Lisa took a sip of coffee from her travel mug, then glanced at her phone. Six months had passed, but her heart still skipped a beat every time she looked at her screen, hoping for a message from Patrick. Nothing. Just the time, making it very clear that she was going to be late.
She sighed. Another day, another temp job. At this rate, she’d just make it to her assignment with no chance to pick up breakfast on the way. Gridlock had seized Portland, and the city bus was inching along at a painfully slow rate. Her stomach growled. Opening her backpack, she pulled out a granola bar from the emergency supplies Jamie insisted she carry at all times. She’d have to remember to replace it before her friend’s next surprise spot check.
When the bus finally rolled across the Burnside Bridge, one of the few that had survived the quake intact, Lisa wiped a smear of condensation from the window beside her seat to reveal Portland’s battered skyline. The city had always been modest compared to other West Coast cities like Seattle or San Francisco. Now, many of its prominent buildings stood jagged and broken, stark reminders of the earthquake that had jolted the city. It wasn’t the long-predicted collapse of the Cascadia subduction zone that had triggered the quake. Instead, snaking across the city from the West Hills through downtown, the modestly named Portland Hills Fault had produced the 6.2-magnitude tremor that shook the city for twenty terrifying seconds, followed by a dozen aftershocks in the days that followed.
A man sitting in the seat across from Lisa refolded his Oregonian. The front-page banner headline read “The Big One? Experts Say No.” She rolled her eyes and crumpled the empty granola bar wrapper, tucking it into the front pocket of her backpack. Experts. What a bunch of jackasses. Like they had any idea what was going to happen next. No warning had come on that hot day in August, and there would be none the next time the earth chose to tear their city and their lives apart.
The only mercy was that the earthquake had hit on a Saturday. Schools and office buildings were mostly empty, and the streets, highways, and bridges were less jammed with traffic than they would have been in a midweek rush hour. Even so, several bridges had collapsed, taking cars, pedestrians and bicyclists with them into the river. Even with brave citizens diving into the water to save their fellow Portlanders, not everyone made it out alive. Downtown residents had fared even worse. Search and rescue operations had gone on for days around damaged buildings. Later, rescuers had shifted to the somber task of clearing rubble, never knowing when a piece of concrete or twisted metal might reveal someone’s desperate end. The buildings hit hardest were from an era well before Oregon was considered a highly seismic region. New homes and high-rises built to recent codes had withstood the worst of it. In the end, the quake was responsible for fifty-three deaths and hundreds of injuries, a terrible toll the city wouldn’t soon forget.
The near constant noise of construction had everyone on edge. Dump trucks and cranes seemed to block every major street. At any loud crash or boom, people dove for doorjambs, hid under desks and tables, or fled outside. Lisa was no different. She jumped at every ambulance siren, car alarm, or freight train. Post-traumatic stress had gripped the entire population of Portland.
Everyone except, of course, Lisa’s mother Ellen. From the moment the shaking stopped, the mayor of Portland had leapt into action. She worked tirelessly next to firefighters, police officers, and volunteers to pull people from the wreckage. Footage of her on national television captured a compassionate and vulnerable leader. Her steely persona was forgotten as she helped to rescue grateful survivors and comforted the friends and families of those less fortunate. Ellen became the symbol of Portland’s recovery—white hair held back with a red bandana, sensible mom jeans, and an emergency responder jacket. The city loved her for it, and she won the November election in a landslide. Now there was talk of a run for governor and whispers of a presidential future. For the first time in Ellen’s long career, she could do no wrong. She pledged from the outset to rebuild the city for a sustainable future. Every damaged street would be rebuilt with bike lanes, every building would be repaired with green roofs and solar panels. Conserving water and harnessing wind were key, with a city- and county-wide focus on zero waste. Portland would become the model city of a green future.
The quake had also been a massive boom for Victor Smith’s construction company. Tower cranes swayed above the city, most emblazoned with the VSC logo. Ellen tried to keep her distance, but as long as Victor followed her edict to rebuild sustainably, the city continued approving more and more of his company’s contracts. Lisa’s mother knew Victor was hiding something, but with Sheila still in a coma, Ellen couldn’t find the connection between Victor and the drug dealer.
Lisa knew way more than she cared to about her mother’s drama. She heard regular updates about the rebuilding plans and Victor Smith from Jamie, who’d replaced Ellen’s old assistant Geoff after he had fled to a more seismically stable Iowa. And from Ellen, who’d become Lisa’s new housemate.
After the quake, Lisa and Jamie’s apartment building had taken on a troubling slant that forewarned of full collapse. The girls had been given an hour to remove what they could carry out. After stuffing what they could into boxes and bags, they hauled their luggage to the street, where their respective parents waited for them. Lisa loaded her belongings into the trunk of her mother’s BMW, Jamie into her parents’ Subaru. Before leaving, the friends walked back into the lobby for a moment to slap the cracked mural of Mount Hood one last time.
Jamie had lived with her parents for a few months, and had since found a studio apartment near City Hall. With Ellen’s demanding schedule, it was just easier that way, she’d explained to Lisa. Lisa had moved back home to the colonial-style house in Eastmoreland where she’d grown up, into her old room with the robin’s-egg blue walls, the white, shabby-chic furniture, the walls covered in old drawings and paintings, and a dresser still full of her old clothes. Really, it wasn’t so bad living with her mother, thought Lisa. Three square meals a day, and no rent to pay.
Lisa’s phone dinged with a reminder that dinner with Ellen was scheduled for tonight. No matter how busy she was rebuilding the city, shoring up the economy, and giving stump speeches, Ellen and Lisa met once a week, and Lisa would always share a story about the Academy. True to her word, Ellen had made it a priority to hear Lisa’s side of things. She was a surprisingly good listener, asked thoughtful questions and gave Lisa space when she needed a moment to collect her thoughts.
Lisa clicked open the reminder and smiled. Tonight they were to meet at Jake’s Famous Crawfish, luckily just a few blocks from her temp job. A Portland institution for over a century, the landmark restaurant had suffered considerable damage and had only just reopened.
Lisa remembered as a kid begging her parents to take her there during crawfish season, when a giant inflatable version of the crustacean was installed on top of the restaurant. Finally, for her eighth birthday, her mother relented. Lisa would never forget sitting between her parents as the waiter presented her with a heaping platter of the tiny red creatures. She’d burst into tears at the sight. Her mother scoffed and shook her head in disappointment. Her father, anticipating her reaction, had ordered wisely. In a moment, the dish was whisked away and replaced by a kid’s-size cheeseburger and crinkle-cut fries. Tonight, just to be safe, she’d stick with a burger.
The bus jerked to a halt, and passengers gasped and grabbed seats and handrails as though for dear life.
“Sorry, everyone,” said the bus driver sheepishly. “Broadway and Davis. Careful exiting. The street’s still pretty broken up. Have a good morning.”
Lisa shouldered her backpack and stepped off the bus into a steady drizzle that pattered softly on the cracked sidewalk. She clicked her phone again and rechecked the address for her temp job. Eleventh and Flanders. Just a few blocks. Pulling up the hood on her black raincoat, she stepped carefully over the buckled concrete. She crossed the street and made her way into the Pearl District.
The Pearl had suffered less than most areas of the city. Having been so built up in the last decade, most buildings were modern or heavily renovated according to the latest seismic standards. Still, the crumbled streets lent an air of chaos to the trendy neighborhood.
Lisa glanced at a street sign that stood upright but slightly askew and found herself in front of a modern six-story concrete-and-glass building that took up the entire block. This couldn’t be right, she thought with a frown. She’d made it very clear to the temp agency that this was the one company that she would never work for. She glanced at the email with her day’s assignment again, reading it more carefully, and her stomach dropped. She quickly called the temp agency’s number.
A woman with a chirpy voice answered. “Temporary Heroes. How can I help?”
“Angelica? This is Lisa.”
“Hi honey. How’s it going over at Burnam & Green this morning?”
“It’s not. I told you, any office in town but Burnam & Green.”
“They loved you last time,” said Angelica. “Said you were a
real lifesaver.”
“I’ve never had an assignment there,” said Lisa.
“Oh, shoot. I guess I mixed you and Nisha up. Sorry, hon. Well, don’t worry. Those creative types might be a little intimidating, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“Angelica. I can’t. You don’t understand. It’s impossible.”
“Now Lisa, you can and you will,” said Angelica, her voice shifting to an uncharacteristically stern tone. “You know we’re shorthanded what with all the scared young people hightailing it out of town. Half of them are moving down to California. Can you imagine? Like it’s any safer there.”
“Angelica . . .” Lisa pleaded.
“I just don’t have anyone else who can cover the partner’s office. George Green has fired everyone else we’ve sent over.”
Lisa attempted to interrupt, but Angelica talked over her. “We’ll find a replacement for you tomorrow. Just get through today. With any luck, he’ll fire you too.”