21 Smiles

My phone went off before the alarm. Though the makeshift tiny bedroom in my sister’s attic was pitch black, thanks to heavy dark shades on both windows, I could tell the sun was bright that day. A glowing sliver on one side, where my bedmate had already peeked outside, told me so. “Mmmrrrggghhh.” Both of us made a similar sound as I rolled over her and blindly grappled for the source of the annoying buzz. “Get back here.” My grumble turned soft and more appreciative. “I meant the phone, but thank you for brightening my morning.” Technically, it was almost afternoon, but sloppy wet kisses were always plentiful upon waking, no matter the time. My stubbled cheek and nearly hairless head got quite wet with tongue. “I love you, too.” The yawn that came back at me was high pitched and rather pungent. “Though three minutes with a toothbrush wouldn’t be a bad idea.” I scratched at my bare gut and noticed my increasingly prominent ribcage. It distracted me from the phone another moment. Maybe my ribs weren’t all that prominent, but there was definitely some tummy rumbling behind a smattering of reddish gold fur. “Just like yours, huh?” I’d skipped a meal or two in the past couple of months, now that restaurant freebies were no longer an option. Hunger wasn’t my only diversion, though. Throbbing between my legs begged for attention. Still, I managed to grab the phone with the other hand, before it jumped off the edge of the shiny, pristine nightstand I’d bought just six months earlier. “What was wrong with your old bedroom furniture from Mom and Dad’s?” my sister had asked me then. “I’m too old for a twin bed and Batman sheets Santa brought me when I was in fourth grade,” I’d said. “I still have my Strawberry Shortcake set from the same year, Nero.” My sister had a comeback for everything. “I’ll use them on my daughter’s bed someday.” “Even though you could already read the Do not remove under penalty of law mattress tag by the time you started middle school?” Toni was frugal. That was how we’d been raised, not raised so much as forced to live. Long about October of 2018, maybe because of that, a new high limit credit card and a promotion at the TV station where I worked had inspired a spending spree. I’d shopped ‘til I’d almost dropped for that upcoming Christmas, birthdays, and my niece’s high school graduation, even though she hadn’t been born yet. For myself, I’d gotten a bedroom suite, the vehicle of my dreams—a brand spanking new yellow Dodge Ram pickup truck—a cartful of toys for my Great Dane Abby, and the latest, priciest iPhone Apple had to offer a couple years back. My precious 10 was one of the few things I hadn’t sold months later, after ending up over my head in debt. “Yeah?” I finally answered it. “Nero?” It was my boss at WTWN, Frasier Bellamy. “You there, Nero?” Nero Storm…Maybe I should have been a weatherman, but I’d chosen journalism over meteorology. My name did sound kind of cool when signing off on the nightly TV broadcast. “Nero Storm, Westchester County, Channel 9 news.” “Hello?” I’d stopped to yawn. “I’m here. What’s up?” “Not you, apparently.” My usual shift was evening and nightly news shows, so I tended to sleep in most mornings. “It’s a beautiful day out there,” Frasier said. “The sun is shining, and it’s finally warm.” The winter of 2018 and ‘19 had been long and cold, as it usually was in the northeast. Now early April, the temperature had been steadily climbing out of the thirties. Our actual weatherman, John Berry, whose name was not nearly as good for TV news as mine, had promised a big jump into the sixties by midweek. “Rough night?” Frasier asked. Truthfully, I’d had several months of rough nights. The days were nothing to write home about, either. “Nah. All’s well. You have a story for me?” “Happy faces.” “Happy faces?” “Smiles.” Hearing the word brought one to my face. “Think emojis, Nero. Yellow happy faces. All over town.” “Like graffiti?” I sat up, grabbed my glasses, and my happy face went away. “No. That was my first thought, too, when the calls started coming in,” Frasier explained. “But these aren’t spray paint on brick walls, like rotten yet artistic teenagers tagging crap. We’re talking flowers, Nero.” “Flowers.” “Yeah, popping right up through the dirt and leftover snow, all bright and yellow and…well…smiling.” “Like, metaphorically, you mean. Poetically speaking.” “Have you ever known me to wax poetic?” “I have not.” “Like an emoji,” Frasier repeated. “A literal happy face.” “Not literal.” “The shape, I mean. Christ, Nero.” My executive producer was easily flustered, especially by me. “Sorry.” “I’m no gardener or expert on flora and fauna, but it’s obviously not something that just happened. Mother Nature does some amazing shit.” I reached up to pull back the shade. “Flower fairies.” “What, now?” “Never mind.” “The arrangement of the plants—the shape—is too precise,” Frasier continued. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and neither have the people who think it could be news. Take a look.” I got a ping as a few colorful images hit my inbox. “That’s a smile, all right.” One spread across my face again, but just for a second or so, as I took in the bright mustardy blooms that had, indeed, sprouted in the shape of a happy face against a background of white, brown, and green terrain. “They’re not wildflowers.” “No.” That was obvious. “Daffodils? Tulips?” I knew they weren’t those, either. “Crocuses!” Frasier’s revelation came at great volume. “Croci someone said.” The flowery faces were definitely cheerful and cheesy, cute and happy, but, “This is news?” I asked. “Today it is,” Frasier said. “A couple of the callers sounded pretty damned excited. One leapt right to aliens, but most seem to be thinking of it as some sort of statement.” “Hmm.” I swiped through a few selfies of people beside the floral emojis. That was the term I was using, for lack of a better one. The photo subjects all looked happy, too; a few teenagers, an older man, and a loving couple in their twenties, I guessed, holding hands. Those two had laid right down on the no doubt damp ground—on the side of Westchester County’s busiest parkway, no less—to put their beaming faces next to the faces created from flowering plants. “There’s more than one. Did I mention that already?” Frasier sounded excited, too. “Flower faces have already been spotted north and west of the station, coming up in the dirt behind the guardrails along the shoulders of the main drag. Then, there’s one in the median at the four-way stop here on Church Street.” Church Street was our Main Street, the local hub of activity, community, and commerce. The TV station was there. My old apartment building was about twenty minutes north, in Mt. Pleasant, my parents’ restaurant close to thirty in another direction, over in New Castle, all by car. On foot, the trek would take more than an hour to each. I’d needed that new truck. Well, I’d needed a vehicle, not necessarily the luxurious one I’d chosen. Now, it took me an hour to get to work driving, since I’d relocated to North Salem. Walking to the station every day would have done me in. Frasier’s words were still coming at me; parking lot island, supermarket plaza, exit off 684. Truthfully, I’d zoned out, unsure if those were some that had, or if they were only in my mind because of a certain car service experience from back in the fall. “There’s even a Twitter hashtag.” Frasier definitely said that. “Hashtag Put on a Happy Face is trending locally. People are intrigued. Intrigue means viewers. Viewers mean ratings. Maybe it’s our feel good story of 2019.” I huffed at that. “Unless whoever planted them gets busted for trespassing and defacing public property.” “Always looking on the bright side, Nero.” “Whatever. I have to walk Abby first.” She lifted her head at her name, and I brought mine close for fresh smooches. “Then I’ll hit the shower and get on the road.” “Carmen’s already on the way in the van.” Carmen was my coworker, my cameraperson, and also my bestie. “All the way over here?” A deep hiss escaped me when I tripped on a puddle of sheets too big for my mattress and stubbed my toe on the corner of my twin size bedframe. “Son of a b***h!” The room I slept in now wasn’t big enough for the king-size bed that came with the nightstand. No way was I selling the best sheets I’d ever laid my naked body on, though. The standing wardrobe, dresser, mirror, and second nightstand—I’d figured I deserved to keep at least one—went for way less than I’d wanted. I was able to lower the minimum payment on my Visa after sending Citibank a chunk of cash from that sale, at least. Still, I felt screwed in the end, and not in a good way, like I had in the past when using Craigslist ads. “Why is Carmen coming to get me?” I asked again, after slipping on yellow boxer briefs from the floor. “Because there’s a happy face over that way, too.” “No kidding.” “Not yours, I’m guessing by the curse words.” “Ha-ha.” “I know you’ll put something good together.” Frasier was suddenly solicitous. “It’s the kind of thing we could even take bigger, metropolitan if not national. Quirky…odd…possibly relatable and meaningful, depending on the intent behind it all, you know?” “And yet you called me instead of WNBC?” I nodded, and Abby led the way out the door and down the stairs. “Damn straight. My reporter, their airwaves. Could be a steppingstone for you, though. Big leagues.” Bigger money. That sounded good. Intern, to associate producer, to on air talent, my rise up the WTWN ladder had come rather quickly. I’d pictured myself getting rich on a local newscaster’s salary. A Stephanopoulos, Strahan, Roker, or Anderson Cooper-size paycheck, that was the kind of income I’d need now for real, to get out of the hole I’d dug myself into only six months in on what I actually got paid each week. “I’m happy where I am, Frase.” That was true, too. “I know someday you’ll want something more.” “Maybe someday.” In nothing but underwear, since I knew I had the house all to myself with my sister at work, I took in a huge gulp of air as soon as I opened the kitchen door out to the big backyard. Despite the rise in temperature, every inch of bare skin and even some covered by stretchy yellow cotton developed goose bumps. Fifty felt better than twenty, but it still wasn’t eighty, so I decided to stay on the porch. “I just have a feeling this is something people are going to eat up, Nero. Oh, and speaking of eating, I had the best calamari last night at your place. Give my compliments to the chef.” Summer Storm’s Downtown Bistro wasn’t mine. My paternal grandparents had passed it down to Dad. Born Summer Rossi, when Nonna married aspiring restauranteur Ray Storm, she not only brought in the Italian cuisine but also inspired a much better title for the eatery that would have been called Ray’s Place. Nonna Storm was the one who suggested the Roman monikers with which my sister Antonia and I had been blessed, too. One could argue I might owe my entire television career to her. As for Frasier, when all I offered back was a grunt, he went back to the flowers. “If it is some sort of statement piece, Nero, and I assume it is, what, why, who?” “The truth is out there.” I called back to the alien thing. “Could there be a political agenda to it?” “If the blooms were red or blue instead of yellow, we might know whether the person who planted them planned on voting Democrat or Republican in nineteen months.” “That’s why you do what you do, my man. You think outside the box, and your jokes are too lame for stand-up comedy.” There were no colorful floral crowns poking through recently thawed ground in my own backyard. My sister wasn’t into gardening. The lawn beneath the melting snow was green, though. I looked ahead to the oily scent and humming sound of a gas-powered engine and the smell of fresh cut grass in another couple of weeks. “Twenty of them,” Frasier said. “Not that many.” My brother-in-law would be home from his deployment by summer, and I would feel like a fifth wheel if I still had to live here. “Yes, Nero. That many.” “Huh?” I’d zoned out again, watching Abby sniff at the ground. “That many what?” “What were we talking about? Come on! Twenty blooms,” Frasier huffed. “Two eyes, a nose, five for the mouth—the smile—and twelve around all that in a circle.” “Twenty.” I enlarged the photo by flicking at the phone screen, in order to count for myself. “Twenty-one,” I relayed with a shiver. “Twenty-one?” Frasier asked. “That’s what I see.” He counted aloud on the other end of the line. “Twenty-one. Guess my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Is the number significant, or just how many it took to make the face?” “Good question.” It was a great one, actually, one only a person with an enquiring mind would come up with. “I just checked another photo,” Frasier told me. “They’re all the same so far. Can’t be for the year, unless it’s about something happening two years from now.” “Right.” I’d gone there, too. “You and Carmen go get some footage to put together a teaser we can post online. I’ll forward the emails and whatnot your way from the people who contacted the studio, so you can follow up with them, too. After that, spend the rest of the afternoon in search of answers for the evening broadcast.” “You got it, Frasier.” “Be vigilant, inquisitive, and careful, Nero.” Frasier always signed off like that, as if sending a journalism student off into the world on graduation day or a superhero protégé into battle. “Yes, sir.” I was kind of excited now, too. * * * * By the time I was out of the shower, Carmen had left four messages. She called again while I was feeding Abby. “Yes?” “What are you doing?” “Feeding my baby girl.” “Big baby,” Carmen said. “That she is.” “I’m almost there. You ready?” “All but clothes. Oops.” “What?” I didn’t feel like telling Carmen the refrigerator had just seen my d**k. “Brr.” Maybe the towel had been more about warmth than modesty, anyway. “‘Brr?’ It’s like summer out here, Nero, warm enough for crocuses to come up. I love spring.” “Technically, the plants would have been up a while now—leaves and stems.” I’d Googled “Growing crocuses” on my way to the shower. “The buds needed more warmth to open. Once they did, the yellow was obviously way harder to miss.” “True.” “Though I can’t help but wonder if I at least wouldn’t have noticed the bright green stems in the snow.” “Did you? Some of them are places you go every day, like work.” “I did not.” “Do you go anywhere but work these days, Nero? Huh?” Carmen prodded. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer. I’m well aware the only person who’s seen you naked recently is me.” Great Danes, at least mine, found food far more interesting than a flying bath towel. Abby barley glanced at the one I’d kicked across the kitchen. “If anyone did see green,” I went high, ignoring the jab, “they probably just assumed they were weeds. Frasier wants us to meet up with the people who reported the…” “Smiley faces.” “Yeah. And when did you see me naked?” The sound of a car horn out front startled me. “Just now, in your sister’s kitchen.” I pulled down the shade. Carmen presented a brown bag and commentary on my physique as I got in the WTWN van. “Your sister doesn’t feed you?” “Not her job.” The click of the seatbelt punctuated my words. “Enough with the dieting, then. I should have brought two.” A bagel. I could tell by the smell. “Eat.” Carmen brought me food every time we met up. Knowing my sister stuck to a strict grocery budget each week, I watched what I ate there. “Thank you.” Much of the bagel disappeared in one bite. “Most people don’t eat a bagel like a sandwich.” I was too hungry for one half at a time. “Should I have shared?” I asked with my mouth full. Carmen smiled. “I’m good.” So was the coffee. Takeout coffee was always better, for some reason. It was definitely better than the store brand instant Toni got at Dollar General. I couldn’t blame her for being thrifty, though. At least one Storm family member was good with money. “I like to make your tummy happy.” Carmen reached up under the lightweight jacket I could finally get away with for the first time since October. Her rubs there made me squirm but also giggle. “My tummy thanks you, too.” A winter hat still seemed appropriate. I tugged at it, to stave off any further rubbing or complaining. I’d run the electric razor chin to nape that morning, just as I’d been doing once a week for months. Carmen liked the feel but not the look. Viewers were mixed. My chestnut curls made me look younger, some said. A delicious twink, I’d been called, though I didn’t think I fit that category at thirty. Recently, another Channel 9 watcher posted my picture next to one of a hairless cat in the comment section under a story I’d covered back in February. Salons were pricey, though, and a buzz cut was the only style easy enough to pull off on my own. I often wondered if Anderson, George, Michael, and Al got their locks trimmed at the studio for free. Frasier had never offered up a barber. He didn’t hand me a pink slip, either, so a bad haircut wasn’t a fireable offense, at least. The boss man had set up a meeting with the first person to spot the flowers down in Mt. Pleasant. When Carmen and I arrived, we found a tall, lanky kid dressed in saggy faded jeans and a red hoodie that went mid-hip. He was pacing as we pulled up beside him. “Nero Storm.” I extended a hand once out of the van. “Yeah. I know.” His eyes darted everywhere, and he played in his already messy sandy hair. “I watch you every night.” The curled lip offered toward the gravel at our feet was tentative. “This is Carmen.” She already had the camera pointed at our subject. “And you are?” I asked. “Um.” The red light and the lens seemed to heighten the kid’s anxiety. “Adam Matthews?” I smiled. “I’ll ask the questions.” “Oh.” His came easier now. “You have a nice smile.” “Everyone says so.” “Carmen…” Wondering how people felt about my sneer, I offered her my best one. “No. Yeah. I’m definitely Adam Mathews,” he said. “Hi, Adam.” His blue eyes found my amber ones. “This is pretty easy,” I told him. “I’ll just say something like, Tell us about when you first spotted the happy face, and then you’ll do that.” “Okay.” Adam was shifting from one foot to another. “And maybe…try to stand still.” I turned on the megawatt charm, hoping the friendly expression others allegedly found nice was also comforting. “We’re not live, so if we make a mistake, we can get a second take.” “That’s good.” Adam unclenched his fists and his jaw. “Deep breaths,” Carmen suggested. I showed Adam how. “You’re even hotter in person.” Those words from Adam made me start shifting, as I suddenly wondered if my heavy breathing had turned him on. “I like your short hair.” “Thanks.” Left, right, left, right. “You’re really into dudes?” I was out to the audience. “I am.” I was out to everyone, but still, those words were even worse. Carmen nudging me from behind was equally troublesome. “Do you shave everywhere?” Adam inquired. Where had his timidity gone? “Yes. No. Sometimes.” And why the hell did I answer? “Maybe we can do something after.” Adam looked like a ninth grader. “After what?” I asked “Algebra?” “It’s spring break, man.” “Spring break, man,” Carmen repeated. I frowned her way again. “But if it wasn’t…what grade are we talking about, here, Adam?” “Freshman year.” I turned back to Carmen with a look of shock and panic. “Gonna stop bumping me, now?” To Adam, I threw in, “High school?” He snorted. “College. Westchester Community, and that’s after a gap year.” “High school freshmen can’t drive.” Ever so helpful, Carmen nodded toward Adam’s beat up Hyundai Elantra. So, he was nineteen—twenty tops, and she was nudging me again, like a bored, seat kicking toddler on a ten-hour flight. “Probably best if we keep this professional,” I said to both of them. “Fair enough. It’s awesome to meet you, though.” Adam took a step closer. “The shot’s better if you stand where you were. Great lighting.” I felt fine about the fib. “Sure.” He took my directive. “I’m glad this worked, though.” “Worked?” I asked. “Oh.” Adam blushed now, as if he truly was the age he looked. “Busted.” “Did you plant these for Nero?” Enraptured with obvious excitement, Carmen shoved me so hard I nearly fell down the embankment at the side of the highway. “That’s so cool.” She’d been in the biz long enough to jump to conclusions, too, apparently. This, however, was a Simone Biles sized leap. “And sweet.” When I turned to face the camera again, my angry expression was met with one worthy of a glance at Ryan Gosling carrying a basket of kittens. “Aww.” “Stop it!” I snapped. “Just saying.” “Did you plant the flowers, Adam?” He rolled his eyes when mine went back that way. “No. That would have been a good idea, though. Damn.” “A gesture of love.” Carmen’s tone matched her gaga look. “Valentine’s Day was weeks ago,” I informed the in sync duo. “This could still be that,” Carmen said. “Maybe someone’s going to propose to their soul mate before the day’s over…something like that.” “Back to you, Adam.” He chuckled. “You say that on TV, except not Back to you, Adam, but Back to you, Rene.” Rene was our anchorperson, and Adam’s impression of the way I threw back to her after a story had me sounding like a cross between Ron Burgundy and 007. He fit the 18-34 demo all advertisers wanted, though. It was good to know we had one viewer that did. “You said it worked. What did you mean by that?” I asked. “Just that I was hoping to meet you. That’s why I texted Channel 9, when I saw the flowers.” Adam played in the wet dirt with the tip of his sneaker. Had I been a couple years older, I’d have scolded him for getting it dirty. “You’re making a mess of your shoe.” I couldn’t help myself. “Sorry, sir.” Carmen nudged me harder when Adam licked his lips post apology. His gaze suddenly lustful, all squinty and straight on, his posture stiffened, and he c****d his head to one side. “You want me to stop?” The words came out breathy, all Marilyn Monroe singing, “Happy birthday, Mr. President.” “We should finish up and get to our next location.” Uninterested in being a daddy to anyone but Abby, I definitely wanted him to stop, and figured it was best to quickly move things along. * * * * Soon enough, we were on our way over to Irvington, to investigate another happy face sighting, one from a woman named Dina Dunn. “He was into you.” Carmen had a keen sense of the obvious. “Even if you’re both bad at flirting.” “You’ve never seen my game,” I huffed. “Yeah, I have.” She relented, signaled, and then changed lanes, as we headed down 9A in light midday traffic. “Last October at the walkathon. It’s okay, I guess.” “Maybe Adam and I can take a college course in it.” “You should date more…date again. It’s been a while.” “I should date more. I should eat more. Is there anything else I should do more, Carmen?” “I’m guessing s*x,” she said without a beat. “What’s it been? Six months? More than that?” I had no desire to count back for an accurate number. “Get some takeout from Summer Storm’s, go back to Adam’s dorm room, and kill three birds with one stone. A little food, a little family, a lot of fu—” “You’re hilarious.” “I was gonna say fun.” When Carmen nudged me again, I couldn’t help but grin. I loved her. Estranged from my parents, hopelessly single and unromantic, I only had three healthy relationships going: the one with my dog, Abby, the one with my sister, Toni, and the one with my bff, Carmen. “Celebrity crushes…” She sighed. “How do you cope?” “Keep your eye on the road.” I hardly thought of myself as a celebrity. Our viewership included all of Westchester, plus Ulster, Dutchess, and Orange. The big four networks and cable reached the same area, though. Way more people got their news from them and their weather from The Weather Channel or online. “Tens of thousands,” Carmen said, as if reading my mind. “Maybe Adam was on the right track. Maybe someone is sending you a romantic message.” I huffed again. Other than that little theory, Adam hadn’t had much to offer after recounting how he’d spotted the “flowering emoji” in his rearview mirror and had then “spun an illegal Uey” to go back to see what it was. “I know, I know,” Carmen said. “You’ve gone sour on the whole idea, ever since—” “Red light.” Technically, it was yellow, like the crocuses and my daily underwear and sock combo. I just didn’t want to hear the name Carmen was about to speak. Seeing the illuminated Shop Rite sign upon our arrival at the plaza several minutes later, I was hit with not only the unspoken name, but also the memory of the man. Though my heart skipped a beat, Dina Dunn quickly pulled my attention. She looked as if she was dressed for a business meeting. Mid-fifties, I thought, comparing her to my mother, Dina’s skirt was tight at the knees, her blazer wide at the shoulders. Was the Dynasty reboot bringing back the Alexis Carrington look? “Hi.” Dina glanced at her watch, as Carmen and I climbed down from the WTWN news van. “Sorry we’re late.” The stare we got demanded an apology. I said the words; Carmen just lowered her head. Dina told us she worked at a bank, which explained the attire. “It was my day to pick up the pastries.” Unlike Adam, she was camera ready, her recount cogent and precise, her demeanor not at all fidgety, almost lawyerly. “As I approached the entrance to the plaza, here, to pull up to the bakery, there, I saw only a hint of yellow in my peripheral vision. Upon exiting, once my task had been completed, after just a few more minutes of warm, morning sun, presumably, there were more blooms. I had to stop and look.” “Did you recognize the pattern immediately as a happy face?” I held out the microphone with our call letters. “Is that what it is?” Dina turned and squinted. “That’s what most people are saying,” I told her. “Hmm.” She took a step toward the median between the parking lot’s entrance and exit lanes. “I rather thought it was the Earth.” We all looked down, now, down and slightly ahead, including the camera lens, “The Earth?” until Carmen brought it back around to Dina. “A planet…Round…That was my first thought. Earth Day is this month.” “True.” I felt guilty for not thinking along those lines myself. “And the placement of the blooms reminded me more of the United States.” I tried to see it, what Dina saw. Did the shape work? Maybe it did, with a little imagination. Even as a smile, it was only almost perfect, a little crooked, actually. “I counted the blooms.” Dina leaned in. “Twenty-one.” Peering over my glasses, like David Muir might, if he wore glasses, hopefully gave my next question gravitas. “And you think the number might be significant?” “I’ve bounced around a few theories, I suppose,” Dina said. “The twenty-first century could be our last. If not ours, many other species’, for sure. Now or never is a legitimate fear, Mr. Nero.” Unlike Adam, Dina, it seemed, was not a fan. “Just Nero,” I said. “Did you know we hit twenty-one degrees above the normal temperature right here in Westchester five times in five years?” she asked me. I did not, and my dressing roommate was a weatherman. “One or two degrees happens often. Five, no big deal. Ten, even that’s not particularly abnormal. Twenty-one degrees was extremely rare not all that long ago, and yet it’s becoming the norm. Five times…Maybe that’s what the five flowers mean, the ones that some see as a mouth, I assume, according to your take.” “I don’t yet have a take,” I countered, feigning neutrality, while totally believing until that very moment the flowers were, in fact, in the shape of a face. “Twenty-one degrees either way over a long period of time is a matter of life and death to the normal existence of some plants and animals,” Dina stated. “Did you know these very bulbs need the cold of winter to bloom as much as they need the warmth of spring?” Ah ha! Thanks to Google, yes, I did know that. “Maybe the circles and the number of flowers are a warning—twenty-one degrees to Armageddon, twenty-one species in danger due to climate change, twenty-one years until the end of the world.” One didn’t have to be a reporter to come up with theories, and Dina’s wasn’t a bad one. “I didn’t research it thoroughly,” she admitted. “But I had some time to gather and consider facts while awaiting your arrival.” I apologized again for our tardiness due to Adam’s flirtation, while also feeling guilty about my past indignation concerning reusable grocery bags and the pressure to get rid of Styrofoam takeout containers at the restaurant. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Dunn. Your ideas are certainly thought provoking. I can’t wait for some viewer feedback and hope you won’t mind us reaching out again if necessary.” Once Carmen and I were back in the van, after putting Dina Dunn’s contact info into my phone, I got right on Google again, to check into the topic of climate change and whether or not the number twenty-one was significant to any sort of scientific data therewith. “Anything?” Carmen asked. “There’s a group of twenty-one kids in Oregon,” I told her, “who filed a lawsuit back in 2015 against the US government for policies or lack thereof regarding climate change potentially harmful to their generation’s future. The defense called for dismissal, but a judge refused in 2016. It’s still making its way through the system.” “Interesting. We’re a long way from Oregon, though.” “True that.” Even if the flowers had nothing to do with drawing attention to sustaining our planet, I realized I’d been a little self-absorbed lately, way beyond complaining about leaky ice cream sandwich boxes marring my new truck seats through nylon grocery sacks. I’d been forced to take a hundred bucks off the selling price when the buyer had noticed the mark left behind. “Forget twenty-one degrees, Arctic temps rose a staggering forty-five to fifty degrees back in 2016,” I shared. “Greenland in 2018, same thing.” “Wowzaroonie! This should be on the news every night.” “Right? It’s down for this year, but 2019 has barely even started, and they still rose astronomically higher for the decade. No one should be ignoring this or putting it off as political.” “We should talk to Frasier about doing something weekly, at least, if not daily.” The big green marble mattered for those of us already in the world and future generations, like the child my sister and brother-in-law planned on bringing into it. I agreed. “Absolutely.” Frasier had our current story on his mind right then, however. When he texted for a progress report, I shared both Adam’s take and Dina’s. “He wants an accurate headcount, so to speak,” I told Carmen after further instructions. “So, now we drive up and down Westchester County to see how many faces we can find?” She was still referring to them as faces, and I called her on it. “Yeah. I want to clean up the planet, too.” Wet pavement glare necessitated visors, so we both pulled them down from above us. Shiny roadways reminded me of a particular moment in the past, too. Melting from the mountains would leave sections of blacktop like that for days, now, as a constant stream trickled down into the valley anywhere it could. “But I like the idea of happy faces better,” Carmen said. “Someone’s trying to make someone smile, I think.” “Possible.” I had my window down a crack. The slight warm breeze felt good on mine, and the cloudless blue sky looked hopeful. “Or not.” “It could be as simple as be happy! Spring has sprung! There’s one.” I was keeping a running happy face tab on my thousand dollar iPhone, fully aware it would have been just as easy to do so with a two cent pencil and free McDonald’s napkin. “They would have had to set the plan in motion way back in fall, of course,” Carmen said after more thinking. “And then be patient.” “Right. It could have been something to look forward to, maybe, for him, her, or them, if it was a group effort. That’s a nice thing.” Looking forward could also be a bad thing. It often led to major disappointment. That was a lesson better kept to myself at the moment, I figured. “I saw your face light up more than once just looking at them.” Carmen nudged me. “Yeah?” I thought a moment. “Yeah.” She did it again. “Maybe your mood will lift for good, now that it’s warmer.” “I didn’t realize it had lowered.” I fought my scowl with everything in me. “Oh, for sure. You’ve been cranky since Columbus Day, at least.” “You remember the specific date?” I asked. “There’s a face no one reported.” A few miles away from the supermarket, now, I’d spotted the crocus emoji, too. Number six already. “We have to get a picture. And yes,” Carmen continued, not deterred for long as we pulled off onto the shoulder. “I remember the specific day, because it was the Monday after Z’s fund raiser.” There was the name I’d been trying to avoid. “I also know why,” Carmen said. “You do, too.” Once out of the van, I tried to steer the conversation away from my mood, as we walked back a way to snap the photo. “I wonder how many more there are.” I was definitely intrigued. “Just six? A hundred?” “Nero.” “Things with…Last fall…It was just a brief thing,” I said. “Over before it really began. If I am depressed, it’s just because of the short days and lack of sunlight.” “I’ve known you forever, and I’ve never seen you hit with seasonal depression.” Carmen and I became fast friends in college, both majoring in media studies. We advanced at the TV station almost as pair, her from gofer, to assistant, to cameraperson. “I’ll admit I’m down sometimes.” After capturing four good shots on my phone as she did the same with her fancier equipment—bigger if not more expensive—I added, “More often than not, though, I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Uh-uh. That’s not a Nero Storm special.” Carmen frowned. “Not even close.” She took my hand. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out. You two were—” “Carmen…” “Okay. I won’t go there, but it would be nice to see you excited again about romantic possibilities, as excited as you were last fall. Instead of Christopher Columbus, you guys were like Cupid, discovering love. All that was missing were the bow and arrows. His shorts were definitely small enough to be a cherub’s diaper, even if they were green.” Carmen’s smirk almost worked. “You had white ones on.” But I chose to stay sullen. “All aboard!” “Seven.” “Where?” She looked around. “Nowhere.” Even half a year later, October 2018 came back too easily. “I just wanted you to stop talking. Let’s get out of here.” “Okay.” Carmen held me close all the way back to the van. “Should we head to the parkway? There was one there, right?” “Yup. Sounds like a plan.” “And then west…east…finally north?” “Onward we go.” I had to skip when Carmen did, and that made us both giggle. “There it is. That smile’s real.” Carmen had mad skillz when it came to handling the big camera and her phone at the same time. Before I knew it, she’d snapped a photo of me. “Your real happy face rivals the ones we’ve been looking for when it comes to bright and cheerful. It’s going up on the WTWN IG page for sure.” Within about forty-five more minutes, we’d passed the Thank you for visiting Mount Pleasant sign as we exited the beautiful, mountainous hamlet after traveling quite far north and then back. “They seem to lead here. Or from here,” Carmen said. “Or stop here.” “Hmm.” “Is the one across from your old apartment building the first or the last, or somewhere in the middle going east and west?” “I don’t know. Frasier said something about the four-way stop at the station.” “Yes!” Carmen shoved me so hard, had the van door been open, I’d have fallen out onto the street. “They go north and west from the station, what about east and south?” “None have been reported farther south. Frasier assumes they would have been, or will be, if they’re there, once the teaser goes up.” “Did you do it?” “Me?” I worried I hadn’t properly metered my indignation. “Well, several faces can be linked to you through location, right? Your old apartment, the TV station, Summer Storm’s…” Just the name of the bistro made me cringe. “Me and a lot of other people,” I said, regarding Carmen’s theory. “My old building is sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a deli. There’s another apartment complex ten steps away, and a ton of homes right along the same street. If the faces are a message for someone, there are thousands of potential recipients right there. That four-way stop…there’s a bar, a bookstore, several restaurants, a TV station that employees hundreds of people, not just me. Oh, and a salon.” “Where you used to get your hair cut, before you started butchering it yourself.” I had to cop to that. “Fair enough. But there are lots and lots of homes and lots and lots of businesses where lots and lots of people who aren’t me go or reside everywhere there’s face.” I had to say that, too. “Well, we’ve looked due north, so let’s try northwest. We could grab lunch you know where.” My unhappiness was conveyed in a less than pleasant sound. “Let’s go another way, and then double back, if we have to. I just ate that bagel.” “That was breakfast.” “It was afternoon.” “Brunch, then. Call it an appetizer for all I care. I can’t afford to eat at your place without the family discount.” Carmen’s hangdog expression got to me. “It’s not my place.” Still, I took pity. “Fine. After.” With a sigh of resignation, she agreed and headed toward the parkway again, to travel back the way we’d come. “I’m gonna hold you to it. After.” “I know you will.” * * * * Several hours later, after was now. I was dizzy by then, and disoriented. We’d been all over Westchester, taking pictures of flowers in the shape of happy faces. I didn’t even know which direction was which anymore. “Twenty-one?” I could still count, though, and I checked my running tally. “Twenty-one faces, twenty-one flowers in each.” Carmen nodded emphatically. “Tell me again how the number’s insignificant.” “I don’t remember telling you that the first time.” I was trying to make sense of my notes, to see what, if anything, I could claim they all might have in common beyond the obvious. “Oh. So, what does it mean?” “The number?” I shrugged. “Something about 2021, like, an event happening two years from now? Some sort of ad campaign? Maybe there’s a garden show somewhere local on April 21 this year.” “Maybe.” Carmen pursed her lips. “That would be clever advertising. Check and see.” I doubted I’d find anything but did look, just in case. “I still think it’s personal, though,” she said. “To someone specific, from someone specific. It’s a gut feeling.” Carmen’s gut feelings were often reliable. “You don’t?” I recalled an old saying: “If you hear hoof beats, think horses.” I was going to have to make sure she ignored that feeling and kept looking for zebras. “Nah.” “What, then?” We made our own questionable Uey. “Can’t say.” “No flower show?” “Not that I see right away.” “Can you say where you want to shoot the teaser?” Which was I focused on, I wondered, the horse or the zebra? The letter at the forefront of my mind was definitely a Z. “Nero?” “Huh?” “We’re closest to face at Rye Park, but the four-way stop seems more picturesque. The park, other than the crocuses, is all black gates, brown grass, and gray trees.” “Yeah.” “The stop sign, then?” “Sure.” “That charity walk was at Rye Park, though, remember?” “Hmm.” I did. “The one you know who organized. What was his name?” I was good at side-eye and proved it. “The faces almost remind me of breadcrumbs dropped by Hansel and Gretel, like they’re a guide to get someone from one spot to another.” “A trail.” Carmen was quite intuitive. They reminded me of that, too. “Follow the yellow bud road.” “Ha. That’s cute. You should use it,” she suggested. “We’ll see.” “We better double check the list on the way back to the studio, to make sure we didn’t miss any obvious correlation, like, maybe the same company owns the supermarket plaza up north and one or more building on Church Street.” “That’s a good idea.” “You sound pretty blasé about it. How good can it be?” “No. It is good.” I liked it way better than the theory I couldn’t squelch. “And one you already thought of, in that case. Unless you’re off your game, Nero.” Clouds had taken over, so I put up both visors. “Maybe a little.” “Because I keep mentioning the one that got away?” “I don’t really think of Z that way, Carmen. It’s more like the one that wasn’t meant to be.” “Aww.” She brushed my cheek. “Both hands on the wheel.” * * * * In the end, I did use the line I’d come up with, as Carmen and I stood beside the croci happy face in the island at the four-way stop a quarter mile or so from the WTWN studio. Z lived not far from there, too. We’d passed his building a couple of times. He lived closer to my job than I did, closer than I used to, when at my old apartment, just in the other direction. “Three, two…” Carmen had already counted me down. Though I’d missed it, I recovered when she pointed. “Follow the yellow bud road through Westchester County, from New Castle, to Rye, to Mt. Pleasant, to Yonkers,” I said and slow walked toward the camera. “Commuters and travelers first spotted the flower art this morning in all four towns and along the highway through others. With the help of WTWN watchers, we’ve found twenty-one, so far.” Adam and Dina’s interviews would roll next, along with one from a spritely elderly couple we’d run into in Rye, at the park. Walter and Mary Wayne were adorable, as they marveled at the fact that all four hundred forty-one flowers bloomed on the same day. “Being farther south,” Mary began, “even by just a little bit, and because it’s a larger town with more people and traffic, Yonkers would be warmer. Normally, the bulbs there would have sprouted and bloomed days, if not weeks, earlier.” She took Walter’s hand then, and they exchanged loving looks. “Were it not for the snowpack, you city folk would have definitely seen yours first,” he added. “The fact they all opened on the same day is unusual.” “Is it?” I asked. “For certain.” I hadn’t thought of that at all, not even once throughout the day. Nature’s timeline was unpredictable. All the leaves didn’t change on the same day in fall. Northern Westchester was often red and gold, while the southern part of the county was still green. In spring, the last trees to lose leaves were often the first ones to fill out with new ones. Did that mean all the faces blooming in one day was a big deal? “Wow.” I couldn’t help but share my amazement, when I decided it did. “Some sort of fluke or possibly dumb luck?” Walter shook his head. “I’m going to attribute it to something else.” The couple’s next words, combined with their obvious adoration for one another, brought joy to my face, in spite of my lingering mood. “And what’s that?” I inquired. With a twinkle in his eye, “Magic,” Walter whispered. “The same enchanted fairies who visit gardens to make the flowers open there, played a part in this. Mark my words.” “We were just talking to Daisy about them,” Mary added. “About garden fairies, not even a week ago.” “Daisy?” I asked. “The local expert in all things plant related,” Mary told me and the camera. “Stories have been passed down for generations, Daisy explained, tales of garden fairies working while we sleep, flitting from bud to bud with their wands, so we can wake up to daffodils for Easter or roses on the first day of summer.” “Garden fairies…” “They’re pulling for someone, Mr. Storm, operating closely with other beings of the realm, spreading magic dust for whoever planted the flowers or whoever was meant to see them. Maybe both.” When Walter winked, with his rather diminutive stature, bald head, and almost pointy ears, he looked as if he himself might have come from such a fantastical place. “If it’s a love note, the fairies and Cupid would operate in tandem, to be certain to deliver it at just the right time.” Mary’s mention of Cupid was the second that afternoon. Valentine’s Day 2019 had sucked, worse than all the other ones my lonely, unattached self had come to dread. Way back in the fall, I’d maybe held a glimmer of hope for something good this year. Stupid me. Stupid hope. Screw Cupid, Santa Claus, too, and the Easter bunny just for good measure, I’d thought as we’d edited the recorded conversation. So much for joy on my face. A quick montage of the photos Frasier received, and those Carmen and I had gathered, would follow with my voiceover. “Is there a message or meaning to the living arrangements beyond Happy Spring! A romantic declaration? An appeal for attention and a call to action to save our planet? Contact our webpage and let us know what you think or drop us a message on WTWN’s f*******: or Twitter page with any information.” To close out the piece, Carmen got a shot of me crouching down by the flowering crocus face at the stop sign. I held a garden tool as a prop, one we’d picked up at Rye Hardware, after speaking with Walter and Mary. Since the closing shot was Carmen’s idea—a great one, I’d thought—I’d made her go in to make the purchase. “In the meantime,” I plunged my little shovel in deep for a trowelful of soil as the camera rolled, “we’ll keep digging. For WTWN Channel 9 news, I’m Nero Storm.” Once we had the promo in the can, so to speak, we headed the short distance to the studio. As was often the case, Carmen’s giddiness was contagious. “What?” I asked. “There it is again,” she said, when I turned my dopey grin her way. “This afternoon’s been fun, huh?” “I guess.” “It’s not every day we get to go on an adventure digging for clues. I feel like Fred driving the Mystery Machine.” That made me laugh. “Fred, huh? Who does that make me?” “Velma,” we said together, as I pushed up my glasses. “We should have brought Abby along.” My baby girl had been called Scooby Doo more than once, by Z, in fact, when I’d introduced the two six months earlier. Why did that half a year feel like a lifetime ago? Not forgotten, but maybe less painful, so much came back to me that day, with the blooming of the bulbs. “So, now we get lunch at the family restaurant?” Carmen asked. My smile disappeared again, and the pain returned full force. Calls for information from a news station can bring in a wide variety of responses, from the ridiculous to the downright mean. Nero Storm has a face for radio. The ones we got concerning the happy faces were no different. Extraterrestrial activity popped up more than once, as did more commentary about my lack of hair, some positive, most not. It’s like Mr. Magoo trying to look like The Rock. A rather shocking lead in our mystery assignment came from my sister, Toni. After trading the van for my brother-in-law’s car, which I’d been using since letting go of the truck, Carmen and I went to meet her for a late lunch—not at the family restaurant. “Ooh. I wonder what she knows.” Carmen had already twisted her Clairmont Diner napkin into a short white snake. “I don’t know.” My own looked as if I’d strangled the life out of it. “All she said was someone called her about the crocuses, and it was better if she told me in person after work.” “You told me that already.” “Well, forgive me for my lack of conversation skills.” My water glass was next to feel my wrath, as I grabbed it so hard, I spilled some down the front of my jacket. “Crap.” “Why is your jacket wet?” When my sister showed up, she wasn’t alone. “Just…water…” I stood and swiped at the spot. “…Mom.” Ambushed. “I didn’t want to do this,” she said. “Do what? Toni didn’t tell me you were…” My sister stopped me with a gentle grip of my elbow. “Sit down,” she said to the rest of us. The wooden chair creaked on rhythm with my bouncing foot, as everyone else perused the menu, or at least pretended to. “I’m not hungry.” I laid mine down. “He’s too skinny. Don’t you think he’s too skinny, Mrs. Storm?” “Yes.” Mom turned to Carmen, then to me. Toni frowned, and Mom seemed unable to keep up her charade. “I don’t think we’ll be here long enough to eat, anyway.” They both closed their menus, too. “Mom says she knows something about the crocuses.” “Oh?” I softened my expression but didn’t exhale, not at first. “What’s that, Mom?” “Your father…” She wouldn’t look at me now. “He thought it would be a nice icebreaker…me calling you.” “But you called Toni?” “She’s not as angry as you.” “I’m not angry.” My napkin was now in three pieces. “Not all the time. Not at you.” I put my hand atop my mother’s. To my surprise and relief, she left hers in place. “I hated missing Thanksgiving and Christmas. Easter won’t be any easier.” I didn’t care about my jacket, but it broke my heart to see wetness in my mother’s eyes. “It’s just that, every time I stick my neck out to make amends, even if I’m not the one who screwed up, Dad hurts me again. He hurts you. All of us.” “He thought the crocuses could be like…an olive branch.” “So, you planted them?” Carmen’s voice was loud enough to draw attention from the waitstaff and the cook behind an open window to the kitchen. Fortunately, there weren’t many customers. “Why twenty-one?” I asked. “Why from here to…everywhere else? Why all yellow?” “Yellow’s your favorite color.” Mom knew that, at least. “Why happy faces and not a word, like, sorry or a dollar sign? A few thousand dollar signs would have been appropriate.” “Nero…” Toni spoke to me but looked at chipped Formica. The table was marred, but also shiny. I could see my face in it, when I lowered my head, too. “Your father swears he doesn’t even know why you’re angry this time,” Mom told me. A second napkin fell victim to my frustration. “And you sound like you’re interviewing a criminal who’s just been indicted,” she said. I took a breath and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “I don’t mean to. I’m just curious. If you and Dad planted the flowers for me, I want to hear the whole story, from idea to digging.” The timeline actually worked. They had that part right, too. A six month waiting period for a fancy apology was rather inconsiderate when a quick ecard could have started the wounds healing quicker, though. “Did you call in to the station, or did you just assume someone else would?” “How did you keep it to yourself?” Carmen wanted to believe my mother. She hadn’t known her as long as I had. “I would have squealed to someone. No one invites me to surprise parties anymore.” “This afternoon is the first I’m hearing of it,” Toni said. “All winter is such a long time to keep a secret like that.” Now, Carmen looked doubtful, too. “I guess it’s easier if the people involved aren’t speaking to each other.” “Nero.” Toni was a loyal sibling. She also scolded me when I was bratty and often tried to play peacemaker. “Well…you know…” Mom wouldn’t look at any of us. “I should have just come by the apartment.” “How much do you need?” I asked. It got quiet enough then to hear the traffic outside the thick diner window. “And I don’t live there anymore.” “No?” Mom look surprised. Then again, why wouldn’t she? “I haven’t for six months.” Toni had kept her promise not to discuss me with them at all, apparently. “Did you move somewhere bigger?” Mom asked. I tried to laugh, but the sound that came wasn’t funny. “No, Mom.” When I grabbed a third napkin from the dispenser on the table, the metal box fell. When I picked it up with thoughts of throwing it through the glass, my sister stopped me. “Nero…” “It’s just that…” Mom soldiered on. We could have put on an origami napkin exhibition from that lunch. She was working on one to go along with my shredded pieces, Toni’s multi-folded masterpiece, and Carmen’s snake, while also working to finish her sentence. “Dad gambled away the mortgage payment again.” I helped her out. “Did you know he defaulted on the second one, the one I cosigned? Did you even know he took out a second one? How many months are you behind on the first?” Mom dabbed at her eyes with her twisted work of art. “Three.” My father went to work at the restaurant when he was a teenager and inherited the place free and clear when my Grandmother Storm died several years after her husband. In the seven years since, he’d mortgaged it to the hilt. Unable to meet the monthly payments several times following a gambling binge, he’d taken out a second mortgage, using the successful eatery as collateral. When he refinanced yet again, I’d made the mistake of cosigning. Several times over the years, he’d also come to Toni and me, since we’d both received sizeable cash inheritances when he’d gotten Summer Storm’s. Though I’d taken on the payments to the bank, I’d distanced myself from my parents. I had nothing left to give emotionally. Now, I had nothing left to give financially. “I didn’t want to lie.” Apparently, Mom was sent to do Dad’s dirty work this time. “How far was he willing to take it?” The waitress headed for our table. “Was my whole f*****g career dispensable for nine grand?” She turned and went back toward the counter. “Was he willing to burn it to the ground to have me go on TV and lie?” My chair nearly fell, I got up so fast. “Fake news is all the rage, I guess.” “It’s not Mom’s fault,” Toni said. “No.” I straightened the chair. “Get out of there, Mom. Come stay at Toni’s.” My voice quivered. “We’ll take care of you.” “Yes,” Toni said. Mom stood, her reaction not unexpected. “I have to go. Can you loan us the money or not?” “I…I don’t know how I can. One month might be possible. I don’t have three. Let me think about it.” My phone rang. “Saved by the bell.” I stood, “Work,” and rushed out the door. The air was ten million times easier to breathe in outside, and not just because of the heat and smell from the grill I’d left behind. “We have a woman from Rye Hardware.” Frasier didn’t even take time for a greeting. “Kim Giangrande. She remembers a guy coming in and asking about crocus bulbs and also buying a trowel last October.” “Hmm. Carmen and I were there, she didn’t say anything then.” Carmen showed up at my side, as Toni walked our mother to her car. “Where were we?” “An employee at Rye Hardware called Frasier about a trowel.” I waved it off. “We bought one.” “That’s what I told him.” “She said October.” Frasier must have heard what Carmen said, too. “Go check it out.” “What’s he saying?” “Fine.” I put the call on speaker. “He wants us to go, anyway.” “You two can head up that way again and be back before the deadline for six.” Carmen nodded. “Sure.” “Where are you now?” Frasier asked. “We stopped for lunch,” Carmen told him. “Nero’s mom came.” “Don’t rush, especially if you’re sitting down with your mom, Nero.” “It’s okay, Frase. Lunch is over.” Toni came over to offer me a hug. “What are you gonna do?” “What are you gonna do? I’m sure Mom held out her hand…” I balled mine into a fist. “Asked you too,” I said much softer. Toni shrugged. “I don’t know.” “We should cough up a few bucks for the waitress in there.” I nodded toward the diner door. “Even though we didn’t eat.” “I got it.” Carmen brought her bag around. “No. There’s station money in the glove compartment of the car. This was a business lunch.” I handed off the key fob that would open the borrowed Ford Focus. “Be generous.” “Not too generous,” Frasier said. “He’s a celebrity.” Carmen’s voice was way too loud. “Can’t have people thinking he’s a lousy tipper.” My glare sent her on her way, as I finished up with Toni, and a few people stared and whispered, likely trying to decipher the nature of my alleged fame. “Thanks for…being there, sis.” “You, too,” she said. “I can probably put together what they need, but where does it end?” I shrugged. “It doesn’t.” “Yeah.” Toni took a breath. “I should get Mom back to the restaurant, and then get home to Abbs.” “Give her daddy kisses.” Toni hugged me again. “I will.” Carmen returned as my sister headed off. “You find the cash?” “I did—and something else.” She held it up, and sunlight glinted off the shiny metal. “Oh.” “Where’d you get it, and does it tie into our mystery?” “Umm, it’s the trowel you bought for the piece we shot, right?” I knew damned well it wasn’t, but also hoped my mastery of Acting 101 would make Carmen wonder. “Nope.” No go. “That one’s in the van at the station. I also found this.” I took the flower bulb from her. “Poor thing never got to grow.” “So, it is a crocus bulb?” It reminded me of an unpeeled pearl onion, always had. Maybe Carmen would think so, too. “I believe it is.” She already knew, I decided, the question and thoughts of deception both rhetorical, since we’d both been doing web searches for hours about the things. “You got something you want to tell me, Nero?” Following a deep breath, “Well,” I said. “You already know most of it, but maybe…maybe not everything.”