Mrs. Dalloway created the Zoom link herself. There was so much to do for the evening’s virtual meeting: outreach, slides, breakout-group assignments.

Scrolling social media, Clarissa came upon a lovely vacation photo of an English garden. How calm the air can be early in the morning, like the flap of a wave, the kiss of a wave. She scrolled down to the comment thread and saw that Hugh had posted a cheerful remark. Her old friend Hugh–the admirable Hugh! She “liked” his comment.

A push notification: Active shooter. The location seemed to be no more than five miles away. Clarissa could have been there.

Septimus saw the same notification. Deep in a subreddit for veterans, he muttered to himself several times: “Active shooter.” Evans had been shot. No, it was an IED–Evans had bled out before Septimus’ own eyes when the shrapnel had ripped his throat. He’d come home in a body bag. But you could still see Evans sometimes, you could still hear him clearly speak. Septimus scanned the comments for Evans’ name, because he might still post. He might say what it’s like where he is now–is it a happier place?

Now, an automated reminder to take his meds. Septimus hated those pills. They deadened him so that he could hardly see the future or how love rules everything or the disgusting corruption of the human body.

On Clarissa’s screen, the name Peter Welch popped up. Out of the blue, after so many years, Peter suddenly wanted to know how she was doing. “Where RU?!?” she asked him back. He was in town, visiting from Dubai; maybe they could get together? His status was complicated and he wanted to talk.

A flood of memories, like photos from deep in one’s saved-items folder. For some reason, seeing Peter’s text brought back that time she’d hooked up with Sally Seton.

Richard was talking to someone, but Clarissa couldn’t see who. His laptop was angled away from her, and he had his headset on. She checked his calendar. He must be talking to Millicent Bruton. Millicent had sent the meeting invite and had asked Hugh to join them. Clarissa felt a pang. It wasn’t sexual jealousy–Millicent was no threat, and these people would never see each other in person. The feeling was FOMO. Why didn’t Millicent want her to join the conversation? Was Clarissa totally out of the loop now?

Richard honestly found Millicent Bruton a bit silly and scatterbrained. She’d drafted a post that she wanted him to put on his policy Substack. He, Hugh, and Millicent were editing it together in a shared doc. It was a mess. Her main point seemed to be that people should move to Canada. (That’s always the idea, Richard thought–let’s all move to Canada). Hugh, who managed internal comms. for his family’s real estate business, believed that no one ever reads more than 40 words. He was adding bolded headings– “What it means” and “Why it matters”–and turning Millicent’s paragraphs into bullet points.

Richard would post her piece–why not? His traffic was way down, anyway. So nice of Clarissa to organize the webinar for his org! A virtual get-together might boost his profile. He thought about sending his wife a heart emoji, but that feeling passed before he clicked.

Clarissa hoped that people would join the Zoom on time, leave their cameras on, post witty comments in the chat, and have a good time together. She pinged an old friend with a reminder and ordered a protein smoothie to be delivered for lunch. Before she submitted her order, she messaged Richard to see if he wanted anything, but he’d already ordered his own tempeh tacos.

Their daughter Elizabeth said, “I’m going outside for a walk.” Clarissa and Richard nodded distractedly and went back to their screens.

See also: three endings for Christabel; Amy Replies; The House of Atreus: A Play