“I don’t expect you to understand,” Hamish said.
Erin raised her voice slightly. “It seems like everyone is complaining about what needs to be done, but no one is actually doing the work. I’ve read about this all afternoon. Everyone is sort of mellow and slow. Why aren’t you rebuilding today?”
“We are,” Hank said. “That is literally what we do every day.”
“You’re fixing cracks in houses,” Erin said. “That is such a small thing. Many things are more important than cracks.”
No one moved until Hamish crossed his arms. “Tell me about this middle school built in a single summer.”
Erin knew nothing about construction, but when her dad was on the school board, she heard how the school was planned and how it went up and how it worked. They had LEED silver certification, which meant the school was a leader in energy and environmental design. It was a big deal. “It’s one of the greenest schools in America.”
Hamish said, “Yes. And where did they build it?”
“On a huge plot two miles from downtown Wheaton.”
“And did a firm design it?”
“Yes. The best architects.”
“That must have taken a long time to plan before they started building.”
She hesitated. “Maybe.”
“And then they had to procure the materials, which took some time.”
“Probably.”
“Imagine this.” Hamish leaned in. “First, you have to raze a building. Excavate it.”
“The water and sewage and utilities are crap,” Hank said, “so you have to wait until every other building tied into its infrastructure is razed.”
Hamish tagged back in. “You have to go to the central business district and fix the main stuff first, so when you build something it has water and electricity and whatnot.”
He had a point.
“And you have the plans for the building that used to stand there, but you can’t just build it again because you already know it can’t withstand a strong quake. So you have to wait for someone to design something that will. And then wait for the government to approve it. And then, because you live on a small island in the Pacific, you have to import building materials from other countries that have resources and facilities to manufacture brick and steel.”
Hank said, “And then we build!”
Oh.
“And you’re talking about one building. Hundreds of buildings need to be rebuilt. We have to lift buildings that survived in order to pour new foundations.” Hank shook his head. “CBD—our Central Business District—is a mess.”
Erin stared at her plate. She was an ass.
“So I know you think we wouldn’t know shit from clay. And America is bigger and better and faster and stronger. But this traumatic thing happened to our country. We are working together to build it back up again. To make our children feel safe. To stay strong.”
Erin stared at her hands as Hamish resumed his meal.
Felicity said, “It’s not your fault, Erin.”
Pippa said, “Yeah. You can’t move tectonic plates!”
Felicity put one hand over Pippa’s and her other over Erin’s. “What I meant, Pippa, was that Erin couldn’t have known. She was trying to help.”
Hamish was quiet. “We’re all trying to help. You’re making plans, fine. I’m working on houses. Fourteen thousand homes destroyed or condemned. The people trying to rebuild the city need roofs over their heads. I’m doing what I can. Don’t get me started on insurance companies standing in our way.”
Erin whispered, “Sorry.”
“You don’t know is all,” Hank said.
There was more she didn’t know. Erin stayed up late reading about Christchurch, old and new. Economists estimated it would take fifty to a hundred years for the economy to recover. After the big quakes, New Zealand suffered a mass exodus. Some left because they had no power. Many homes were condemned, so families couldn’t return. The resulting housing shortage caused prices to soar, so many families couldn’t afford to return.
Erin clicked back through Good-Time Girl’s history. She’d been too young to post during the earthquakes, but two years ago, she’d returned to Christchurch after years away. She posted photos of her old, now-demolished house in Sumner Beach and expressed gratitude for family friends who’d housed her family.
Obviously, those weren’t good times.
One summery day, earthquakes had rattled generations of kiwis, and they’d never be the same.
Erin’s own problems seemed a bit smaller.
She wanted to tell Good-Time Girl she was sorry about her city, but that definitely seemed like stalking. Instead, she read through Marama’s and Jade’s recent posts, liking and responding where appropriate.
This tiny city was resilient. This community was resilient. This family was resilient. She wanted to wrap them all up in love.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Wednesday morning, Erin called Claire ten minutes before she left for Nationals. Claire raved about the revised iteration of Erin’s essay.
“It’s fabulous, Mom. It just doesn’t sound like me.”
Claire huffed. “It sounds like a Columbia student. This woman has a great track record of Ivy League acceptances. Did you look at her website?”
“I did,” she lied.
“Well, I think the essay is a winner. Tweak it if you want, but then I need to see it again. And if everything goes well this weekend, we can make that the focus.”
Felicity knocked on Erin’s door. “Percy’s here.”
“Thanks, Felicity,” Erin said.
“How’s everything in that tiny house?” Claire asked. “Still sharing a room?”
Erin wished she’d never mentioned that. “I am. And it’s not that bad. We’re all together a lot. We eat dinner together every night. They call it tea. Some nights we all do our own thing together—homework or reading for Pippa and me, a project for Felicity, or cards for her and Hamish.”
“If I had the luxury of an easy job, I would have a lot more leisure time, too. It’s a trade-off, Erin. They have a slow, small life. You’ll notice none of them are eyeing a championship medal.”
“The family is pretty great, actually, even without medals.” Smiling, she nodded to herself.
“Do not start talking that way. Only people who can’t get medals are blasé without them. You’re better than that. You can win. Go out and do it.”
“I need to go, Mom.
