The Cost of Coffee, part 19
Prompts for 18 July 2025 from
Write about a summer storm
boxed skies
“that’s what you think”
A character who writes a blog
19.
"When I was a girl, I used to sit outside any time there was a summer storm."
Mother had fully awakened from whatever had caused her deep sleep after the last day of testimony. The Council had canceled the remaining sessions once Arturo and his accomplices were "volunteered" for waste duty. Now they busied themselves with trying to regain control and rebuild trust among the citizens of the Bio, but skepticism was hard to overcome. Even the AI systems were exposed as both flawed and dependent on information fed into them.
"Garbage in, garbage out," was how Father explained it.
Mother was awake, but it wasn't clear that she was fully aware of all that had happened. She talked more about her childhood than ever before.
"There was a wild energy about them," Mother continued. "The closer together the flash of light and the thunderous boom, the closer the storm. And the rain came down in sheets that smelled like fresh grass and rich soil with a deep sweetness. There's not another fragrance like it."
Pinta sat next to her mother on the sofa in their suite. Naimeh said Mother used to share stories like this from her childhood when they were younger, but Pinta didn't remember them. For her, this was new. Her mother had always been logical, mathematical, practical, and precise. It was Father who spoke in metaphors and old stories as he created new roasts of coffee and new hybrids of many food-producing plants from the seed vault. Hearing her mother talk about stormy weather made Pinta want to look beyond the boxed skies of the Bio into something uncontained—natural, unpredictable, and a little bit wild.
She and Naimeh had been to Norway several times, trying to decipher the meaning of the smoke —or the lack of it—in Father's painting and Mother's dream. The best Pinta could come up with was that married couples sometimes just knew things at a subconscious level. It didn't explain the dream, especially since Mother hadn't visited Father's murals. Pinta couldn't think of a better theory. More than anything, she was just glad to have her mother back. The last several months had been strange.
Naimeh had started writing. She wasn't just scribbling thoughts the way Pinta did; she was really writing. Her poetry was much better than Pinta's but they explored similar themes: cracks in reality, unexpected shiftings, and the virtue of coffee. Father had disconnected one of the home computers from the AI to create a private archive, at least in theory. Pinta still preferred her old school journal, pencil, and flashlight, but Naimeh wrote page after page about their lives and experiences since coming to the Bio. She told Pinta that writing helped her remember and helped her envision what was unraveling around them. If she ever fully understood, she might share her words with others in the Bio, maybe. Her work still kept her away four nights a week, but when she was home, Pinta could hear the clacking of keys deep into the nights.
Mother drifted off to sleep as she remembered the summer storms. It happened less often than it did when she first returned, but it was clear that her mind had suffered some kind of trauma. Father believed she’d been drugged for an extended period. He said healing takes many forms; for Mother, sleep was the best remedy.
"Why would anyone do that to her?" Pinta had asked.
"Do you remember your terrible poem? The one about cracks in reality and what we have needing to be enough?" Father brought up that poem on a regular basis, like it had some kind of profound meaning that Pinta missed, even though she had written it.
"Goodness, Father. Of course. You won't let me forget it! But it doesn't connect to anything real."
Father smiled. "That's what you think, my dear. Actually, I think your mind may be nearly as prophetic as Naimeh's, although you lack the discipline and patience to work your thoughts through." Father paused a moment before continuing. "When people become greedy for power, nothing is ever enough. Food, clothing, and even coffee become currency that can be exchanged for influence, especially when those things are scarce."
"That explains the argument I overheard between the packer and Arturo. Arturo wanted power for himself, didn't he?" Pinta hadn't forgotten the conversation from right before the fires began. It had been the beginning of Arturo's downfall--and Mother's decline.
She continued, "But I don't understand--wait, did I tell you about the smoke in Mother's dream and your mural?"
"Smoke?" Father sounded surprised. "I don't think so--what about smoke?"
"Oh! Naimeh noticed that your smoker's pipe had smoke coming from it, but in Mother's dream, there was no smoke. Naimeh and I both thought it was important, but we couldn't figure out why."
Father paled a little. He hadn't noticed the smoke, but now, something clicked. Images rearranged in his mind like puzzle pieces sliding into place.
"Father?" Pinta leaned in, looking concerned.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” he said slowly. “And where there’s fire, there’s life.”
He stood, his voice resolute now. “Pinta, I think you and Naimeh solved the puzzle without even knowing it. Give me an hour to collect my thoughts. Then meet me—with your sister—at Council Chambers.”
Without another word, he turned to his desk. Pinta sat motionless, stunned.
What was Father doing?
Oh my goodness! What *is* Father doing? I can't believe you can wrap this up in one more episode, but we will see. Hopefully Scoot provides you with useful prompts!