96 Hours (17 page)

“Absolutely precious,” Smoker said, stubbing out her cigarette in the nearby outdoor ashtray.

“You should come by and see him. But not if he’s sleeping.”

They both chuckled as they went back into the Lions Club. Erica found herself standing there with a big grin on her face as she pictured Ralph the cocker spaniel puppy curled up in a ball on a fluffy blanket. She loved animals, had always wanted a dog, in fact. But she worked long hours and never thought it would be fair to an animal to leave it alone for so long. How comforting it would be to have something waiting at home for her, though.

Ralph . . .

Still grinning, she went back inside to see what else Corinne might need.

But first she remembered to ask her what the damn cat’s name was.

“Sammy,” Corinne had said. “He doesn’t like anybody. I’m surprised you’ve seen him at all. He usually just hides behind the dryer.”

Erica smiled.

It was after six by the time Erica returned to the MacDougals’ house. Corinne was planning to be at the Lions Club until later that night and Tim was just pulling out as Erica arrived. He rolled down his window as she approached, having parked Corinne’s car on the street.

“Hey, there,” he said with his ever-present grin.

“Hi, Tim.”

“Corinne said she put you to work today, eh?”

“I was happy to help,” Erica said and was somewhat surprised to realize that she meant it. “And it’s the least I can do to repay you for all you’ve done for us.”

“Bah.” He dismissed her comment with a wave of his meaty hand.

“The others inside?”

At that, his face became a bit more serious. “Yeah. I’m afraid they’ve had a bit too much news reporting.” He shook his head. “It’s all so crazy, isn’t it? Hard to fathom.”

“That’s for sure.”

They parted ways, Tim off to see if they needed anything at the high school, Erica inside to check on her compadres, wondering if they’d had dinner.

Tim was right. They’d had too much news for one day. All three of them sat in the living room. Actually,
sat
was the wrong word;
sprawled
was more like it. Michael was on the couch with Brian, both of them slouched down on their spines like rag dolls. Abby was on the floor with Corinne’s throw pillows bunched under her head. Each of them was pale and glassy-eyed, as if they hadn’t seen sunshine in weeks. Erica was slightly taken aback by the changes in their demeanors in less than a day, and she had to stop and get her bearings before she spoke.

“Hey, guys,” she said.

She was answered by a couple of grunts from the guys, nothing from Abby. She flopped down into a wingback chair with a relieved sigh. “Man, I worked my tail off today. I’m not sure how Corinne and the other volunteers are keeping up. There’s so much to do and they’re not getting much sleep.”

Three sets of eyes stared at the television.

“Some of the flights that came from Europe are being cleared to head back there. We may be able to get out of here soon.”

Nothing.

One last try,
she thought, tamping down the irritation that was making itself known. “Did you guys eat? I’m starving. I can make us something.”

Abby finally rolled over and faced her, but her expression was different. So not what Erica pictured when she thought of Abby. Not gentle. Not kind. Not cheerful. Instead, she was angry. Annoyed. Pissed off.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” she spat in Erica’s direction.

Erica flinched as if she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. What’s wrong with you? Why are you suddenly so cheerful? Do you have any idea what’s happening at home? Any idea? Do you even care?”

“Abby.” Brian’s voice was a low warning.

“Do you know that the death toll is going to be more than five thousand? More than
five thousand
people, five thousand Americans were just senselessly killed, burned alive by explosions and airplane fuel, crushed by concrete and steel, splattered on the pavement of Manhattan.
Five thousand people!”
She scoffed. “And you want to know what we want for dinner. Unbelievable.”

In one quick motion, she rolled to her feet and left the room, her footsteps thumping down the basement stairs a few seconds later. In the silence that followed, Erica swallowed hard; embarrassed, hurt, and speechless. She couldn’t remember ever having been bitch-slapped like that—and in front of other people. She felt humiliated. Tears pooled in her eyes.

Michael stood up. “Christ. I’m sorry, Erica. We should have all stopped watching this dreck hours ago. Details are continually being unearthed and it’s just horrifying stuff, really. It’s made us all so angry—even those of us who aren’t American.” His expression was gentle. “Abby’s been having a rough day as it is and I’m afraid you just got the brunt of it.” He approached her and held out his hand. “Come on, love. I’ll help you with dinner.”

They worked in companionable silence for a while, slicing and chopping. Erica got the water boiling and the tomato sauce simmering for the spaghetti while Michael prepared salads. Once Erica had given herself the time to calm down, she spoke.

“Wow,” she said quietly, not wanting Abby to overhear her.

“I don’t think she’s angry with you, love. I think she’s just angry.” He stopped chopping celery and looked up, seeming to collect his thoughts. “I think it’s hard to be Abby. I think she has this rosy view of the world, this sense that life is fair and people are good, and she’s been trying to maintain that view even in the wake of what’s happened. She’s kept smiling, kept being cheerful, even though her mother and friends have been drastically affected, could have been killed. She’s managed to hold tightly to her world view. But today, all those news reports, the playing of the video over and over and over.” He shook his head. “I just think her innocence has been shattered.”

Erica nodded, everything Michael said making sense. “You’re probably right.”

Her tone must have conveyed her hurt because Michael gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Really, Erica, don’t take it personally. She’s probably down there right now feeling terrible about taking her frustrations out on you.”

“Maybe.”

“You were smart not to hang around here all day with us and watch that bloody telly. Horrible, horrible stuff, but like a train wreck: I couldn’t manage to pull myself away. Now I can’t get some of those images out of my head.”

“I hear you,” Brian said, scrubbing a hand over his face as he entered the kitchen. “Jesus. I’ve watched the replay a zillion times today and I still can’t believe it’s happened. It’s almost surreal.”

They set the table as a team, like they’d been sharing meals together for years. They set a place for Abby, even though all three of them knew she wouldn’t be joining them. “I’ll save her a plate,” Erica said aloud to nobody in particular.

“Hey, did you say some flights are leaving?” Brian poked his fork in Erica’s direction as they ate.

“That’s what Corinne told me. The flights that came from Europe, some of them have been cleared to go back.”

“But what if your destination wasn’t Europe?” Michael asked. “Like me. I’m headed for Texas.”

Erica shook her head. “I don’t know the details. I mean, we all came from Europe, right? Our flight hasn’t been cleared to go back. I wonder if it’s the foreign airlines.” She explained the story of the Lufthansa flight.

“That could be the case,” Brian said. “American airspace is probably still closed, but European flights on European planes can’t be held here indefinitely.”

“Right.” Michael sopped up his sauce with a slice of bread. “We should ask Tim when he gets back. He might know more.”

“Seriously, how much longer can they keep us all stranded like this?” Brian asked. “I mean, I understand the caution behind it, but come on.”

“People at the Lions Club are looking frazzled,” Erica said. “They’re doing okay, but they’re snapping at each other. They’re tired. They’re frustrated.”

“We had no idea how lucky we got when Corinne and Tim asked us to stay here. Can you imagine still being on those damn cots in a giant room with a hundred and eighty other people? I don’t know how we ended up being the blessed ones, but I’m going to send one big-ass gift when I get home.”

“That’s a great idea. What are you thinking of?” Erica asked.

“I have no fucking clue.”

Laughter was good; it helped ease the tension of all that the guys had seen that day, as well as helping Erica to feel better about her row with Abby.

“First thing we need to do is replenish the wine supply here,” Michael said, gesturing to the rapidly emptying wine rack with his eyes.

“We could do that tonight,” Brian suggested. “Go to that little shop we hit the other day?”

“You guys go ahead,” Erica said. “I’m beat. I’ll clean up here while you’re doing that.”

“You sure?” Michael said. “We all ate. I hate for you to clean it up alone.”

Erica touched his cheek fondly. “Michael, if you weren’t married and I didn’t like girls, we’d be a match made in heaven.”

He blushed all the way to his receding hairline, took her hand, and placed a chaste kiss on the back of it. “We all need to exchange addresses, e-mail addresses, whatever. Soon, lest we forget.”

“Absolutely,” Brian agreed. “At the risk of sounding sappy, I don’t want to lose touch with you guys. You know?”

The three of them looked at each other. Michael still held Erica’s hand and she reached her free one out to Brian. “I know,” she said softly.

“Me, too,” Michael added with a nod.

After a moment, Erica broke the silence. “Okay. Go. Find wine. I’ve got this.”

The guys took the keys to Corinne’s car and headed off to do a wine run while Erica took her time cleaning up the dining room and kitchen. She made individual plates up for Tim, Corinne, and Abby, not knowing if the MacDougals planned on coming home that night or if Abby ever planned to eat again. She put them all in the fridge with notes and smiley faces, wondering absently who she’d become in the past four days; was she now the woman who drew smileys on all her notes? Dotted her i’s with hearts? Her team back home would find that rather amusing.

She loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the counters, put away the remaining bread, and poured herself the last of the cabernet. She thought about sitting outside, but the evening had cooled down considerably and she decided staying in was better.

A glance at the basement door told her what she really needed to do, but she hesitated. A fight was not something she was up for. And if she was being honest, she didn’t even care about an apology at the moment. Abby was having a rough time making sense of it all. Hell, they all were. But Erica was a smart girl and she could see how it would be difficult for Pollyanna to wrap her happy little brain around the idea of killing thousands of people just to make a point. It had to be a hard lesson.

Taking a deep breath and then blowing it out, Erica stood. “Okay. Here we go.” She opened the basement door and headed down the steps.

The first thing that hit her when the room came into view was a vague sense memory of Abby curled up behind her, wrapping her in the safety of her arms.
Perfect. That’s all I need right now.
She took a slug from her wine glass and continued down.

Abby was sitting on the loveseat, her head tilted back, her arm thrown over her eyes. Her knee was bouncing up and down, telling Erica she was trying to keep herself from exploding.

“Hey,” Erica said quietly, sitting next to her. “I saved you a plate of spaghetti. It’s in the fridge if you get hungry.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence for long moments. Erica was sure Abby had more to say and decided she’d wait her out, hard as that was. Her patience paid off eventually.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Abby asked finally, not removing her arm.

“Doesn’t what bother me?”

Abby heaved an annoyed breath. “The price of gas per gallon. Jesus. The whole thing at home. The planes flying into buildings. The people dying. The horror of it all. Doesn’t it bother you at least a little bit?”

Erica’s eyes widened at the implication. “Of course it bothers me. Of
course
it does. How can you think it doesn’t?”

Abby removed her arm then, sat up and looked Erica dead in the eye. “How can you be so cheerful and smiling, then? You’ve barely smiled the entire time we’ve been here and suddenly today, after nearly four days of being stranded and seeing the horror on TV, you’re suddenly in a good mood?”

Erica pressed her lips together, trying hard to find a way to explain something to Abby that she could barely explain to herself. “I don’t know how to put this into words,” she began. “I just—the whole thing is horrible. Of course it’s horrible. How could you even think I wouldn’t agree with you on that? But there’s something about being here, in Gander, around these people. I don’t know how to explain it, but today when I was helping Corinne and the other volunteers—I don’t know.” She threw up the hand without the wine glass. “I felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.”

“So, it’s about you, then, is it?”