Nancy Hope

Nancy

"So many enemies,"

Seamus Grant

The place where her face met the window fogged.  The bodies next to her were already helping warm the car’s back seat.  She heard her mom and dad quietly talk, the hiss of the car’s weak heater, sniffles, snores, the whine of breaks, and the white perpetrating moan of the oncoming traffic speeding by beyond the divide outside the car.  Her legs were cold and so was her nose.  Pressed uncomfortably together due to her sister-in-law’s high knees were Nancy’s warm, pink hands that were sticking out. 

They were going to their Grandma’s in Sam’s Town for a week.  She heard the news about her fiancé three days ago and couldn’t hide it.  She didn’t care if her mother disowned her or didn’t believe her.  She needed to be with him and her only hope for that was through her parents.

But when she told her mom the secret her dark brown Hispanic eyes showed little more than motherly compassion.  And it was that warm look that sent Nancy into hopeless tears and frenzied hand motions, not being able to say much.  After a glass of water and a long mom-hug she asked her daughter, “So you are engaged to Ambassador Seamus Grant who was arrested in Crete as a spy, and then he was shot by an assassin after his trial?”  She was really only asking the first question. The fact that Seamus Grant had been tried and shot was common knowledge by most Newtopians.  She warned herself against telling her family and what it would mean.

Still, “Yes,” came out and seemed to make the fear of losing him much more real.  Then she cried again.

“Don’t worry baby.” Nancy’s mom gave her a hug and then went to call her own mom.   The old woman’s advice would be helpful and cost nothing except the secret of the engagement.  Nancy was still relieved when her mom gave Seamus an alias, “Jorge Hernandez, poor thing got shot in the riots over in Spain.”  She waited for a response on the other end of the phone, “I don’t know,” and then, “Yea, well engaged.”  She paused and redistributed her weight to mostly her right foot.  She threw up her free arm when she responded, “Well you didn’t think she was just reading books the last four years, did ya?” Her mother’s support was as warm as her fear was real.  The conversation ended in some sort of agreement and she hung up.  Her mother’s attitude simmered when she turned to Nancy, “We are going to grandmas for a week.”  Nancy nodded. The next day they left.

They did not go alone.  Sara, Nancy’s Sister-in-law, sat next to her now, still asleep and Carla, Nancy’s sister next to Sara who was behind her dad who was driving and her mom in the passenger seat.  Every bump pushed Sara against Nancy and Nancy against the side.  Her dreams of late had been as dark as the Atlantic.  Too scared to sleep and too damn depressed to admit to anyone else she was awake she sat awake with her eyes closed.  Each bump on the road made the car tremor and remind her that she was alone in a car full of people who loved her.

Their drive to grandma’s would take them south on interstate 13 but Nancy never knew how long it was.  She would often sleep on rides to her grandma’s waking up only when they stopped at Culver’s.  The fast food chain had expanded to nearly every town in Newtopia and most of the rest of the world.  The neutral stance it took weakened most of its franchises but played well for its longevity in Newtopia. 

The political preferences of other fast food chains became a center of attention for most of Nancy’s stay in Spain.  Soon, after she got there, she saw McDonalds and Burger King brand food being distributed for free.  Like United Nation’s food provisions for large groups of refugees fast food chains supported marginalized Europeans with mass food give-a-ways.  But during her sophomore year the poor and hungry were no longer the only target.  Mildly wealthy entrepreneurs were offered franchised restaurants for next to nothing just so that they maintained the brand name and yielded a percentage to the parent-brand.  Each month the market got fiercer in Europe but there were no deaths until May of her junior year in college.  And that was when Newtopia sent Seamus Grant to Spain to work it out.  But that made Nancy feel sick.  The whole mess of things was just headlines pointing and shouting at her:

“AMBASSADOR GRANT TO SETTLE FAST FOOD MURDER”

“NEWTOPIA MAKES STATEMENT TO FAST FOOD CHAINS”

“SEAMUS GRANT vs. McDONALDS”

“SPECIAL PROCECUTOR REQUESTED BY GRANT”

“PAUL,GRANT, “WE CAN WORK THIS OUT””

“WHO DID BK SNUFF?”

The identity of the dead politician was not released to the public for as long as possible.  Two days later every student at the Spanish University in Madrid knew and two hours after that so did the rest of the world. But Grant’s job to find out who killed Senator Baxton and what Newtopia would say about it.  And that’s why Grant came to speak with Nancy.

“Who was he, really.” He had asked Nancy softly, “Who would want him dead?”  Her boss’ boss, Senator Baxton Milton III, had been shot dead.  The night he was killed his body guard had fled and Burger King moved into Spain overwhelming all other chains.  Grant had been kind to Nancy but wanted more information than the Spanish had gotten from her already.  He had been kind and strong. And that was what it took for her to say ‘yes’ to dinner a few weeks later.

But when they met alone he had said, “Open and shut.”  He told her, “Same weapon as the body guard and he had stocks in BK which gives us more than enough.  Just a shame he did it only for a few million.”

“What do you mean?”

“So many enemies,” was all Grant had responded shaking his head.  The slowing of the car meant they were getting off the interstate and going to culvers. So many enemies echoed in her head.  Who were your enemies, Seamus?