Written in the Scars (37 page)

“I’m done,” Cord says after a while. He folds the paper into quarters. He puts it in the baggie and when Jiggs and I don’t make an effort to drop ours into it, he crushes the opening with his hand and sighs.

“Just . . . give me a minute,” I eke out, watching the paper tremble in my hands.

If shit goes wrong, these will be my last words to my wife. To the love of my life. To the woman I would do anything for and love beyond measure. I wish I had more time to write this, more time to be able to find the words to tell her all the things I want her to know, to give her some sort of guidebook on how to do the things she doesn’t know how.

I look away into the darkness and blow out a breath, even the darkness a blur through my tears.

I love her. So damn much. And if I don’t make it out of here, I’m okay with that on my part. I mean, I hate I won’t get to experience life with her, but what will I know once I take my last breath? Nothing.

I hate it for her. For the pain she’ll go through, for having to recalibrate her life. I feel like I’ve let her down, and I just wish I could talk to her, face to face, one final time, and beg her to forgive me and tell her how much she means to me and hold her in my arms and . . .

The tears come fast and hard.

Sucking in a quick breath, I look at the words on the note in my hand. They’re incomplete. A ramble of topics and words and emotions and things to make her laugh, but it’s the best I can do.

My words mirror the man I am: a failed attempt at making things right.

“We’re ready to start!” a voice booms from above.

I look at Jiggs as his head lifts to mine. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair caked with soot. “Here we go,” I say, reaching for his letter. He kisses it before putting it in my hand. I drop them into Cord’s bag.

He stands and places them in my lunch box. Tying a rope around the handle, he tugs on it and we watch it rise to the surface as water speeds down to the floor.

ELIN

A plate of nibbled fruit and sandwiches sit on the table in between us. Paper cups of water sit, virtually untouched, next to it.

Lindsay’s face is swollen, her lips cracked and red. Her skin is blotchy, her hair a tangled mess. It’s such a contrast to her usual made-up appearance that it breaks my heart.

“How are you?” I whisper, my throat parched.

“About the same as you.” Her voice is husky, matching mine. “You know you look like a mess, right?”

A hint of a smile plays on her lips and, instantly, a bit of pressure releases from my shoulders.

“You haven’t looked in the mirror recently, huh?” I tease.

“Aren’t we a sight?” She leans back in her chair. “How long do you think it will take?”

“I have no idea.”

We sit in silence again, each of us coming to terms with the next piece of the puzzle. How the next few hours will determine the rest of our lives.

“They’re going to be fine,” Lindsay says out of nowhere. “I know that sounds crazy and optimistic, but I believe it.”

I half-smile, unable to give her more.

“I fell asleep earlier—today? Yesterday?—and I had a dream. I was giving birth to this baby, a girl, if you’re wondering, and Jiggs was with me, holding my hand. I felt so calm, so happy. It has to be a glimpse of the future because I could never feel like that if he wasn’t here. I just couldn’t.” She looks at me earnestly. “They’re going to be okay, Elin.”

“They have to be,” I say, wishing I had felt as sure about it as Lindsay. “I can’t . . .” I gulp, “I can’t imagine going through life without either one of them.”

“I know and that’s why they’ll come back to us. They have a guardian angel watching over them. I feel it.”

I pick at a sandwich and avoid her stare. Even though I’ve tried to convince myself this will end well, I don’t feel that way. Maybe because I’ve heard Ty talking about mining disasters. Maybe because I feel like he’s been spared once already. Maybe because I understand the dangers more than she does. Whatever the reason, I just can’t find that peace about it.

“I was thinking,” she says, her voice lifting me out of my daze. “We should have a double baby shower.”

“I can’t think about that right now.”

“Sure you can,” she says, resting her elbows on the table. “You have to feed the result in your mind that you want. If we are imagining this party together, our boys there, that gives the universe the energy we want it to have.”

Laughing, I roll my eyes. “I don’t know how much of that universe energy stuff I believe.”

“Well, I do,” she says simply. “And I’m going to be over here choosing the theme and the finger foods, so if you want a say in it, I’d speak up.”

“You’re nuts,” I say, feeling an ease seep in my bones.

“I am,” she laughs. “So should we wait until we know what we’re having or should we just go green and yellow and—”

A knock hits the door, cutting her off. The positive air evaporates from the room as Vernon walks in.

“The boring has started,” he says, walking over to the table. He forces a swallow before producing two baggies. “Your husbands sent these up for you.”

My stomach hits the floor as I stare, unmoving, at my name written in Ty’s handwriting on the dirty piece of paper in front of me.

TY

The boring equipment screams over our heads, shaking everything around us. Mixed with the water gushing in like a river has been unleashed, it’s like being in a giant washing machine.

The water is now up to my waist. A sea of cold, black water that’s thick like soup from the debris and mud and muck, rippling in a nonstop motion from the commotion above.

I barely hear the sound anymore. It was loud, so loud, at first. But that was untold minutes ago. Hours, maybe. Now it’s just a new normal as we wait to see if the shaft hits bottom.

My heart strikes against my ribs, my lungs battering them too as I struggle to stay calm. To stay alive.

Ducking chunks of rock from the ceiling as all four walls of the room judder and quake from the assault of the boring machine, I’m pulled into one direction: survival.

“Ty!”

I read Cord’s lips more than I hear his voice as he yanks on my arm, pulling me off my feet. One hand lands on his chest in an attempt to catch myself, my chest submerging in the muddy water. A boulder the size of a small car smashes into the water right where I was standing.

A chill rips through me, more from the fear of what could’ve happened than from the ice-cold water.

Jiggs grabs my other arm and helps me to my feet. His teeth clamor together, his cheek cut but the blood clotted together by black gunk.

I’m exhausted. The fatigue I feel is reflected on my friend’s faces.

“Just a little longer,” I shout, looking as optimistic as possible. They nod, reading my lips, but my words do nothing to help their spirits.

Cord’s headlamp flickers towards the sound of another boulder smashing into the water. As it scans the cavern, it pauses on the north wall and the steady flow of water pouring down the walls.

“Stay calm!” I try to shout over the shrill screams of the boring machine.

“Fuckkkkkkkk!” Jiggs shouts, eyes wide, as we dodge falling rocks from both above and on either side of us.

“Shit!” Cord screams, his face contorting in a mix of agony and fear as a rock strikes his left shoulder. He sags at the impact, his knees buckling, threatening to drop him into the water pooling around us.

Jiggs and I grab an arm and pull him up, Cord wincing in pain, as we huddle together in a corner and try to stay alive.

“Stay calm,” I repeat, my face inches from theirs.

“They have to be close!” Jiggs shouts, looking over my shoulder at the spot where the ceiling is bowing and flexing. “Surely to God they’re close!”

“Ah!” we shout in unison as the noise becomes too loud to take and the boring machine drops through the ceiling.

We shout in celebration, tears flowing down our jet black faces, as we hug one another in an attempt to celebrate as well as keep each other from collapsing into the water.

The machine is silenced as it begins its ascent back to the top.

“You boys okay down there?” a voice shouts from above.

“Yeah!” I shout back. “Cord got a little banged up, but we’re here!”

“How’s the water situation?”

I shine my headlamp around the room. The water is now rushing into the room full-speed. “Coming in quick!”

“We’ll have the box to you in just a few minutes. We’re gonna have to work fast! You’ll get in and pull the rope and we’ll haul it up. Got it?”

“Yes!”

I look at my friends’ faces. A combination of relief and fear is etched through every line.

Looking at Cord, I give him a final shot to reneg on the agreement we made earlier, that Jiggs is the priority. He nods.

“Jiggs,” I say, looking him in the face. “You’re going up first.”

ELIN

I never knew one piece of paper could weigh so much.

Holding it in my hand, palm open, I look across the way at Lindsay. Her eyes are wide as she looks at Jiggs’ note in her hand. Turning her back to me, she walks to the front of the room and slips out the door.

I brush my fingers over my name, scrawled in Ty’s penmanship and stained with water and dirt. It reminds me of the inside of his truck—everything had its place, but none of it could escape the mine dirt. Just like this letter.

With my heart strumming at an ear-splitting level, I carefully unfold the paper.

The edges are torn and stained and a big drop of something has hit the middle, making the words there hard to read. I start at the top.

“Dear Elin,

If you’re reading this, I’m guessing I didn’t make it out.”

“No,” I whisper, blinking back tears. Jaw set in defiance, I redo the folds of the paper and enclose the letter in my hand. “You
will
make it out,” I say out loud. “I won’t read this if that’s what it means.”

Anger flashes through me, a zip of energy that I embrace.

“Get your ass back here,” I demand, not even caring if someone hears me and thinks I’m crazy. “Stop this ‘guessing you didn’t make it out’ bullshit and come home.”

I pace a circle, feeling the electricity soar in my veins. I take a deep breath.

“Ty, if you hear me,” I say out loud, “I need you back here. I have something to tell you, and this time, you better fucking come home.”