The Speed of Light

by Elissa Grossell Dickey

  “Archer?”

  I blink, whip my head around to face the front.

  Officer Jackson’s hands are on her hips. “Do you remember what ALICE stands for?”

  “Uh, yes.” My voice is a squeak, so I clear my throat, square my shoulders. “ALICE. Alert, Lockdown, Inform, Counter, Evacuate.”

  Her nod is firm. “Excellent.” She directs her attention back to the PowerPoint, and I narrow my eyes in concentration as she continues. “Now, ALICE isn’t necessarily meant to be performed in any sort of order. It’s an options-based training method—meaning you do whatever you have to do to survive in the scenario you’re facing. Today is going to be about practicing some of those scenarios.” She nods to Chet, the admissions director. “And I think we’re ready to start. But before we do, does anyone have any questions?”

  Nikki raises a hand, and I turn to her in surprise. “Yeah, I get why we’re training, but shouldn’t we also be focusing on the root of the problem?” Officer Jackson furrows her brow in confusion. “Commonsense gun reform. This shit should not keep happening.”

  The room is silent, and I bite back a smile of pride. Nikki is such a badass.

  From the back of the room, an annoyed sigh—I turn, and Chet is shaking his head, frowning—but when I turn back, Officer Jackson is nodding at Nikki, unfazed. “I appreciate your comment, Ms. Donovan. It’s a topic I’ve spoken on before.” That’s right—last year I wrote a feature about how Officer Jackson speaks at law enforcement forums around the Upper Midwest, and that’s in addition to her job, her role as adviser to the university’s Black Student Union, and instructor at a community self-defense course. “I’d be happy to discuss that with you another time,” she continues, “but since today’s focus is specifically on the ALICE method, I’d like to limit questions to that topic.” She turns to address the rest of the room. “Any other questions?”

  In front of us, Hayley’s hand goes up, and Officer Jackson nods for her to speak. “Yeah, you said we’re supposed to get out if at all possible, right? But, I mean, what if there’s, like, a shooter out in the Student Union and I’m fleeing, but I come upon someone who’s been shot?” She elbows Raj next to her, who rolls his eyes. “Do I just leave him there?”

  “Yes.” Hayley flinches and so do I, but Officer Jackson remains stoic in her response. “Your number one priority is getting out so you can call 911, and letting campus security and law enforcement do our jobs.”

  Raj leans forward. “But what if I die before you can get there?”

  “The faster we can get there, the more people we can save.” Officer Jackson hadn’t exactly answered the question, but I’m not about to call her on it. “Response time is only minutes—after we’ve been alerted. Response times slow drastically when people don’t call 911 right away. That’s why getting out and calling for help immediately is so crucial.”

  “But not all shooters have the same motive, right?” Raj’s eyes are on Officer Jackson, intense. “I mean, there’s a difference between a shooter who’s looking to take hostages and one who’s just looking to kill as many people as possible. Some of those guys are going in there planning to die, with nothing to lose, but some actually have demands they hope will be met.”

  Hayley turns to Raj with a glaring WTF look, but Officer Jackson nods solemnly. “Yes, that’s true. But my advice to you is the same.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. If you have a chance to get out, take it—regardless of what you believe the shooter’s motive to be.”

  “But—” Hayley elbows Raj to cut him off, but he asks, “What? I just want to prove there’s a scenario where you shouldn’t leave me bleeding to death on the floor.”

  I shake my head, laughing at his macabre humor. From the back of the room, Chet clears his throat loudly. “Can we get to the scenarios soon, please? We’re on a tight schedule, and I know all of these valuable employees have work they need to get back to.”

  Next to me, Nikki mouths, “Jackass,” and I roll my eyes. But we get up and follow the crowd into the Admissions Office.

  “Okay, if you work here, go to your normal work station,” Officer Jackson commands. “If this isn’t your department, pretend you’re visiting.”

  Hayley loops her arms through mine and Nikki’s. “Come on, losers. We can all visit in Raj’s office.”

  We follow her in. Raj is already sitting with his feet up on his desk, and we plop into chairs around the small office. Nikki grins. “Did you get all your burning questions answered?”

  “Hey, it’s important to be an engaged participant in these types of sessions.” He smirks. “Plus, I could see it was pissing Chet off, so I was planning on asking any and every question I could think of.”

  They laugh, but I’m busy scanning the room. “Okay, there isn’t a secondary exit here. So when they yell ‘Gun,’ we’re going to have to lock and barricade the door, and I suppose hide behind the desk?”

  No one answers, so I turn, and they’re all looking at me in surprise. “Listen to you, Miss Commander.” Raj runs a hand through his floppy black hair. “I hope you’re around in a real crisis. Otherwise we’re stuck with the leadership of Mr. Arrogant Asshole.”

  Nikki smirks. “Yeah, and he and Stan will probably be so busy arguing over who’s in charge of leading us to safety that we’ll all be dead.”

  Hayley laughs and flips her blonde hair while reaching for a handful of M&M’s out of a dish on Raj’s desk, popping them into her mouth. “By the way, I caught Stan yelling at the president’s sweet old secretary the other day.”

  I recoil. “Stan yelled at Charlene? I just saw her, and she didn’t say anything—she just got back from vacation, for crying out loud.”

  “This was before she left, I think,” Hayley says. “I could hear it from the hallway passing by—he claimed he had a meeting with the president, but apparently it wasn’t on the calendar and he flipped.”

  “God, I can’t believe him,” Nikki says.

  I nod but look down, my chest burning with a weird sense of loyalty—and yet of conflict—as I picture Charlene’s kind face from earlier as well as Louise’s sad face in my doorway.

  “Right?” Hayley shakes her head. Then she shoots a look at Raj, who raises his eyebrows. She turns back to us. “Hey, has Stan said anything weird about budget stuff?”

  I frown. “No. Why?”

  “We think Chet’s in trouble.” Raj blurts it out like he couldn’t wait to tell us. “He’s charged way too many questionable trips to the university—conferences that he really didn’t need to be at.”

  “Or that didn’t even exist,” Hayley adds.

  “You’re sure?” I ask.

  “Eh, it’s a rumor floating around, anyway.” Raj shrugs. “But knowing Chet, it’s probably true. And considering budgets are already tight—he’s gotta be in some serious shit.”

  Nikki’s eyes narrow. “Stan went to some of the same conferences, I think.”

  Hayley shakes her head. “God, one minute it seems like they can’t stand each other, the next they’re BFFs.”

  Nikki and I exchange a look. “BFFs?” I say.

  Hayley shrugs. “Okay, maybe not quite, but they have a weird . . . camaraderie maybe?”

  “That’s a big word,” Raj teases.

  She smacks him before continuing. “Well, the two of them were huddled in front of his computer the other day when I stopped over to get a signature for something, and they got all flustered when I walked in. Chet looked pissed, but Stan’s face was so red I felt kinda bad for interrupting.” But she giggles, which means she really didn’t feel that bad.

  Raj groans. “Dude, they were totally looking at porn.”

  “You think everyone’s looking at porn.”

  “What the hell else do you think two frustrated, middle-aged white guys would be doing in that situation?”

  Hayley considers. “I mean, it’s a plausible theory.”

  Raj whistles. “Wow, Hayley, more big words.”r />
  We all laugh, but I catch Nikki’s eye. Something isn’t right about this.

  “Gun!”

  The cry from the outer information desk sets us into motion, and we lockdown and barricade. As we crouch together behind the desk, I’m scared—even though it’s a drill, it’s still creepy. And sitting there, in the darkness, I can’t stop my mind from drifting back to Connor and how much I want things to be good again between us—but how terrified I am of talking to him about it.

  How terrified I am that I’ll have to stop pretending.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  July 16, five months before

  By Friday, my stomach is in knots. I should be excited—it’s a blessedly cool day, which means Nikki and I can meet for a run in Falls Park after work. Plus, it’s the weekend, and Connor will be home in two days.

  “You’re sure quiet.” Nikki glances over, slowing to match my stride. “Am I going too fast? It’s not your knee, is it?”

  For once, that’s not the case. A twinge shoots through my knee then, a reminder of its presence. Okay, for once it’s not the only reason. “Nah, it’s fine.” I don’t know if it’s something about being out here on a run, cool breeze carrying me along, the rush of the falls muting out the nearby traffic—and being able to stare ahead and not look my best friend in the eye—but suddenly it’s as if the truth will burst out of me. “But look, I need to tell you something.”

  “It’s you and Connor, isn’t it?” She shakes her head. “I knew something was weird. Did you have a fight?”

  “Sort of. Kind of a one-sided fight, admittedly. And I’m sort of having doubts now. About . . . us.”

  Nikki’s head whips over. “Okay,” she says slowly, “let’s unpack this. Does this have something to do with your visit with his family?”

  I nod.

  “Are you ready to tell me about that?”

  I wince at the annoyance in her voice, then take a deep breath. “Well, Connor’s mom basically told me I’m a burden to him, and then we had to watch a slideshow of him with his gorgeous and perfect ex-fiancée—and I didn’t even know he’d been engaged, by the way. And all of this after I totally almost passed out in front of his entire family because heat and MS don’t exactly mix well.”

  Nikki slows to a stop, hands on her hips. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. First of all, she said you’re a ‘burden’? Like, she actually used that word?”

  “Well, no, not exactly that.” I stop, too; then we walk together as I relay the story.

  Afterward Nikki frowns. “Okay. Well, we’ll come back to that, but you almost passed out? Was it an attack like last time?”

  I shake my head. “No, not like before. But I’m more sensitive to the heat now and need to learn my limits.”

  She nods, still frowning. “And why are you just telling me all this now?”

  I dart a glance at her, knowing my eyes look guilty. “Because I guess I kind of . . . wanted to ignore it.”

  She nods but doesn’t chastise me, which I appreciate immensely. Then she sighs. “Look, I’m really glad you’re okay. And I’m sorry his mom said that. But do you think maybe you’re taking it too personally because you’re—you know—sensitive to the issue?”

  My eyes blaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, to me it sounds more like she’s trying to pat herself on the back for raising him to be a good guy. I mean, what did Connor say about it?”

  I look away. “I didn’t tell him about it.”

  “Ah, the one-sided fight.” Nikki shakes her head. “Mone, why?”

  “Well, I mean, I did tell him how I felt about the slideshow.” My voice is so defensive now it’s practically a whine. “He apologized and said it’s ancient history. We just haven’t talked about the other stuff.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know what he’ll say.”

  “And what will he say?”

  “He’ll apologize and assure me he doesn’t feel that way.”

  “So what’s the problem, then?”

  I flush in anger at her scathing words. “The problem is I won’t know if he means it.” She stops, staring at me with frustrated bewilderment, but I press on, fear and anger and uncertainty spilling out. “Nikki, Connor is a really decent guy who has come to my rescue throughout our entire relationship. And apparently that’s just his personality. So, what if he feels trapped now? What if he just feels sorry for me and is staying with me out of obligation? What if he doesn’t even realize that’s what he’s doing, but someday he does realize it and leaves me?”

  Nikki blinks at me, dumbstruck, then suddenly bursts out laughing. “Do you hear yourself right now? Don’t you think this is more about you and your insecurities than it is about him?”

  My eyes widen in shock, her laughter slicing tiny cuts into me, and I can’t take it anymore—I explode. “You don’t understand, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to have to wonder if someone is only with you because they feel sorry for you. To have to wonder if you’ll feel fine tomorrow or if you’ll wake up unable to walk. To wonder at what point you’re going to steadily progress until you lose all mobility, or worse.”

  Nikki sighs, but her voice softens. “Simone, any one of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, well, my bus is following me around, waiting to slam into me. I just have no idea when.”

  Nikki throws up her hands. “God dammit, Simone. It’s like everything is the fucking Martyr Olympics with you.”

  My mouth opens but shuts again, the biting reply dying in my throat and my heart shriveling. Then, the longest silence there’s ever been between us.

  Nikki lowers her head, and when she looks back up at me, her eyes are glistening. “Claudia’s mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

  “What? When?”

  “We found out over Christmas. It’s why we’ve been gone a lot.”

  “Why didn’t you guys tell me?” But I know the answer, and the knots in my belly twist harder, squeezing the life out of me.

  “Because you don’t have room for anyone else’s suffering right now.” Nikki’s voice is soft; she’s dealing the blow gently. “And I get it. But it leaves no room for anyone else to ever have any pain around you.”

  I stare at her, too dumbfounded to say anything else. She sighs. “Look, I need to get going—I promised Claudia we’d go out to dinner. Do you . . . do you want to join us?”

  But her eyes are on the ground again, so I shake my head. We both need space right now. “Nah, I’ve got some stuff I need to do.”

  She nods and turns to go, and I watch her jog away from me.

  I stroll around Falls Park, letting the breeze carry me where it wants to, and eventually the roaring water lures me closer. I climb down onto one of the rocks and sit, letting Nikki’s honesty roll around in my mind.

  I have been a terrible friend.

  I’ve held my own pain out as being more important than anyone else’s. All the ugly thoughts, the judgments I have cast upon others, swirl through my mind.

  I take a deep breath, watch the breeze push relentlessly against the trees. The leaves sway, but they don’t fall. Sunlight sparkles through them, down to the water, a dazzling display.

  My pity party needs to come to an end. No more—what did Nikki call it?—Martyr Olympics. God, the truth hurts.

  My gaze flits toward the direction where Nikki left. Best friends are honest with each other. Best friends fight. We’ll be okay. We have to be.

  I need to apologize to her.

  I need to start seriously thinking about seeing a different neurologist.

  I need to talk to Connor.

  The wind blows harder then, as if satisfied I’ve finally come around.

  I stare out at the water. I don’t know what I’ll say to him. I don’t know if, as Nikki said, this truly is more about me than it is about him. But I know I love him, and that’s worth fighting for.

  I take the deepest breath I have in a long time as I
smile out at the water. Suddenly Sunday can’t come fast enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  July 18, five months before

  Sunday morning, I wake up to a ringing phone. Connor. I roll over, clear the sleep from my throat, croak, “Hello?”

  “Well, good morning, sunshine.” The rush of air surrounds his voice—he’s in the car—and I smile.

  “Good morning, yourself. How was your weekend?”

  “Ah, it was great. I mean, it was a lot to take in and I’m exhausted, but I really feel like I’m finally on the right path again, you know?”

  “That’s great.” I swallow. “So you’re on your way home?”

  “Yes. Well, sort of. Arielle texted last night to say Ella has a dance recital this afternoon. I got my ass up super early so I could swing through Aberdeen in time to see it.”

  “Swing through Aberdeen?” I rub my eyes. I haven’t had my coffee yet, so I can’t keep the pout out of my voice. “Connor, that’s way out of the way.”

  “I know. But I haven’t missed one yet. Not since . . .”

  He trails off, and I want to punch myself. “Of course, you should absolutely go,” I say quickly. “Have a great time and say hi to them for me. So I’ll see you tonight, then?”

  He pauses. “Well, I won’t be getting back until super late, and then I have to be at work crazy early tomorrow. It’s gonna be long days all week on two different job sites to make up for all the people who covered while I was in the Cities. I’m sorry, babe.”

  God, I am just so ready to talk to him, get it out in the open. “It’s okay,” I say at last, trying to hold back my disappointment. “We’ll see each other soon, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  As the week goes on, though, that promise proves difficult to keep. Connor works into the evening every day, going directly from the on-campus residence hall site to a new housing development going up northeast of Sioux Falls.

  By Thursday night I’m anxious. We haven’t made any concrete plans to see each other yet—we haven’t even talked all week, dammit, only quick texts back and forth. I’m aching to talk to him about our relationship—rip it off like a Band-Aid.