Page 81 of See You Next Tuesday

“Hmph,” Trish grunted.

Trish was the most ornery member of Dr. Cheng’s campaign team—all women, all volunteers, all (with the exception of Anya) over the age of seventy. They were meeting in their “headquarters,” a room upstairs from a copy shop that was also a jewelry store and a deli. The jewelry was made by Bobbie, another member of the volunteer team, and the close proximity to a Xerox machine and sandwiches was extremely practical for the campaign. The upstairs room served as a storage space for all three businesses, shelves of colored paper and plastic cups lining gray wooden walls. The building was in Eastsound, the small business district at the center of the rainbow-shaped island. Anya came in for a few hours each day, but otherwise her time was her own—to read by the water, or take long walks through old-growth forests with Dr. Cheng’s two cuddly tree hounds, whose yowling excitement over any new smell never failed to make Anya smile.

It was good, being somewhere beautiful, somewhere new. But it was also quiet, and the days were long. Anya couldn’t escape the feeling that she was caught somewhere, trapped in time. Thinking too far ahead made her head swim; it was easier to focus on each day as it came. Meet with the team, make an hour of calls, send out another mailing. Drink a glass of wine on the porch of Dr. Cheng’s guest cabin, watch the sunset. Turn on the TV. Try not to think. Attempt to motivate herself to make dinner. Last night, Anya had lost that battle. She wasn’t hungry.

“I have an idea,” Bobbie proclaimed, and Anya focused her attention back on the half dozen women sitting in folding chairs. “What if we have a concert?”

“A concert?” Anya tilted her head.

“Like a rally!” Bobbie pushed her bright orange glasses up on her nose. “We only have a month until the election. We need to do something noisy. We could have music and food, and Sierra can speak, and we’ll get everyone excited to vote!”

“That’s a wonderful idea, but I think there might be some logistical concerns,” Anya said gently.

“Like who’s paying for it,” Trish scoffed.

“We could get restaurants to make donations!” Bobbie suggested.

“The thing is, rallies don’t really win elections,” Anya explained. “Especially not low-turnout local elections. I think we’re better off focusing our money and energy on talking directly to voters.”

Bobbie frowned. “Why do campaigns all have rallies if they don’t help?”

Another volunteer, Gloria, hit Bobbie on the arm.

“We should listen to Anya. She ran a Senate campaign last year!” Gloria said with a tone of reverence. “The United States Senate.”

“Didn’t she lose that campaign?” Trish threw Anya a pointed look.

“I’m here, I’m here, sorry I’m late!” Dr. Cheng came in, huffing from her walk up the stairs. Dr. Cheng was in her early seventies, a stout woman with short salt-and-pepper hair and broad features who only ever wore jeans, rubber sandals, and some combination of a short- or long-sleeved T-shirt and a Patagonia vest, depending on the weather. She was kind and no-nonsense; Anya could well imagine that she was exactly the sort of person you’d want by your side while you were having a baby.

“Anya says we can’t have a rally.” Bobbie looked dejected.

“Makes sense.” Dr. Cheng nodded. “It’s summer—half the people there would be tourists who can’t even vote.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Bobbie said solemnly.

“Anyway, I’ve got good news!” Dr. Cheng sat in the chair beside Anya. “PeaceHealth said we could put a stack of flyers on the front desk.”

“PeaceHealth?” Anya asked.

“The hospital on San Juan—only hospital in the county,” Dr. Cheng clarified. “It’s a twenty-minute walk from the ferry. You could go over this afternoon.”

“Oh.” Anya nodded slowly. “I was going to take a shift on doors, but—”

“You knock enough doors.” Dr. Cheng waved her hand dismissively. “Go take a nice ferry ride, have dinner by the harbor.”

“She could go to Duck Soup!” Gloria perked up. “Or Downriggers!”

“Do you want to go, Gloria?” Anya asked. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt anxious.

“And walk up that hill from the ferry?” Gloria wrinkled her nose. “Get real.”

“Do you mind, Anya?” Dr. Cheng looked puzzled.

“Of course not.” Anya smiled. “I’ll go downstairs and run off some flyers right now.”

Text message transcript: Anya Katz and Gabe Hunt

July 14