She started running again. But her thoughts were taking a different tack than before. Albert was planning for the future, not just letting it happen to him. That was the thing to do. To plan. To act. Not just to let things happen.

She was right to plan.

Come to me.

Maybe I will, Lana thought. And maybe you won’t like it much when I do.

ELEVEN

70 HOURS, 11 MINUTES

“MOTHER MARY WANTS to draft two more kids,” Astrid told Sam.

“Okay. Approved.”

“Dahra says we’re running low on kids’ Tylenol and kids’ Advil, she wants to make sure it’s okay to start giving them split adult pills.”

Sam spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “What?”

“We’re running low on kid pills, Dahra wants to split adult pills.”

Sam rocked back in the leather chair designed for a grown man. “Okay. Whatever. Approved.” He took a sip of water from a bottle. The wrapper on the bottle said “Dasani” but it was tap water. The dishes from dinner—horrible homemade split-pea soup that smelled burned, and a quarter cabbage each—had been pushed aside onto the sideboard where in the old days the mayor of Perdido Beach had kept framed pictures of his family. It was one of the better meals Sam had had lately. The fresh cabbage tasted surprisingly good.

There was little more than smears on the plates: the era of kids not eating everything was over.

Astrid puffed out her cheeks and sighed. “Kids are asking why Lana isn’t around when they need her.”

“I can only ask Lana to heal big things. I can’t demand she be around 24/7 to handle every boo-boo.”

Astrid looked at the list she had compiled on her laptop. “Actually, I think this involved a stubbed toe that ‘hurted.’”

“How much more is on the list?” Sam asked.

“Three hundred and five items,” Astrid said. When Sam’s face went pale, she relented. “Okay, it’s actually just thirty-two. Now, don’t you feel relieved it’s not really three hundred?”

“This is crazy,” Sam said.

“Next up: the Judsons and the McHanrahans are fighting because they share a dog, so both families are feeding her—they still have a big bag of dry dog food—but the Judsons are calling her Sweetie and the McHanrahans are calling her BooBoo.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding,” Astrid said.

“What is that noise?” Sam demanded.

Astrid shrugged. “I guess someone has their stereo cranked up.”

“This is not going to work, Astrid.”

“The music?”

“This. This thing where every day I have a hundred stupid questions I have to decide. Like I’m everyone’s parent now. I’m sitting here listening to how little kids are complaining because their older sisters make them take a bath, and stepping into fights over who owns which Build-A-Bear outfit, and now over dog names. Dog names?”

“They’re all still just little kids,” Astrid said.

“Some of these kids are developing powers that scare me,” Sam grumbled. “But they can’t decide who gets to have which special towel? Or whether to watch The Little Mermaid or Shrek Three?”

“No,” Astrid said. “They can’t. They need a parent. That’s you.”

Sam usually handled the daily dose of nonsense with equanimity, or at least with nothing worse than grouchy humor. But today he was feeling it was finally too much. Yesterday he’d lost E.Z. This morning he’d seen almost no one show up for work. And Edilio had been forced to track kids down for two hours. Even then they had come back with a pitiful amount of cantaloupes, barely enough to feed the day care. All of that followed by Duck Zhang and some crazy story about falling through the ground into a radioactive tunnel full of water bats.

The only person who’d been productive was Orc. He had picked several hundred cabbages before the worms had nearly killed him.

“What is that music?” he demanded, angry and needing to yell at someone or something. Sam stomped to the window and threw it open. Immediately the volume of the music, most of it vibrating bass, increased dramatically.

Down in the square things were dark but for the streetlights and a strobe light blinking through the front window of McDonald’s.

“What in the . . .”

Astrid came and stood beside him. “What is that? Is Albert throwing a party?”

Sam didn’t answer. He left without a word, annoyed, angry, and secretly glad of any excuse to get out of answering kids’ stupid questions and handling their stupid problems.

He took the steps two at a time. Down to the ground floor, out through the big front door, ignoring a “Hello” from the kid Edilio had guarding the town hall, and down the big marble steps to the street.

Quinn was passing by, clearly heading toward McDonald’s.

“Hey, brah,” Quinn said.

“What is going on, do you know?” Sam asked.

“It’s a club.” Quinn grinned. “Man, you must be working too hard. Everyone knows about it.”

Sam stared at him. “It’s a what?”

“McClub, brah. All you need is some batteries or some toilet paper.”

This announcement left Sam baffled. He considered asking Quinn for clarification, but then Albert appeared, formally dressed, like he thought it was graduation or something. He actually had on a dark sports coat and slacks in a lighter shade. His shirt was pale blue, collared, and ironed. Spotting Sam, he extended his hand.