“I can’t move,” Brian said, holding his belly like a pregnant woman.
“Me, neither,” Abby agreed. “I’m thinking the second bowl of ice cream? Not a great idea.”
“I might have to sleep in this chair,” Tim said with a chuckle.
They continued to chat, reluctant to have the meal come to an end. But Corinne wanted to get back to the Lions Club, where she thought she might spend the night so the Bakers had constant company. Tim had rounds to make, checking on supplies for other emergency housing locations. Erica offered to do a load of laundry and the other three volunteered for clean-up duty.
Another half-hour went by before anybody got up from the table.
Folding clothes had always relaxed Erica. She supposed it wasn’t all that unusual; lots of people used some sort of chore as a stress reliever. Her mom liked to reorganize her spice cupboard, and her dad always told her that doing inventory at the feed store calmed him. Erica felt that way about laundry. Something about the tidiness of folding a shirt, of stacking panties or pairing up socks, always made her feel better, like she had the situation under control.
She piled all the guys’ clothes together on the stripped bed—and there weren’t many—to let them sort through and divide. She absently wondered who wore the tightie-whities and who had the silk boxers, but she wasn’t about to ask. In the other pile were Abby’s clothes and her clothes; again, neither of them had much. She did know that the cotton boy shorts were not hers and her brain kept trying to help her picture Abby in them, despite her resistance. Not an unpleasant image, that was for sure.
As if on cue, Abby came bounding down the basement stairs, grinning like always.
“Hey,” she said, flopping onto the bare mattress.
“Hey,” Erica replied, folding the last T-shirt in the pile.
“I’m exhausted.”
“Me, too. It’s past my bedtime.”
Abby gestured toward the laundry with her eyes. “Need some help?”
With a poignant glance and an arched brow, Erica surveyed the neatly folded clothing. “Your timing is impeccable.”
“You’re not the first person to say so.”
“Shocking. How was the poker game?” Erica hated playing cards, and she had no idea how to play poker, but the other three were big fans of it. Tim and Corinne had some plastic chips lying around and the trio had used them for betting money.
“I was up fifty bucks!”
“And then?”
“Michael took me to the cleaners. I’m broke. And he gets my firstborn.”
“The bastard.”
“Right? You’ve got to watch out for those quiet ones with the charming accents. They’re trouble.”
“Well, Trouble’s laundry is done. Could you run it up there? And when you come back, you can help me make the bed. The sheets should be dry by now.”
By the time Erica had moved their clean clothes to the loveseat and retrieved the sheets from the dryer, Abby had returned. She took her place on the opposite side of the bed and caught her end of the fitted sheet when Erica flipped it to her. She inhaled deeply.
“Ahhhhh. Boy, there’s nothing like the smell of clean sheets.”
“And they’re still warm.” They worked together and got the fitted sheet in place. Erica unfurled the flat sheet. She wet her lips and kept her eyes focused on the task at hand. “Um, I’ve been thinking. There’s no reason either of us should have to sleep on the loveseat. It’s too short and I’m sure it’s not terribly comfortable, and this bed is plenty big. Do you mind sharing?”
The surprise zipped across Abby’s face before she could catch it, and she was pretty sure Erica saw it. But she covered it with a smile. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Good.” Erica tossed a pillow and a pillow case to Abby and they both put one inside the other. “I think dinner went over well.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re a hell of a cook.”
Erica waved her off. “It was a good idea. And a very nice one.”
Abby felt her cheeks heat up a bit. “I just, I believe in giving what you get. I wanted to repay them somehow, you know?”
“I know. It was a good thing.”
“This is all so crazy,” Abby said as they finished and sat on the end of the bed. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my brain around it.”
Erica blew out a breath. “Me, too.”
Abby turned to look at her. “You know, Brian was totally right. This is going to be like JFK’s assassination. Everybody who was alive that day can remember exactly where they were when they heard the news. Now we have that, too.”
Erica nodded slowly, realizing the truth of Abby’s words. “Where were you when the towers came down?” she asked softly.
“Exactly.”
“It’s weird.”
“It totally is. And it breaks my heart.”
They got ready for bed in silence, working around each other as if they’d been living together for years—handing over a toothbrush, reaching in front of the other for a towel, a gentle hand on a hip as one moved behind the other. Light was extinguished and they climbed into bed, each on her own side, both lying on their backs, looking up at the drop ceiling, lost in thought.
Abby was just starting to drift off when Erica spoke, her voice just above a whisper. “You know what I have the hardest time with?”
“What?”
“This thing that happened—no, wait. It didn’t happen. It was done. Somebody did it. It’s not something that happened, it’s something that was done. This thing that was done is the perfect example of evil, right? Wouldn’t you agree? People who are pure evil did this.”
“Okay.”
“In the midst of this terrible thing that was done, smack dab in the middle of all the horror and chaos, we meet some of the most wonderfully kind and giving people on the planet.” She paused and Abby could hear her swallow. “If not for the most evil, despicable people in the world, I would never have met some of the most generous and loving people in the world. I—I don’t—what am I supposed to do with that?”
Beneath the covers, Abby grabbed Erica’s hand and entwined their fingers, hoping the contact would help alleviate the crack in Erica’s voice. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“I’m not even sure I’ve ever experienced pure goodness before.”
“Never?”
“No. Not pure, unexpectant goodness. Real, honest-to-god grace. With no strings attached. I feel like Tim and Corinne are the poster children to represent that. So many people here in Gander represent that. And yet, it took pure, unadulterated evil to show me that goodness.” She spat a humorless laugh. “Is it some kind of cosmic joke?”
Abby smiled in the dark. “I have no idea, but it reminds me of my great-grandma, who always used to say ‘God never closes a door without opening a window.’ Now, I’m not at all a religious person and I don’t imagine you are either, given that you work in the field of science, but I do believe in the Universe and I do believe that things happen for a reason, even horrible things.” Erica could feel her shrug. “Maybe we were meant to be here. Maybe I was supposed to run into Corinne and Tim and the Bakers and Brian and Michael.” She squeezed. “And you. Maybe in all of this mess, we were supposed to meet.”
Erica wanted to scoff at the suggestion of destiny, wanted to scream, I don’t understand! But Abby sounded so real. So convinced. She didn’t have the heart to burst her bubble. So she squeezed back and said simply, “Maybe.”
At 12:37, Erica was still wide awake. Not because she wanted to be, but because her head wouldn’t allow her to ignore the fact that there was a warm, soft, femininely attractive body sleeping soundly next to her. Not just any body. Abby’s body. She’d been so bound and determined to dislike her that she barely noticed how much Abby had been growing on her until it was too late. Now, she lay in Kate MacDougal’s bed, her own body on red alert, her skin aware of every cell and fiber that even came close to making contact with Abby.
E
rica’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dark long ago. While she was silently counting ceiling tiles and listening to the guys close up shop on the first floor and head up to bed themselves, Abby had fallen immediately asleep, her deep and even breathing giving Erica the high sign that the coast was clear. She turned her head and studied the woman next to her. Pollyanna, she thought with a grin that felt almost tender.
In the darkness, Abby lay on her back, one hand resting on her abdomen on top of the blankets, the other curled in a loose fist against her temple. Erica could make out the planes of her face, even the smoothness of her skin. The dark brows seemed expertly placed for maximum emphasis of those incredible eyes—eyes it was probably a good thing Erica couldn’t see right now, or she might do something, unwise. Abby’s nose was very straight with little curve to its bridge. Her hand was small, her fingers long and tapered, the nails trimmed and filed smooth. Strong hands. Feminine hands. Hands that would—Erica swallowed hard, pulling her thoughts away from the subject, though she knew herself well enough to know she’d revisit it again before the night was over. It had been too long and she was finding Abby far too attractive not to at least think about it.
Sex with Maddie had been good. It had been satisfying and fun and Erica hoped that Maddie’d felt the same way. That being said, there was still something that Erica felt she was missing. She’d never been able to put her finger on it, to give it a word, to describe it accurately. Something akin to rawness, to aching need. She’d never needed sex with Maddie. She’d simply wanted it. And that had been enough. For a while.
Once the sex stopped, the entire relationship had fallen apart. To this day, Erica wasn’t exactly sure why that had happened. Her job had picked up. Could it have really been that simple? Her hours got longer and so her relationship ended? She had to believe it was already doomed by then. Their time together became less and less, and when they did see each other, Erica had been so exhausted that she fell right to sleep. By the time she understood there was a real problem, Maddie had accused her of being cold and unavailable, and that was the end of that.
I’m not cold. Am I? It was a discussion she’d had with herself more times than she could count. She’d wonder if she was unapproachable, if she came off as aloof to others. But she was a good conversationalist. She knew that. She could hold up her end of a discussion with no problem. She was fun to talk to. Wasn’t she? The old demons from high school would rear their ugly heads just long enough to allow insecurity to creep in. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have any friends. She did. Only a handful of them were important to her. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had her share of women—or men, for that matter—interested in her. There had been plenty. She was just choosy.
Inches from getting swallowed up by the vicious circle of her thoughts, she felt Abby shift in her sleep. She turned from her back onto her stomach and slipped her bare leg over Erica’s, the warm skin acting more like ice, shocking Erica even more awake than she had been. Erica caught her bottom lip between her teeth and sucked in a breath, stunned by the smoothness of the skin, realizing Abby, too, had found fit to use the plastic razor in the shower.
“Jesus,” she said aloud, wondering at the sudden dampness of her panties. When had she become such a guy? When had she become so easily turned on? And then—as if it had a mind of its own—her hand reached down and laid itself across the side of Abby’s knee. Gently, softly, her palm rested against warm, silky skin. Just rested there. No rubbing. No squeezing. Just contact. Comforting, delicious contact.
Abby didn’t move, didn’t shift, slept on.
Erica sighed with a contentment she hadn’t felt in months, possibly longer.
And finally, she slept.
September 14, 2001
Friday
Chapter 11
Mixed emotions were not something Abby Hayes handled well. She didn’t like the confusion, the uncertainty. She liked to be steady and sure, to understand what she was thinking and feeling and why.
This was not going to be a morning for such certainty. She knew that as soon as she’d opened her eyes to find herself completely wrapped around Erica’s sleeping body, spooning with her like they’d been sharing a bed for years.
Abby sipped her coffee and tried to expunge the image, the memory, from her mind. It was very early and she was alone on the MacDougals’ back patio curled up in a lounge chair she’d wiped free of dew. Waiting for the sunrise was something she loved doing, had always done no matter where she was. It made her feel alive and ready to face a new day. This morning wasn’t about that, though. It was simply about getting away from the bed, getting away from the body that taunted her because she knew if she stayed, she’d test her theory about how easy it might be to push Erica’s T-shirt up and reveal those beautiful breasts; how little effort it would take to slip her hand down the front of Erica’s panties; how quickly she could wake up her bunkmate and have her breathing raggedly, clinging to Abby’s shoulders and begging for release.
Hot coffee slopped over the rim of her mug and splashed onto her hand as Abby shook her head vigorously in the hopes of dislodging such scenes and letting them fall away. She winced, welcoming the pain, welcoming anything that would take her mind off how well she’d slept curled around Erica, off what she wanted to do to her under the covers.
Those feelings were only part of the mixed emotions.
The rest came from the dreams she’d had, dreams that most likely stemmed from all her interaction with the Bakers as well as other Plane People, along with the news reports she’d seen and heard. In her dreams, it was her mother she worried about. All night long, Abby dreamed that horrible things had befallen her. Once, she was missing. Another time, she was jumping out the window of a thirty-third story window and plunging to her death as Abby watched helplessly, screaming. Yet another dream showed Michelle Hayes falling to the ground as mounds of cement blocks and dusty rubble buried her alive, only her hand sticking out, reaching in vain for help.
If Abby had been in bed alone, she’d have gotten up hours earlier, paced the house, watched TV. But each time she jerked awake, the warmth of Erica’s body soothed her, made her feel safe. One time, she woke up to find herself curled against Erica’s back, her arm draped over Erica’s stomach. As she tried to extricate herself, Erica grabbed on in her sleep and snuggled her butt back against Abby’s middle, virtually gluing them together. Abby had relaxed immediately and drifted back into oblivion until 5:15, when she decided she couldn’t stand the images any longer and slipped quietly—and somewhat regretfully—from the warm cocoon of the bed.
Worry. Fear, anger, anguish. All these emotions warred within her and it wasn’t a feeling Abby liked. She was a cheerful person, a person who saw the bright side of things, a person whose cup was always half full—the eternal optimist. She was the person that picked up spiders and put them outside instead of killing them. She helped worms struggling across hot sidewalks make it to the grass so they wouldn’t fry. It drove some of her friends crazy, but made most of them happy to be around her. But this—this—event. This horror. This surrealistic thing that had taken her home, her city, her country by surprise had knocked her for a loop. She felt off-balance, like life had tipped sideways and was sliding out of place and there was no way she could catch everything and keep it from becoming hopelessly discombobulated, forever scrambled, and never, ever the same again. She’d spent the past couple of days clinging desperately to her optimism, trying hard to keep everybody else up and smiling and positive, but the truth was, she was running out of steam. She was exhausted and she was scared. She was worried about her mother. She was worried about her father—on a business trip and stranded in Phoenix, her mother told her. She was worried about her mother’s friends. She was worried about Tyson Baker. She was worried about Tyson’s parents and how they would handle losing him—because that was the reality and both she and the Bakers knew it deep down, beneath their hope and their prayers. At this point, the chances of Tyson still being alive w
ere slim. Very slim.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she wiped at them in frustration.
How could this happen?
How could this happen?
It was the thought on everybody’s mind, she was sure of it. How could this possibly happen? And why? What had we done to deserve this? There wasn’t an official body count yet, but the twin towers had one hundred ten stories each. It was going to be thousands. Just like that. In one fell swoop. Did we deserve such agony? Such heartache? Did anybody?
Abby’s brain cramped with the inability to take in something so incomprehensible.
She pulled her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around them in an effort to ward off the chill suddenly enveloping her.
She missed her mother.
Erica was a sound sleeper, always had been. She rarely had trouble sleeping away from her own bed and the MacDougals’ house was no exception; she slept like a baby in the big bed in the basement. Soft laughter bubbled up as she spoke the thought aloud.
“Big bed in the basement.”
What was that grouping of words called? She wracked her brain until she came up with the right title: alliteration. She’d always done well in English class.
She stretched her arms over her head and yawned widely, feeling completely rested. The emptiness of the space next to her brought foggy memories to her brain—warmth, comfort, an arm wrapped protectively around her middle. Unable to grasp anything more solid than that, she thought, And there’s the drawback to being such a sound sleeper. She couldn’t recall more than a few fleeting images, but those she did remember gave her a weird tingle. The bed next to her was cool and she wondered how long ago Abby had left it. Surprised, she realized she missed Abby’s face. The absence of that perpetually cheerful smile, which Erica had wanted to slap off more than once over the past couple of days, left an empty space that felt . . . wrong, somehow.
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