30 Feet Strong
Page 1
30 Feet Strong
Hannah Paige
Austin Macauley Publishers
30 Feet Strong
About the Author
About the Book
Dedication
Copyright Information
Prologue
Part One
September 10, 2001Rick
Pam
Ian
April
Part TwoMay 3, 2011Rick
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter OneMay 12, 2011Pam
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter OneJune 1, 2011Ian
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter OneJune 9, 2011April
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
August 1, 2011
September 11, 2011William Thomas Clark
EpilogueRick Griffin
Ian Chase
Pam McCann
April McCann
About the Author
Hannah Paige grew up in California and is currently studying Creative Writing at the University of Maine Farmington. She has been writing since she was six years old and has moved on from filling journals to achieving her dream of writing the books she does not see on the shelves. She has been published in the literary journals WaterSoup and Adelaide Magazine, and her first novel, Why We Don’t Wave, was released in June 2017. She continuously strives to hold herself to an equal standard as authors twice her age in the industry.
About the Book
William Thomas Clark shares the initials with the World Trade Center for a reason: he was born on September 11th, 2001, at 8:46 am, the same time the first plane hit the North Tower. Because of this, he can see the ghosts of those lost on 9/11. Flash forward ten years. The memorial is about to open and William Thomas Clark enters the lives of four people in New York affected by the terrorist attacks in different ways – a retired veteran who lost his daughter to flight United 93, a widow of a first responder, a 911 operator whose first day happened to be her last, and a doctor who finds the body of the woman he loved while working the Triage Center at Ground Zero.
In 30 Feet Strong, the question of how a second can send us on a downward spiral that demands our most unshakeable strength to recover is one that several characters tackle. Throughout the novel, William Thomas Clark makes these same characters see that this strength does not have to be a solitary one, it can be found in understanding the connections, often invisible, that are drawn between human beings. It just takes a second to realize that the tragedy, the trials, and the hope that can arise through the courage to move on unites us all.
Dedication
For those whose stories were never written.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Hannah Paige (2019)
The right of Hannah Paige to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528909037 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528959124 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Prologue
I was born in New York City, on September 11th, 2001 at 8:46 am. I weighed eight pounds and four ounces. I was twenty inches long. I was born with ten fingers, ten toes, and two very light blue eyes. My name is William Thomas Clark. My birth is not what people remember about that day. My weight, my height, how many toes are on my feet… They are not the numbers that have singed the minds of Americans. My birth was but an insignificant second compared to what also occurred on that September day.
Four planes.
Eight paramedics.
Sixty police officers.
Three hundred and forty three firefighters.
Three thousand people.
Those are the numbers that people remember.
And that was all in just one day. One day that was made up of the same numbers that make up every other day: twenty-four hours, one thousand-four-hundred and forty minutes, eighty-six-thousand-four-hundred seconds.
All it takes is one second, one axis-tilting, tide-turning, world-crashing moment to make you remember, to make you notice; to make you wake up and see the people in front of you; to see your neighbors down the street and make the time to wave; to make you realize how small you are in this world. One second.
8:46 am.
My mother once told me that I was meant to be born on such a day, at such a moment, with such a name. It is because of this that I believe everything happens for a reason.
For every tree that is cut down, a new flower sprouts. For every rainy day, the sun shines a little brighter somewhere else. For every tear that is shed, a smile lights up another’s face. For every life that is taken, another is helped.
I am but one life.
That is why I believe that it is my job to help as many people as I can with my gift.
Part One
September 10, 2001
Rick
Rick Griffin liked to think that he was a good father. He made his daughter banana bread every Saturday morning. He taught her how to make her own lunches, taught her how to slice her own apple without cutting her fingers off. When she got scared of monsters in her closet, he would tell her that he went to work every day to get rid of the monsters, so she didn’t need to worry. He gave her medicine when she was sick and made sure that she always got whatever shots she needed. But any parent can tell you that on the days that their child is sad, it’s hard to reassure themselves when it comes to their parenting skills.
It shouldn’t have bothered her that much; a ten-year-old shouldn’t be so concerned over the phrase ‘parent-teacher conference’. But Grace wasn’t an ordinary young girl. Against Rick’s better judgment, he had allowed his daughter to grow up fully immersed in the military-family bubble. Grace knew how to hug hard because she had developed the intuition at a young age to know that Daddy might not come back from work for a while. He’d served three tours overseas, then when Rick and Tammy had split three years ago, he’d decided to take a different route in the military and go into intelligence work. The job change had ensured Rick his daughter in the divorce. Well, that and the fact that his ex-wife was even less stable than he was: an aspiring actress who couldn’t get out of New Jersey quick enough to fly off to California. So, the courts were less than pleased with her testimony for custody of Grace.
When Rick won custody, he truly thought of it as a victory. Then the reality of watching his daughter grow up without even the faint presence of a mother—or in a normal household—started to set in. Grace matured too fast. Some called her precocious for her age, and many adults even admired Rick for his so-called outstanding parenting skills. But it tore Rick apart whenever Grace would ask him if he wanted to talk about whatever was bothering him, when she would clean up the dishes without being asked, or when he would suggest
she give Tammy a call—though he knew it would lead to a voicemail—and she would knowingly reply with a sigh and a, “I think I’d prefer to save myself the disappointment.”
If Rick had it his way, Grace wouldn’t have the word ‘disappointment’ in the first pages of the tome that made up her broad vocabulary. But he’d chosen this career and he’d fought for his daughter, blindly believing that he could have both.
Seeing Grace hunched over her peanut butter bagel that morning, he was blatantly reminded that he’d been wrong. She hadn’t even touched the morning paper—she read it every single morning, without fail, and not just the cartoon section.
“Grace, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll bet Miss Adkins just wants to tell me all about how great of a student you are,” Rick tried, pulling out the bread and roast beef for Grace’s lunch. Ham had been out of the question since Grace had read Charlotte’s Web last week; Rick didn’t have the heart to tell her that Wilbur had some bovine friends who often suffered from similar threats.
She sighed and chomped off a piece of her bagel, “I highly doubt it. I’ve been declining in math lately. I just can’t comprehend the topic of multiplying fractions. Why did they have to go and overcomplicate things?! I was perfectly happy with just adding a half of a pie to an eighth of a pie.”
Rick poured himself a cup of coffee to-go, “You are not ‘declining’. You’re learning. Welcome to the way most kids feel when they get introduced to a new subject.”
“Oh, really? Do most kids my age get their parent called down to see their teacher? Is this a fair representation of what it’s like to be a ‘typical’ child? Because, if so, then I’m quite content with being atypical,” she popped the last bit of her bagel in her mouth and nodded to herself quite decisively. She hopped out of her chair and added her plate to the dishwasher then set to making her lunch.
Rick shook his head, clamping the lid on his to-go mug of coffee, as he watched his daughter layer the lunchmeat on bread, then seal up the sandwich bag, careful to squeeze out the air bubbles first. She rinsed off an apple, portioned out a bag of pretzels, and tossed a juice box and the last brownie—she had made them last weekend after watching one of those cooking shows—into her lunch box. Grace clicked her lunchbox closed and caught sight of Rick chuckling at her. “What are you laughing at?” she demanded, her cheeks brightening.
He smiled. “Nothing, Miss Atypical, you ready to hit the road?”
She nodded and zipped her backpack up, after slipping her homework folder into it. Rick grabbed the car keys and opened the front door. Grace reached up, giving him her daily high-five. “Let’s rock and roll,” she said, and he followed her into the car.
He started up the Ford truck and one of the popular boy bands of the day blasted through the radio—Rick could never keep track of all the names of them—and Grace smacked the button on the radio, changing the channel.
“Gross!” she exclaimed, switching on The Beach Boys. She pulled a pack of flashcards out of her backpack and started flipping through them.
“Got a test today?” Rick asked, turning right out of their street.
Grace shook her head, “Next Thursday. But studies show that if the brain becomes familiar with terms far in advance to being tested on them, it retains the vocabulary better.”
Rick scoffed, “Oh yeah? Been reading up on Wikipedia, have you?” he joked.
She laughed at him, “Dad, Wikipedia is not a reputable source.”
He turned on to her school street and parked in the visitor’s line. There were elementary school-age kids shuttling from car to building. A couple of older girls balanced on the brick wall that bordered the rose garden. One of the teachers working as the crossing guard that morning hollered at them to get down.
“Is this really necessary?” Grace whined as she trudged through the front entrance to the school.
Rick lowered his voice as he followed her into the building, “Yes, it is necessary. You can wait out here, if you want. Why don’t you show Ms. Roberts here how well you already know your history vocab for next week’s test?” he suggested, making the front desk woman laugh.
“How are you, Rick?”
Ms. Roberts—Linda—and Rick had been on a first-name basis since Grace had started here in first grade. Unfortunately, it wasn’t because he was the PTA Dad or the one that volunteered at all of the school funding events. Rick had a reputation for throwing the office door open after school hours and seeing his daughter studying in one of the lobby chairs, waiting to be picked up. Rick was the parent that called once a month to inform administrators that Grace would miss the next week of school on account of another one of his business trips. The elementary school was #2 on Rick’s speed dial, and he was ashamed to admit his surprise that they hadn’t given him his own set of janitor keys for delayed pickups.
“I’m not too bad, Linda.”
She frowned as he signed in for a parent pass, “Job search still coming up empty?”
Rick cocked his head at her, not recalling when he had mentioned his recent resignation in one of their conversations. Linda nodded to Grace in response and Rick turned around with eyebrows raised, “Grace, did you tell Ms. Roberts that I quit my job?”
She looked up from her flashcards in the office chair, “It may have come up. Sorry, was I not supposed to tell her? I got bored one day after school and she asked if you were at work, and if that was why you were late, and I said no, because you were looking for a job.”
Rick nodded and peeled off a parent pass, sticking it on his jacket, “Okay, Grace, I don’t think Ms. Roberts needs to know about my career status.” He turned back to Linda, “Is it alright if I go on back to Miss Adkins room? I was hoping to speak with her before class started.”
Linda smiled and nodded, “She’s all set up in her room for you.”
“Great. Grace, be good for Ms. Roberts, don’t talk her ear off.”
Grace gave him a thumbs up without lifting her eyes from her study set, and he stepped out the back door into the main hallway to the classrooms. Miss Adkins’ fifth grade room door was plastered with a giant copy of The Giving Tree. Rick leaned in closer to it and noticed that the leaves ‘growing’ off the tree’s branches were all cutouts with kids’ names on them.
“They’re all the ones who have read The Giving Tree.”
Rick stood up as Miss Adkins came up beside him, and she nodded to the pile of papers in her hand, “You never can have enough copies. Come on in.” She invited him in and he saw the cardboard boxes everywhere, half-sealed up with crayons or scissors sitting on top for easy access.
“Are you going somewhere?” Rick asked as Miss Adkins dropped the pile of copies onto her desk and took a seat.
“Oh, the boxes… Yes, that’s part of the reason why I wanted to talk to you today. Please, have a seat.” Rick pulled up a desk chair and sat opposite of her before she went on, “I’m moving, Mr. Griffin. Today is actually my last day teaching here.”
That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “Really? Where are you moving to? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“New York City; my dad’s in a hospital there, has been for a while. He’s not doing well, so I’m moving to be a little closer to him.”
“I’m so sorry, that has to be hard. It’s a big city,” Rick had never actually been to the city, thankfully, but he’d heard plenty from others stationed at Fort Hamilton. Frankly, it just seemed too crowded for his taste.
“Thank you, I appreciate that. But, I didn’t ask you here to talk about my relocation. I want to talk about your daughter. She’s a very bright student, Mr. Griffin, extremely gifted.”
“Well…thank you.” Rick always felt self-conscious when people commented on how smart Grace was, “Not that I’ve had anything to do with it. She’s all her own.”
Miss Adkins laughed a soft feminine laugh, “Yes, I’ve come to realize that about her. As it is my last day here, I wanted to discuss with you what next year might hold for Grace. She’ll be
starting junior high and, pardon me if this is too forward, but it’s my professional opinion that Grace would flourish in a more… challenging school.”
Rick frowned, “You mean private?”
“I mean college preparatory.”
Rick leaned back in his chair, feeling the plastic bend a little at the top, “She’s ten years old. They have those for middle school?”
Miss Adkins nodded, reaching into her desk drawer for a few pamphlets, “Yes, some of them start in fifth grade, but I think Grace would do just fine finishing out the year here. There’s actually quite a few options for 6th–12th grade prep schools out there. There’s some that specialize in mathematics and science, others that are boarding schools, and—”
“Hold up, I’m not sending Grace to one of those…institutions,” Rick stopped himself, holding a gulp of air in his chest for a second before going on, “I mean college prep schools? Aren’t those the kinds of places that make kids walk in silent lines while they’re all in plaid uniforms and the teachers still use rulers for disciplinary purposes? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of discipline, but I grew up in military school. Believe me, I know what airtight regulations at that young of an age can do to a kid, and I don’t want that happening to Grace.”
“Oh no, Mr. Griffin, they’re perfectly safe schools. While they do stress discipline in the classroom, it’s purely for academic purposes. What sets these schools apart from the public education that Grace has received this far is that they can push Grace to her full potential. She’ll be with children who are just as eager to learn as she is and she’ll be learning from teachers that will have the knowledge and resources to ensure that she can go as far as she is willing to work. And they do require uniforms, but you might be able to get away with just a solid colored skirt instead of plaid.” She smiled reassuringly, “I know it may not be my place, I just wanted to make sure that you knew about all of the options that Grace has right now. And since I’m leaving tonight, I won’t be here to speak to you about this closer to her graduation date.”