Zoe put on a pair of black yoga pants and an oversized baby-blue T-shirt and grabbed her white high tops from her walk-in closet. Like practically every other New Yorker, thanks to the virus, she hadn’t had a haircut in months and combed her now long, thick dark-brown hair into a ponytail. Putting on a white baseball cap with a shamrock embroidered on the front she looked at her reflection in the hall mirror. The St. Patrick’s Day parade the previous March had been cancelled, but she had gone to a party anyway and worn the hat. Days later, everything in New York shut down. St. Patrick’s Day was my last normal night before we all went underground like moles.

After a quick coat of mascara, a brush of blush, and some tinted lip gloss, she grabbed her large, brown leather bag and her mask and walked out the door.

The doorman was again standing looking out when Zoe stepped into the lobby. “I read on my news feed that the woman they found in the park was a school teacher,” said Don. “What the hell was a teacher doing in Central Park in the middle of the night? I’ll tell you one thing, she wasn’t selling Girl Scout cookies.”

17

A popular mid-sized Northern Italian bistro on West 98th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam, Villa d’Luna had been owned by Miranda d’Luna, a larger-than-life redhead and former chef, for nearly sixteen years. With a big heart and equally big boobs, Miranda was loved by her employees and considered each of them part of her extended family.

Since the shutdown, Miranda had kept all of her employees on the payroll but the virus had taken its economic toll and her money was running out. Having to make some big and painful decisions she had summoned her restaurant “family” for a meeting to be held in front of Villa d’Luna that morning.

By 9:45, twenty-five masked members of the Villa d’Luna staff waited in front of the shuttered bistro. Chairs from the restaurant had been placed outside on the sidewalk to provide some seating. It had been over two months since most of the employees had seen each other and the joy of being together was palpable. Even with no hugging and faces covered by masks, they joyfully greeted each other from six feet apart shouting questions and answers and bumping elbows instead of the usual hug. Eventually, Miranda emerged from inside the café making a grand entrance, arms high in the air like a queen holding court.

Her long red hair was pulled up into a topknot and she wore a dark-green mask that said Villa d’Luna Rocks. The crinkle around her bright green eyes told the crew she was smiling underneath.