, it’s me,” she says then places the phone on the edge of the dresser after enabling the speaker app. “Remember when we talked about me working remotely, from my father’s ranch?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of sudden, though. Say, you’re not due in for four hours. Why do I get the impression you’re on the way?”

“Because you need to quit dwelling on me and find a girl who’ll date you, is

why.”

“At least give me five minutes alone in the closet, hmm?”

“Not even, but how about I’ll tell you I’m naked right now?” she says in a huff from changing her clothes while packing her other clothes and shoes into the large suitcase. “Just have my laptop packed up and don’t forget the WiFi dongle this time. I’ll be getting that and the sound bag, then adios!”

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Jillian. Is your dad alright?”

“Yeah, Dad’s fine. I’ll explain it to you in a few minutes. I’m already on my way out the door. And you missed your chance, I’m fully dressed again! But you should have seen me. I’m drop dead gorgeous in the buff.” Swipes off.

She secures an energy drink from the fridge before heading out, slips it into the over-sized pocket of her khaki shorts, and also locks the deadbolt not really knowing

why. If things truly get out of hand then locks won’t stop crazed people. Managing her overnight bag and the luggage into the rear of her Cadillac Escalade, she pulls the energy drink out of her pocket, slips her lithe form into the driver’s seat, runs fingers through her silky blonde, back-length hair. Realizing as she looks into the rear view mirror that she had fallen asleep without cleansing her face and has a little of the makeup she’d wore yesterday. No time. A few quick, cleansing breaths to even out her nerves, she ignites the powerful eight-cylinder engine then it’s off to the radio station. No worries. It’s only five blocks away.

Upon pulling in to park, she begins to work the GPS buttons as it had been displaying an ‘acquiring satellites’ notification her entire little trip. She pauses a moment to think about geocentric orbits. Realizing all such satellites must have kept speeding along in their trajectories, she shakes her head concerning all the modern facets of life now affected by the event. Nationwide satellite communications, a lot of television broadcasting, civilian and military GPS, On Star and stock market trading just to name a few, but especially GPS because so many services are linked to it. Cell phones could be okay but it would be her dad or Emma, the KSSX station engineer, who might know for sure.

Before she can even think about leaving, there is someone she has to see. Despite the phenomena of the sun dangling in the balance, perhaps this occasion can be used to enact a little plan she has been cooking up for some time. She is hanging over Emma Stone’s cubicle wall and looking down upon the lady’s cleavage. She functions as the radio station chief engineer, a fancy title with a modest amount of communications technology. Emma came to KSSX radio after an exhaustive search for a job after college

and radio proved to be her saving grace amidst an ocean of student loans. While here for the past eight years, she’d performed her day job then enjoyed the night life of San Francisco. Nothing new as that girl and modesty are apparently worlds apart. Yet undetected, Jillian pulls a pushpin out of the wall on her side and attempts a slam dunk into that deep triangle formed by her blouse and two nice boobs.

Score!

“What the fuck… Oh, Jillian, it’s you!” The woman only pretends to be mad, pulling the pin out from her open brassiere with two careful fingers, tosses her brunette, face-cupping hair, catches her friend’s eyes with her own baby blues, then says, “What are you doing here so early? Did you quit?!?”

“Naw, I’m going remote tonight,” she instinctively wants her best friend out of the city without cluing her in, just yet. “Wanna come out to the country for a few days?”

“What?” Emma struggles to get on the same page, offering in objection, “But it’s the middle of the week and I have a date tonight.”

“Then cancel. There’ll be other dates, knowing you. I’ll tell Vince that I need to take you, so pack up your laptop and stuff.”

“I don’t know, Jill. Vince is getting crazy with corporate, something about the Emergency Alert System, and I’ve got failure alarms on the satellite up-links. They might need me here,” Emma says in rehearsed company loyalty.

Jillian thinks for a split second, hiding her anxiety over taking Em with her, then counters, “Isn’t this what you have an assistant for?”

“Allen?” Emma’s voice parrots in surprise, “He’s not been out of Cal Tech a

year!”

The talk show host’s grimace is slightly evil, “I’ll tell you about my last date…”

Emma thinks over the temptation for only a split second, “Okay then, it’s not like you’re twisting my arm. You never talk about your dates. Wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

“In the car,” Jillian calls back over her shoulder, already crossing the room to Vince’s office. “I’m picking you up at your place in fifteen minutes, so go!”

Crossing the staff floor, she slides into an office chair and closes the door in one fluid movement. Vince McGraff always has short, wavy brown hair and looks that are present somewhere in the veritable ballpark of good-looking men. He has spooky green eyes and is on his landline telephone. That meant it was probably a corporate call. He holds up one finger as if to say, “Wait a minute.”

She is motionless for the first time in a very tumultuous morning. Hundreds of thoughts have gone through her mind and her pulse is rapid. She can feel her body drawing from the energy drink she had gulped down on the way over which helps her recharge. She gathers from nuances among the verbal pitches from Vince that he is about to end his telephone call. Not wanting to come across to him as hysterical, she lays out certain details in her mind about the sun and shadows, maybe even satellite errors by now, being almost two and a half hours into an endless day.

“Later,” Vince is finally free. “What in the hell is going on, Jillian?” “What do you mean?” Her amber eyes full of feigned innocence.

“First I get your call saying you’re going remote, then corporate calls me saying the president is going to activate the Emergency Alert System in the next half hour but they can’t because they have satellite errors,” he ends his last statement with a time check

on his cell’s clock app.

“The sun has quit moving, ah, that is the earth has stopped spinning, dead in its tracks. The satellites didn’t stop so satellite communications and GPS are down. That’s about it.”

Vince both rolls his eyes as if to say, “Seriously?” and runs his fingers through his hair nervously.

Jillian continues without waiting for a response, “You see, I normally wake up at eleven, without even an alarm. Done it for years and you’d know this if you ever listen to my show. Well, first thing this morning and my clocks are reading quarter of one. And… the shadows on my patio all look like they do when I first get up, at eleven. Then I called my dad who said the dog and horses are acting funny. And the sundial I got him last Father’s Day shows eleven o’clock.”

She reacts to seeing baggage in the seat next to her and stands up. She is finding it extremely hard to contain her anxiety and is trying to avoid a detailed conversation with Vince because it will delay her departure. The feeling deep in her gut demands she get out of town.

Rising to his feet, he copes in his own way by challenging her, “Is that it? Is this what you brought here?”

She grabs half the load, answering in pseudo truths, “That and I’m taking Emma with me, okay? I’ll need her to adjust signals out in the country. C’mon. Help me to my car.”

He does as she suggests, managing to say, “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. The world has gone crazy and I didn’t get the memo!”

Their conversation falls off outside his office door per the protocol established. Jillian leads them without talking along the main corridor around a dozen cubicles and out the front doors everyone uses. Chirping her auto alarm off with her fob, the rear hatches opens with the posing of her foot.

She puts all the gear in place, lets him do the same, closes the hatch, then says to Vince, “Check the sun out, but don’t stare right at it, of course. The ocean is to our right here, that’s west. If you imagine a line straight up, that would be high noon, as they say. The sun is over to the left of this imaginary line. Right about where it should be at eleven in the morning. But it’s pushing two o-clock.”

Vince elaborates his own theory, “So, something in the atmosphere is making the sun appear over there when it should be over here. Have I got it right?”

“Vince,” Jillian said in an attempt to not lose him, mentally. “When’s the last time the POTUS activated the EAS over an optical illusion? I wouldn’t count on the government to be forthcoming with totally reliable information. I’m telling you the sun is dead still at eleven o’clock!”

“So where’s Emma? I didn’t see her in the pool.” “I sent her home to pack,” she admits.

“Well,” Vince said, acting a little more grounded, “whatever time you think it is, I have a radio station to operate. I know Emma’s your right hand and all, so I don’t really care, but can’t you run personnel changes by me first? Say, didn’t you say once that it takes you about two hours to reach your dad’s ranch?”

“Yes, but…”

“But nothing,” he voices. “You two better get going. Randy has a dental

appointment so he’s leaving in a while. I need you on the air by 5 which only leaves you and Emma only half an hour to get set up once you’re there.”

Jillian forgot the sky and was looking directly into Vince’s mesmerizing green eyes. Surely, things would have been different between them if he weren’t station manager. She sighs. Another lost cause in her love life.

“Listen. Thanks for helping with my stuff. I didn’t give you much warning,” she says, flicking her hair against the wind, touching him on his crossed arms.

His eyes belie a deeper response, though he calmly voices, “It’s nothing. I got Emma to help me, but your laptop was already packed up from yesterday. I think she thought you were going to quit.”

“At the outbreak of a world emergency? Not a chance. I’m doing public service tonight, pull some righteous 411 off the web for us. Plus, I have a friend in Washington, at the U.S.G.S., where she’s in charge so maybe I can get some insider info, too.”

Vince starts to get misty, but manages to say, “I know you’ll do great.”

“So, you take care of things here. And everybody.” She pointed to encircle the station family, and heads toward her driver’s seat, “They’re not going to know what to do.”

“They’re not going to know what to do? I don’t know what to do…” he mumbles to himself, then exclaims, “Hey. Were you really naked?”

Only smiling, she waves good-bye over the steering wheel and is gone.

Seven blocks in the other direction of her apartment from the station, Jillian arrives at Emma’s apartment complex, knowing she is early. Driven by anxiety, she

makes a silent vow to not to rag on the girl if her friend proves to be a little late. After all, a fifteen minute warning to go out of town is so campy and, in general, a bit of taking her for granted. But she feels it is now or never for her plan to take effect.

Pulling in next to Emma’s pink Ford Mustang, it occurs to her that she has never come up to her daddy’s ranch. Thus, she wouldn’t know it’s located practically in the Sierra Nevadas and subject to being chilly this time of year, especially at night. Her first impulse is to pop inside Emma’s apartment to advise her but then she recollects they wear the same size. The scads of winter gear in her old closet back home will come to good use just in case her friend packs too cool.

Easing back into the plush driver seat, Jillian forces herself to breathe deeper and easier, focusing on her immediate environment. There is an ornamental tree just off her door where a covey of small birds have gathered. It’s almost like they can sense the change, or rather that there is no change, in the progression of the day. The feathered beauties appear to be bickering, showing a confusion within their group. That or she is personifying their behavior. She worries how all the animals in California, and the entire world for that matter, will adapt to this cataclysm.

Who will take care of all the animals?

While she does not know the shadows intimately around this apartment complex, she can imagine lines between points of shade and the corresponding parts of the buildings and trees that have made them. A point of shade is cast down from a flag pole, indicating a line leaning left of vertical.

Eleven o’clock.

Another shadow invades a patch of grass from the top of an elm.

Again, eleven o’clock.

Over and over, the angles all reported the same delineation. Eleven o’clock.

She rubs her temples. Tired of the reinforcing the sun’s position, Jillian closes her eyes and wishes to wake up in bed at the real eleven o’clock. She admits to herself she didn’t want to face the end of days on a Wednesday, or ever.

What was so wrong with her existence as an ex-country girl, romantic radio talk- show host who’s hardly ever dated?

Close enough to the fifteen minute mark to avoid catching any grief, Emma rounds the corner of the parking lot with luggage in tow; a shoulder bag and a roll along suitcase like Jillian’s. She starts up the Escalade as luggage is placed in the back seat and they are rolling in just a moment. The SUV straightens up on Sister Cities Boulevard heading towards the 101, and eventually to Interstate 80, when Emma breaks the silence.

“Time to pay the piper. Give me the goods of your last date.” Jillian sighs. “Not much to tell. He roofied me at the bar…” Emma sucks hard at the air, “What?”

“But I had some flumazenil pens my daddy had given me, so I managed to get one from my purse and popped myself in the leg.”

“Wait. What’s flumaz…? What does that do?”

“Flumazenil. It counters a roofie within seconds. I managed to use one because we were in a crowded room. Otherwise… When I could, I broke a beer bottle on the son- of-a-bitch’s head and took a cab home.”

“Lucky girl is all I can say. I fully understand why you don’t date, girl. So, okay,”

she says, hands out and palms up which aids her when talking. “What is this business that is taking us a hundred miles out of San Francisco?”

Jillian leaps right in without preparing her friend in any way, saying, “At eleven o’clock today the earth stopped turning.”

A critical moment passes wherein Emma was waiting for the punch line, then spits a somewhat muffled laugh with one hand over her lips. Then, “Did you stay up until dawn watching the SciFi channel again?”

“No!” Jillian iterates, a little irritated, and pushes the control panel button to open the skylight above, the glass window is still closed. “Do you see the sun somewhere above us?”

Emma tilts her head up and backwards to see, then answers, “Yeah, I see it. So

what?”

“So, what?!?” Jillian challenges, “It’s two thirty in the afternoon. The sun should be half way down the horizon and to the west but it’s off to the east a bit. Eleven o’clock.”

Taking her eyes off of the road for an instant, she discerns Emma without any expression. Emma says, “This is a nice car. When did you trade?”

“Thanks. Six months ago,” Jillian replies, not really wanting to talk about cars, then interjects, “I thought you wanted to talk about what’s happening.”

“I do,” she fidgets in her seat. “I just don’t know what it means. Like, wasn’t everything on Earth supposed to end up in this massive train wreck if the planet stopped?”

“I can’t explain it, Emma. Maybe the scientists who dreamed that scenario up

were wrong. I am just afraid that everyone will panic when reality settles in, you know, the veritable shit hitting the fan. I’ve always been spiritually close to nature and I think that’s why I feel like getting out of the city for a while. And I wanted you with me. You can meet my dad.”

Jillian pats Emma’s hand then hooks up her smart phone to the dashboard. “How long is a while?” Emma voices her concern, not wanting to live in the

country longterm. “I have house plants and all my stuff is here.”

“I’m not kidnapping you, girl. I’ll bring you back anytime you want.”

“I know this,” Emma voices, calm but still uneasy about the way the day is unfolding. “I’d just like to know what the hell happened to cause all this.”

“I need some answers myself, girlfriend. It’s time to call an expert. Call Kaitlin!”

She had elevated her voice at the end. Faint beeps could be heard as the car system auto-dials.

“Kaitlin is a friend from college and a doctor in some earth science job in Washington, D.C. I know she’s bound to know something about all this,” Jillian explains to Emma while the ringer still sounds.

“Hello. This is Dr. Kaitlin Alabaster.”

“It’s Jillian here, doc. My friend, Emma, is with me. What the hell’s going on?” A long silence without explanation, then, “This isn’t a real good time, girlfriend.

But I can give you a few minutes. How did you find out about this phenomena so fast?” Jillian attempts to give a brief on her morning, saying, “I slept in this morning.

When I got up, the sun was in the wrong place. It was at eleven o’clock, the same place it always is when I get up on time. But my clocks read quarter of one.”

More silence, then, “We’re not on the same page here, Jillian. What do you mean that the sun was in the wrong place? Isn’t it always exactly where it should be?”

“No, it’s not, Kait! It is two forty in the afternoon out here in California, but the sun remains at eleven. It’s like the earth has stopped spinning. What are you talking about?”

“Damn. Girl. Let me check on something with my computer while I tell you something that I probably shouldn’t,” the doctor says and audible computer keystrokes can be heard. “Odd that you should be talking about eleven o’clock because that’s when our big event happened that has everyone in Washington freaking out. You see, at two o’clock this afternoon, that’s eleven your time, some very bright scientists’ prediction that the poles would flip actually came to pass. Well, in addition to that happening all seismic activity around the world stopped. All of our instruments around the globe are either dead still or giving a ‘no signal’ alert to the system.”

Emma and Jillian exchange glances as Kaitlyn continues, “Now, you’re telling me that on top of this the earth has stopped rotation on its axis?” More keyboard sounds, “And…just like you said, Jillian, my local solar time is two p.m. but clocks read five forty-three. Shit!”

Kaitlin continues before either of the other two could speak, “Shit, shit and

shit!!!”

“What’s wrong?” Jillian says as she passes a slower vehicle on the right.

“It’s me. It’s all on me. We’ve all been freaking out here, I’m in charge, and I neglect to take a look outside my office until some civilian, that’s you Jill baby, points it out to me. Just shit! But it does explain all the sensor failures. There’s no satellites in

place. That’s what wrong with the sensors.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Kaitlyn. Just like in college, you’ve always needed my grounded point-of-view, huh? We get it all together then you go on and outshine the rest of us.”

“Of course, you’re so right, girlfriend. I can fix all of this, on the scientific end.” “But what does all this mean, doctor?” Emma braves to ask.

“I don’t know, Emma, and I really hate not knowing.”

“Kaitlyn,” Jillian spoke loudly to get her attention, “I’m going live on the air remotely from my dad’s farm in a couple of hours. What do I say to people?”

Kaitlyn chuckles audibly, “I thought you did a lonely-hearts thing on the air.” “It’s going to be pre-emptive tonight,” Emma muses.

“Give me something I can use, please.”

“I’ll email you a list. But right now I have a hundred people to call. Luckily for you and your show I can multitask,” Kaitlin gives out her feelings of urgency to her callers. “I just hope people will take my recommendations to heart and not panic, especially not panic.”

“You’ve been great, hun. Stay in touch.” “Definitely.”

Jillian swipes the phone off and they sit in silence while going eighty miles an hour along the same enumerated interstate highway, eighty on eighty. Their minds buzz with all the additional facts laid out by Kaitlin. Each of them begins to realize how greatly the world is about to change, and how theirs is an important role in it going down.

“I’ve gotta eat,” Jillian says and begins lane changing to the far right, in

preparation to take the next food exit.

“Yeah, yeah. Take Bryant Street exit. There’s a place called Alfredo’s that has pastrami to die for. Eh, sorry for the pun.”

“Let me guess. You went there once on a date?” “Well, yes. But it’s still great pastrami!”

“Okay,” she says, glad to hear Emma is responsive in light of all that’s going on. “I’m always game for great meat sandwich.”

“Don’t go too fast. It’s just there on the right.”

Jillian slows the vehicle, intent on the parking signs and noticing in relief, “Good.

There’s ten minute parking out front.”

Emma slips off her seat belt and says, “A day like today and you’re worried about a parking ticket?”

“I’m concerned about anything,” she replies while losing her seat belt and turning the engine off, “that will necessitate me returning to the city before I’m good and ready.”

“But I thought we were coming back this weekend,” Emma interjects as Jillian is making her way around the Escalade and onto the sidewalk.

“If you still feel this way Saturday,” she holds the front door for her friend, “then I’ll bring you home. I’ve got a bad feeling you will not.”

Jillian opens the door for Emma to enter first, adding, “But let’s lighten up the mood a bit. I’ll buy you lunch, hmm?”

Although the plan is in agreement, the first sound they hear inside is the horrid sound of the Emergency Alert System going off. The deli chef, probably thinking it’s a test, inaudibly swears and turns his kitchen’s radio way down.

“What’ll it be, ladies?”

“Two pastrami lunch deals? And cut mine into quarters.” She wanted to tell him to turn the radio up. Maybe after he made their late lunch.

“Two delectable pastramis on fresh Kaiser buns with kettle cooked potato chips made in-house and a bottled soda for twelve ninety-nine each. Sorry, but that’s full price. Lunch is over.”

As the young man busied himself once Jillian had nodded, she looked around the place; bistro tables and chairs on a black and white checkered floor. A flat screen touted the sports channel with a bright red banner with bold white letters running across the bottom. The channel had not yet broke programming but guessing from the kind of information scrolling across the feed it would be any minute now.

Emma looked nervously back at her friend, for she had taken the same ideas of the impending news break.

Too low for their cook to hear, Emma almost whispers to Jillian, “I hope there aren’t any riots. These things always set off riots, you know.”

“How many end-of-the-world scenarios have you been through, sweetie,” Jillian queries, working hard to not sound condescending.

“You know what I mean.” She says and pokes Jillian in the side.

“Yeah,” Jillian emphasizes, “Sorry. I’m hoping people will be sensible, real fast, and understand that we can get through this together.”

“You’re afraid of riots, too. Aren’t you?”

She gazes directly into Emma’s eyes, disclosing to her, “I’m afraid of what people are capable of.”

“I know you said we should lighten up,” Emma says while stepping away, “but I’ve got to see this.”

She paces halfway across the dining area floor and transfixes upon the flatscreen so much so that her friend’s arrival by her side is scarcely noticed. She is aware, though, that the EAS signal came from the radio as the television is muted. Jillian wonders why the programming still has not been interrupted as she and Emma gaze at the alerts posted on the running scroll.

EAS FAILURE BLAMED ON SATELLITES… DO NOT STARE DIRECTLY AT THE SUN…

PRESIDENT URGES ALL STATE’S GOVERNORS TO ENACT CURFEWS… IN CA THOSE OUT AFTER DARK WILL BE DETAINTED…

STAY TUNED AS INFORMATION DEVELOPS…

“Two Pastramis!”

Emma touches Jillian’s arm, saying, “Did you catch that last one? Those out after

dark?”

“Yeah, who writes this crap, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Emma answers, “but I’ll bet they make more than you and I put together.”

Jillian approaches the counter, reaching into her rear pocket for her wallet, home of her credit cards, notices without comment the two to-go-boxes inside a plastic bag, two bottles of Diet Pepsi on the counter, saying, “I’ll be pleasantly surprised if this goes through.”

“C’mon, kiddo,” Emma comments as she nudges in beside her. “The news isn’t

even out yet. Panic comes later.”

“I know, I know. Good,” she says about the card scanner, then exclaims. “Twenty-seven bucks for two sandwiches?”

“You haven’t tasted yours, babe. Hey, I know you from the radio. You’re Girl Jill.” He speaks excitedly though basically smooth.

“Thanks for listening, James,” she smiles up at him after checking his name tag and working out the payment and tip.

“And thank you, Jill,” he says in response to the twenty dollar tip. “Yours is on the top, cut into quarters like you wanted and I marked the box with a Sharpie.”

“Like I said,” she glances at his name tag again while holding up her Diet Pepsi in appreciation, “Thanks for listening, James.”

She heads to the front door with their two drinks and car keys jingling, leaving the bag of two boxes for Emma to carry. She does so without complaint but is wide eyed about the tip.

“You tipped twenty dollars on a ticket that was twenty-seven!” she voices as they make their way to the door, as to keep their words private.

“He listens,” Jillian began as she chirps the security off and opens the passenger door for Emma, adding, “A man who really listens. He even wrote ‘quartered’ on my box top and recalls from my show that I drink Diet Pepsi. And he didn’t hit on us. So, yeah, he earned a great tip.”

Closing Emma’s door, she scurries around to the driver’s side with bottles tucked under one arm, slipping them into drink holders as she slides into her seat. Adding as she buckles up, “Besides, he’s about to have a really long day.”

She starts the engine and makes her way quickly, but safely, back to the interstate, saying, “Hold on to mine for a minute and then we’ll eat.”

“What? Are you going to steer with one knee?” “Wait and see.”

In moments they realize highway speed. Jillian presses a button on the driving column, lets go of the wheel and releases her foot from the accelerator. Eerily to Emma the vehicle continues its path untethered, the steering wheel dancing a slight bit as though hands were still on it. The driver, now an alert passenger, finds a scrunchy from a dashboard cubby to put back her hair, cracks the twist top of her drink and enjoys some. She takes her box from Emma’s lap, opens it and cradles a section of her sandwich with her free hand.

“Who’s driving?” Emma’s voice is stressed.

“It is,” Jillian begins, pauses to take a bite of the luscious pastrami and moans. “God, I cannot believe how good this is! So worth the forty-seven bucks.”

“Hey! There’s a note in here,” Emma exclaims, upon opening her styrofoam takeout box.

“What’s it say?”

“’I take advance culinary at the U., molecular gastronomy. Always looking to better my food. Let me know what you think.’ And there’s a number.”

Jillian mumbles amid her boy-like chomping on her sandwich, “Somebody wants a date.”

“But why is it in my box? He talked with you, Girl Jill.”

She shakes her head, “No idea. Don’t even get me started on figuring out guys.”

“Can you at least keep one hand on the wheel?” Emma half begs but is also curious of the technology.

“Nope,” says her friend who takes another, larger bite out of her lunch. “How’s it work?” She ventures to open her box and takes her own eyes off the

road for only an instant.

“Sensors, cameras and stuff. It’s the cat’s pajamas!”

“It’s going to be a long ride,” Emma concedes and joins the lunch party.