On the way, I scrolled through the early texts, replying to the only one that mattered. Hi, Papá. I’m fine. The house is gone, but Tara’s in OK w/ her mom, and I’ve got insurance. We’re fine. Phone lines busy, text better.
No need to bother him with the other stuff. A few clicks set Papá to VIP status so the phone would notify me if he responded while ignoring everyone else. Before I finished, I had his reply.
Papá: Glad you’re managing. What on earth is Adele doing in the Midwest?
Me: She met some conspiracy theorist handing out fliers in Times Square and followed him. They’re living off the grid, waiting for the apocalypse without the distraction of modern conveniences like phones.
My phone buzzed again. No phones? No internet. Nothing but conspiracy theorists? Poor Tara.
His words
