96 Hours (5 page)

“Ugh,” Abby said. “I can’t begin to imagine what she’s going through.”

A moment passed and Abby could almost hear the internal sigh, manners winning out again. Erica might have been overly serious but she’d been raised to be polite. “Who?”

“Mrs. Baker. Her son, Tyson, works at a brokerage firm in the north tower and she hasn’t been able to get a hold of him. Nobody else in the family has either, so she’s worried sick. She has no idea if he was able to get out in time.”

Erica opened her eyes and looked in the Bakers’ general direction. “That’s awful.”

“Do you have anybody in New York?”

She blew an auburn lock of hair out of her eyes and shook her head. “Thankfully, no. I wasn’t even leaving the airport. Just changing planes and continuing on.”

“To?”

“Raleigh.”

“North Carolina. Great state. Love it there.”

Erica closed her eyes again, leaned her head back. Abby wanted to ask her if she was from Raleigh originally, but knew she was tiring of the conversation. Still, she was happy she’d gotten her talking a little bit. She decided to ease up for now, though she had to make one more comment after scanning Erica’s figure and stopping at her feet.

“By the way, I think the flip-flops make the outfit.”

Well, I’ll be damned,
she thought as a ghost of a grin turned up the corners of Erica’s mouth.
She
can
smile.

September 12, 2001
Wednesday

Chapter 4

Sleep came fitfully and sporadically to just about everybody in the Gander Lions Club that night—if it came at all. Abby could usually drop off to sleep anywhere if she was tired enough, but that night, her mind was having none of it. At 4:47 a.m., she was still awake, her brain still racing. She continually tried to catalog the people she knew, wondering if any of her friends could have been in the World Trade Center that morning. She hadn’t grown up in New York; she’d gone to school in Connecticut and her close friends and family were mostly there. But her mother had worked in Manhattan for almost ten years and she was bound to know people affected. Killed even.

Finally giving up on any kind of meaningful sleep, she sat up in her cot and looked around the darkened hall at her fellow passengers, wondered what was going through each of their minds.

A good portion of them were also awake—wandering, sniffling, sitting, staring. Mr. and Mrs. Baker had pushed two cots together and sat huddled side by side—trying not to think the worst and failing, probably. A young couple was walking up and down the aisles, an infant cradled and sleeping against the woman’s shoulder. A middle-aged, balding man sat in front of one of the two televisions, though Abby wondered if he saw anything. The people began to blend into one another until they all looked the same: like aimlessly wandering souls condemned to some sort of purgatory with no idea what lay ahead for them.

Several of the volunteers were still milling around. Locals. Abby was stunned by their generosity. They’d brought food, clothing, linens, and toiletries from their own homes and had done nothing but smile, sympathize, and try to help since they’d arrived. Their patience with the tired and cranky travelers had been unending. She’d heard through various snippets of conversation that she had been lucky to get off her plane within six hours, that it had taken much longer for others.

To Abby’s left, Erica slept soundly—or as soundly as one could sleep in a skirt and blouse on a strange cot in a large, over-populated room. She heard the comedienne Paula Poundstone in her head, doing part of a favorite routine: “She’s such an angel when she’s sleeping.” Erica looked infinitely more relaxed. Her face was smooth, scrubbed free of makeup. Abby noticed a light dusting of freckles across the pale skin and smiled, figuring that Erica probably burned red as a lobster if she was in the sun for too long. There was no divot between her eyebrows from scowling, no lines at the corners of her eyes from squinting with suspicion. She looked utterly at peace. It was funny to Abby that she’d already concluded this was not a common expression for Erica. Some people were just that easy to read.

Realizing she was not going to sleep any time soon, she swung her legs around and stood. One last glance at Erica’s work attire made her thank her lucky stars she’d packed a change of clothes in her backpack. She was sure she felt a hundred times better than most people around her, having changed into a pair of black wind pants and a royal blue T-shirt, but she could feel that hard-to-explain sticky feeling that comes from not having seen the inside of a shower in almost two days. Her scalp was itching like crazy, but she didn’t dare take her hair down from the ponytail. Its flattened stringiness would test even her best I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-others-think attitude.

In the lobby area, two people were talking quietly on the phones, and the stocky woman with the silver bob who’d been present and smiling upon their arrival was still shuffling around, humming softly to herself. There was a crate of apples and bananas that hadn’t been there earlier and Abby’s mouth began to water almost instantly.

“Help yourself, dear. That’s what they’re here for.” Her smile reminded Abby of a younger version of her grandmother, long dead but never forgotten, and the slight lilt to her voice sounded almost Irish.

“You’re sure?” Abby kept her voice low, not wanting to disturb any of those lucky enough to grab a little sleep.

“Absolutely. You people can’t subsist on bags of chips and cans of soda. That’s not right.”

Abby nearly swooned at the first bite of the perfectly ripened banana. “Oh, that’s good. Thank you so much. My name is Abby, by the way.”

“Corinne MacDougal.”

“Mrs. MacDougal, you have been so wonderful. I don’t know how we can thank you. You must be as exhausted as we are.”

“First of all, it’s Corinne. Mrs. MacDougal is my mother-in-law and I’d prefer not to be confused with her. Second, I figure it’s the least we can do. My husband Tim is the president of the Lions Club, which is why we’re here. Otherwise, we’d be at the high school or the legion or one of the other locations the passengers are being housed.” At Abby’s nod, she stopped what she was doing and asked pointedly, “How are you doing? Such an unbelievably awful thing. Are you all right?”

Abby blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it too much. My mom is okay, and that’s the main thing for me.”

“She’s in New York?”

“Yeah. She said it’s just crazy there right now.”

“I can imagine it would be.”

Abby dropped into a nearby plastic chair, feeling the need to talk and feeling that Corinne MacDougal was as safe as they came. “I just can’t wrap my brain around it. I mean, who thinks doing something like flying planes full of people into buildings full of people is the way to make their point? What kind of logic says, ‘If I kill thousands of people, maybe I’ll be understood?’ Why—?” She stopped in midsentence, embarrassed to feel her eyes well up, and she waved a hand. “I’m sorry.”

Corinne laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Oh, no, Abby. Nothin’ to be sorry about, dear. It’s a terrible, cowardly, tragic thing. You need to cry, you go right ahead and cry. I certainly did.”

Abby cleared her throat, sat quietly, and willed her composure to return. “Cheer me up,” she said, forcing a smile. “Tell me about Gander. Are you a native?”

Abby let herself fall into the gentle lull of Corinne’s voice, the lilt almost musical. She unloaded fruit and set it out on the tables as she explained that Gander was a small town of just 10,000 people, a Super Walmart, an arts and cultural center, and a golf course. “I’ve been here all my life, born and raised. My husband, too.”

“Do you have children?”

“One daughter. She’s working in Vancouver, teaching at university.”

“Vancouver, huh? It’s gorgeous there. And kind of far away from here.”

Corinne sighed. “I know. But she comes home every chance she gets and I go out there a couple times a year. Plus I have three sisters and a brother here and they all have kids, so I have a slew of nieces and nephews that I dote on. That helps with Kate so far away. What about you? Kids?”

“Oh, no,” Abby said with a laugh as she shook her head. “No. Not yet. Maybe someday. Right now, I’m not sure I could keep a plant alive.”

“Well, you’re young, dear. You have plenty of time.”

“Yeah. I believe in seeing the world, traveling all over the place before I settle down.
If
I settle down.”

“Oh, you will.”

“I will what? Settle down?” At Corinne’s nod, Abby cocked her head, interested in her assumption. “How can you be sure?”

Corinne’s hands stilled on the fruit and she grinned knowingly at Abby. “Isn’t that what everybody wants eventually? A home and somebody who loves them living in it?”

“I never really thought that hard about it.”

“You will,” Corinne said again, still with the Cheshire cat expression, back to sorting fruit.

“I’m a little afraid of you, Corinne.” Abby squinted at her, feigning suspicion. Corinne laughed and waved her off. “So, how many planes were supposed to land here today?” A glance at the clock made her correct herself. “Er, yesterday.”

“Tim says eight.”

“How many actually landed?”

“Thirty-nine.”

Abby blinked at her. She’d seen all the planes lined up on the tarmac, the Gander Airport looking for all intents and purposes like an airplane parking lot, but she had no idea there had been that many. “Thirty-nine?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Holy crap. So, if there were an average of two hundred people on each plane . . . that’s an extra, what? Almost eight thousand people!”

“Give or take, yep.”

“Holy crap. Your town has almost doubled in population.”

“That it has, dear.”

“So, there are thirty-eight other places around town that look like this one?” Abby gestured the whole of the Lions Club with an arm, taking in all the people.

Corinne counted off on her fingers. “The high school. The community center. The golf club. The legion hall. Those are just here, locally. I know they bussed some passengers to other suburbs a little ways away because we were running out of room. Some went to Appleton. Some went to Gambo. Some went to Glenwood . . .”

“Wow.” The scope of the entire operation boggled Abby’s mind. She had to assume that the other planes were following the same rules as hers—specifically that nobody could get their baggage. That meant nobody had extra clothes or toiletries or any necessities they might have checked at the airport. And who knew how long they’d be here? Even with an extra outfit, Abby wasn’t going to last long with no other clothing. And she didn’t even want to think about how she’d smell tomorrow if she couldn’t find a shower. The lobby space they chatted in now was brimming with supplies for the needy travelers: bins of toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap, shampoo, flip-flops, cereal, aspirin, bandages. Coolers overflowed with soda, juice, milk, and water. There were pies, cookies, and brownies that all looked homemade, spread out on one of the tables, fruit and bags of snacks on another.

The front double doors opened and a large man with white hair and wire-rimmed glasses wheeled in a handcart piled with boxes.

“Mornin’, Corinne,” he said cheerfully, as if it was not barely six in the morning. “Got some more things for your guests. And breakfast.” He gestured to one box labeled “eggs.”

“Hey, Bill. Bring ’em right on over here.” Corinne gestured to the doorway of the kitchen and Bill followed her directions, the two of them chatting like these were the most normal circumstances in the world. Abby yawned.

“Hey, there, Abby.” Mrs. Baker laid a warm hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Did you sleep?”

Abby snorted and swallowed the last of her banana. “Maybe ten minutes. You?”

“Nah. I won’t be able to settle down until I know Tyson’s okay. Do you think the phones are still working?”

“I’m sure they are.” Abby walked with her to the tables and listened while she called her daughter and received the same news as last night: nobody had been able to get a hold of her son. Corinne had given her the direct number to the Lions Club, so Mrs. Baker rattled it off again and told her daughter to call as soon as she heard anything. At the worried and crestfallen expression on Mrs. Baker’s face, Abby put a hand on her arm and squeezed.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” Mrs. Baker said, her voice barely a whisper, her hands trembling.

“He’ll be okay,” Abby offered, unable to think of anything to make the poor woman feel better.

Corinne pulled up a chair and sat next to her, laid a gentle hand on her knee. “We’re going to be shuttling anybody who wants to go to the Super Walmart to pick up some things later today. Maybe you should join in, take your mind off things.”

“Oh, no, I think I’d better stay right here. I don’t want to miss it when my daughter calls.” She smiled apologetically at Corinne.

“Of course. I’ll stay here with you then. Okay?” She patted her leg. Abby thought she’d never seen a kinder, gentler expression on anybody’s face.

“When does the store open?” Abby asked. “It’s not even seven.”

“They’re going to open it special for the visitors. They’ll probably take people in shifts.”

“I’ll see if I can round some people up for the first one.”

Corinne nodded her thanks and Abby felt a sense of relief that Mrs. Baker had somebody to sit with her. Over by the televisions, Mr. Baker was watching the news coverage; he seemed shaken and lost.

The young couple with the baby was still pacing up and down the aisles quietly. She explained the Walmart trip to them, then moved on to the woman who’d sat across the aisle from her on the plane, thinking maybe she’d like to get herself a new book or two. Then she hit the twenty-somethings that sat in front of her, the middle-aged couple across from them, and so on. By the time she made it back to her cot, the room was beginning to buzz with activity and Erica was just opening her eyes.

“Hi there, sleepyhead,” Abby said, her tone gentle.