Chapter 1 – Disconnect

It’s a calm summer morning in Cocoa Beach, the sky an electric pink from overnight storms still moving east into the Atlantic, and the world feels like it might be ending. I assume another power outage is happening, like the ones plaguing Florida’s Atlantic coast all year. I pick up my phone from its charging dock and a bold 100% immediately displays on the screen. As I begin stepping downstairs toward the kitchen, I hear the refrigerator humming. 

Stopping in front of the sink, I look closer at my device to see the four vertical service bars with a line through them.

“Why can’t I connect?” my sister, Melanie, asks. I hadn’t even noticed her descend the stairs and settle beside me. We both stare blankly at our phones. 

I’m not ready for words yet, so I shuffle across the cool tile floor to the living room and pick up the TV remote. Power on. No signal detected. Check wifi connection. I see movement through the sheer curtains at the front windows, so I resume shuffling to take look outside. 

Several of the neighbors have gathered in small pods on the sidewalk in various states of staring up at the sky and bewildered looks on their faces. They seem to be asking each other questions, but there’s a lot of heads shaking side to side. Did we miss another launch? Was there a failure? Unlikely. The vibrating windows and bass-filled roar of the massive rocket engines were nearly impossible to sleep through. Having Cape Canaveral for a neighbor was a small price to pay for living in a bodacious beach town. 

“Where’s dad?” I ask. Melanie doesn’t answer. I can see she’s using every ounce of concentration to roll through the dozens of troubleshooting tips we’ve gathered from a lifetime of connection issues. I decide to check the garage. 

Our garage would appear normal from a quick glance as you drive by, holding two relatively normal looking vehicles. But if you walked up the driveway and took a closer look inside, you’d find an unexpected universe of intricately placed shelves, cubby holes, and storage units. They were of all shapes and sizes, hugging every inch of floor, wall, and ceiling not utilized by the two vehicles. In fact, Dad replaced the old 4Runner with another like-model 4Runner so he wouldn’t have to redesign the entire precarious infrastructure. 

I descend the top step before calling out, “Dad?” 

I hear noise from somewhere in the back. Probably the dented, paint-speckled, portable radio spewing endless ads. Dad will be deep in concentration at the workbench. 

“Dad,” I say, more forcefully this time. 

“Ya,” he replies. I hear the metal casters of his stool roll across the epoxied concrete floor, a soothing rumbling sound. His face peers around a shelving unit looking slightly wild. 

“We can’t connect to the wifi,” I say. 

Dad doesn’t say anything. His body begins instinctively moving toward me in a well rehearsed and delicate dance toward the stairs, culminating in a bent-over-the-hood, sideways shuffle to get around the car. 

“Let’s go inside, girl,” he says to me. “Where’s your sister?” 

“In the kitchen,” I reply, stepping back up into the house and moving to find Melanie. 

Dad kicks off his camouflage Crocs and follows me in. 

Melanie is now stooping over her tablet in the middle of the kitchen, her fingers moving quickly over this new device, the phone abandoned on the counter. 

Dad squeezes my shoulder and puts his arm around Mel. “There’s a bit of a situation going on up and down the coast,” he says. Melanie’s fingers stop. 

***