Cora wanted to give her an honest answer, but there was something in Luciana’s tone that put her off. Nils was a difficult subject for all of them, and one they avoided if they could, but Luciana seemed angry that Nils was still the topic of conversation at all, even if it was relevant. “Just a feeling.”
“He’s a malignant narcissist,” said Luciana. “He’ll use anyone or anything to bring attention to himself and his agenda, but if we don’t respond and nothing comes of it, he’ll move on. I suspect he’s busy trying to think on how to capitalize on the second meteor. He’s probably already forgotten about his ‘think of the children’ angle.”
“I guess.”
Cora used to idolize her aunt, the independent older sister she’d never had, the one adult who she felt understood her, especially where matters of Nils were concerned. After Nils left four years ago, they had moved to Torrance to live off the largesse of Nils’s mother (who blamed everyone but Nils for her son’s decision to skip the country). Luciana, now practically their neighbor, started treating Cora more as her peer, and Cora had learned to think of Luciana as one in turn. For a time, it had been awesome; going to shows with Luciana, even a trip to Vegas for Cora’s twentieth birthday, and Luciana had not been the type to care about legal drinking age. But now that Luciana was unemployed and Cora a college dropout, their adulthood commiseration was just depressing.
Luciana’s phone rang, and she snatched it and silenced it in a swift move, barely looking at it. “No Caller ID.”
“Probably press, right?” Cora eyed the phone suspiciously, catching the name of who the call was from just as Luciana silenced it; Luciana’s old coworker John Lombardi, who went by the name “Bard,” almost certainly a D&D reference or something. “No caller ID, huh?”
“He’s been calling me all day,” said Luciana, her expression falling. Despite Luciana losing her job months ago, she didn’t lose Bard, one of the most socially awkward people Cora had ever met. Cora was pretty sure that Bard was actually Luciana’s ex, but Luciana would never admit it, and Cora would never ask. “Rough day at work. I’ll call him back in a few.”
“I see why you wanted to keep it turned off.”
“It’s not like I have a new job to obsess over,” said Luciana. “I’m not quite ready to be out of the loop yet.”
Cora sometimes wondered why Luciana still cared about her old job, why she didn’t just move on, especially given all the grief it had caused her.
“Sounds like Bard’s being illegal, then, since you’re not top-secret clearance anymore.” Cora stopped, noting the way Luciana slumped her head and rubbed her hands over her face. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“It’s not about clearance levels.” Luciana sighed. “Bard told me that someone we worked with killed themselves.”
“Oh.” Cora waited for Luciana to elaborate, but she stayed silent. “Who?”
Luciana shifted a side-eye at Cora. “Someone.”
“Right, sorry, forgot.” She hadn’t, really, but she sometimes hoped Luciana would slip up, although she never did. “Were you close to him? Or her?”
Luciana shook her head. “No. I knew them, but no. But it’s surprising. They weren’t the type that came off at all as suicidal. I hadn’t seen them since I got let go, but it’s surprising.”
Cora shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond with no clue as to who the dead person was, what their relationship was to Luciana, or what drove them to do it in the first place. “Sorry.”
Luciana bolted upright on the couch, her attention snapping to the front window. “Someone’s here.”
Cora moved to look out the window, expecting a cavalcade of black Town Cars barreling in from both directions. There was no Town Car, but there was her mother’s Olds Cutlass, and she could feel a thrum of anger waves emanating from it.
“It’s Demi.”
Luciana caught the undercurrent of dread in Cora’s tone. “What’s wrong?”
Demi had already caught sight of Cora through the window, slamming the driver’s-side door as she helped Felix and Olive out of the car. “She’s mad,” said Cora.
“Why?”
Cora didn’t have a chance to respond. Demi stormed to the door, jerked it open, and glared at her daughter, her other two children trickling in after her. Olive looked like she’d been crying and was on the verge of starting anew, but Felix sauntered in like he’d just scored the winning goal at his soccer match.
“You left work, Cora.” Demi’s voice was low. “Without a word. I know this because they called me. Because you left.”
The first thing Felix said to Cora was a simple, smug, “You’re in trouble.” He looked toward his aunt fondly. “Hi, Lu!”
“Hi, Felix,” said Luciana. “Hi, Olive. Hi, Demi.”
“Luciana,” said Demi, her voice an ice pick, her eyes still fixed on Cora. Demi never addressed Luciana by her full name. This was bad.
“Can we turn on the news?” said Felix, pushing a jumping Thor away from of him. “I hope this is an invasion!”
“Hear me out,” said Cora, ignoring Felix. “Did you read the article? About how noble Nils is spearheading this movement for a brighter future for his three beautiful children? Something about that made someone decide that I was worth spying on.”
“Cora …”
“Wait, what?” said Felix, losing interest in the television. “Dad mentioned us today?”
“You left without a word,” said Demi, ignoring her son. “Without clocking out. Nothing.”
“Mom, you didn’t tell me Dad mentioned us!” interjected Felix.
Cora’s lip curled involuntarily. “Please don’t call Nils that.”
“I didn’t know,” said Demi. “And please, Felix, not now.”
“I assumed everyone would just leave,” said Cora.
“They didn’t, but you did.” Demi’s voice was tremulous with anger. “I know because Kaiser called PMT. You have been removed from staffing lists effective immediately because you left without a word during a minor crisis.”
“Minor crisis?” Cora managed. It had taken her six months to even get the temp job at PMT, making $8.25 an hour, and only with Demi going to bat for her. Six months. “They consider that minor?”
“Holy shit,” said Felix. “You already got fired?”
“I just … Really?” Cora stammered. “Me not clocking out was priority enough for Kaiser to call you on a day like today?”
“Oh, they more than called us,” said Demi, the whites of her eyes flashing. “Owing to a less-than-acceptable rate at which temps do not respect standards and practices of our clients, Kaiser Permanente has decided that they will no longer be a client for People for MedTech. Also effective immediately.”
Cora’s mouth hung open. She thought her jaw might detach and shatter on the floor like glass.
“Wow,” commented Felix, pleased at the idea as he flipped to the news. “You are batting a thousand.”
“Shut up, Felix,” Cora snapped, trying to keep her cool for Olive’s sake. There were times that it genuinely disturbed her how much Felix reminded her of Nils. While Cora had gotten Nils’s gray eyes, neither she nor Olive otherwise resembled him. Cora’s hair color, round face, and stature just short of average drew from the Sabino side. Felix, with his lithe frame, black hair, and blue eyes, was looking more and more like a miniature Nils every day. He wasn’t worldly enough to be as manipulative as Nils, but she could see him getting there within a decade.