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The storm had come through the city in a rush and left much the same way, like the sort of relative you never really wanted to have staying in your house, leaving everything a disaster zone behind it.

There were branches down on every street; there were power lines down all over the place.  Work was closed.  The city was closed.

And Whitney was in the park.  It seemed,  if she’d been asked – which she hadn’t – like the thing to do; you cleaned up.  Her apartment building had power – slightly erratic, but better than nothing – so she’d cooked everything that might go bad and brought it all, stacked in her biggest coolers with warming pads, to the park with her.

She shared with the couple homeless folk who refused to go anywhere else.  She shared with the policeman who was doing his best to walk a beat; she shared, of course, with the cats and with the Cat.  She shared with the line workers, even though she knew that they didn’t mind the overtime.

In between sharing food, she moved branches and detritus.  She picked up someone’s schoolwork – Tyler Halpert – and put it in a neat stack under one of the little roofed areas, along with the newspaper, the paperwork from the insurance office, and some sort of mail that came in a red envelope with hearts drawn on it.

When she looked back, there was a ghost sitting on it.  She smiled at the ghost; he smiled at her.  They both went on with their days.

Whitney thought nothing of it when she saw the policeman talking on his radio.  That was his job, after all.  She was much more surprised when three vans pulled up. Continue reading →