Chap 1
Beau sighed contentedly. Why? Because things were normal. Because things had been normal for almost a year. Normal was good. He sipped his chai tea. The television on the kitchen counter was on, tuned to CNN, but with the volume off. The chyron referenced something about supply shortages before moving hastily on to give more attention to the various efforts to hold the previous president—and those who voted for him—accountable for their extremism. Normally, this would make Beau happy, except this was now so normal he hardly noticed.
Sheila came into the kitchen. She was wearing her robe and sipping coffee. Beau nursed a slight resentment that she was still able to work virtually while he had to go in, but he had worked from home for a lengthy period himself and frankly found interacting with people face to face (and Sheila did not count) refreshing.
“When are you leaving?” she asked.
“About five minutes,” Beau replied.
“On your way home can you get some basics? Some almond milk. And we need sugar.” The way she said it contained the hint of a demand, which was normal. This slight inflection had led in the past to screaming matches, with him huffing in response to her shrilly shouts, but after five years of living together he had finally realized that this was just the way she spoke. Always. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was in charge of HR at the law firm more than being an innate characteristic, but he didn’t over-think it. He didn’t much like it himself, but for the most part he just let it slide anymore.
“Sure,” he said to nobody; she had retreated back to the bedroom was well out of earshot already.
He gathered up his things: a briefcase, an umbrella, his (fashionable) winter trench coat. “Watch out there, Smithy,” he said, using his foot to push aside their Bichon Frise. “I need to get my foot in that boot, there.” That stupid dog was one of the things they had fought over. It cost them a fortune (as far as dogs go) but Sheila had insisted: “We’re not going to have any kids but that doesn’t mean I don’t want some kind of pitter-patter in the house.” Not that Beau had a problem with it, but he recalled wryly that it was she, also, who had made the decision to not have kids. She had made it permanent about two years after they had been living together, and without even telling him she was having the operation that day. Not that Beau had a problem with it.
Beau nudged Smithy away from the door and went outside. The wet wind did not dampen his appreciation for a normal winter in Washington D.C. at last. At last.
As he made his way to the Metro he paused at the gasoline station to look at the newspaper headlines, as was his custom. He never purchased one, himself, as there would be plenty of copies at work. Experience had told him, however, that it was good to know of any breaking news before one arrived at work, rather than have it sprung on him there. Today’s headlines were banal at best, and this pleased him.
He arrived at the escalators leading to the Metro and showed his papers to the soldiers standing there. This was normal, too, but these encounters always made him a bit nervous. True, it didn’t help that the twenty or so of them standing guard had ominous black rifles slung over their backs, but what really bothered him was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Where you boys from?” Beau asked.
“Iowa,” the soldier said; a bit curtly, in Beau’s opinion.
“Iowa, eh? Long way from home, then.”
The soldier grunted.
Another soldier was studying the document closely. “Last name?”
“Crat,” Beau replied.
“Where are you going?”
“Downtown,” Beau said. “That’s where I work.”
There was a moment of silence as the soldiers looked him over a little more. Beau’s eyes drifted up and he spied the digital sign at the gasoline station, which now seemed interesting to him. “Did gasoline go up fifty cents just since yesterday?” he asked, hoping he sounded friendly enough.
“Couldn’t tell you,” the soldier said gruffly. “You’re free to go.”
Beau angled himself through the soldiers, feeling the fact that they were all practically a head higher than him more than seeing it (“Corn fed,” he muttered to himself). He had to squeeze himself through, as there wasn’t really enough room for all of them at the entrance. While he and most of those who lined up for the checkpoint looked slim and fit and seemed to take up very little space, the soldiers seemed thick. This was a part of normal that Beau didn’t like, all the more as he would have to do it again several times before finally arriving at work. “At least,” he said to himself, “they’ve all been vetted.” Still, he shuddered.
After thirty minutes of riding the rails and showing his papers, he finally arrived at work: The Department of Energy.
