96 Hours

by Georgia Beers

  “Hey, guys,” she said.

  She was answered by a couple of grunts from the guys, nothing from Abby. She flopped down into a wingback chair with a relieved sigh. “Man, I worked my tail off today. I’m not sure how Corinne and the other volunteers are keeping up. There’s so much to do and they’re not getting much sleep.”

  Three sets of eyes stared at the television.

  “Some of the flights that came from Europe are being cleared to head back there. We may be able to get out of here soon.”

  Nothing.

  One last try, she thought, tamping down the irritation that was making itself known. “Did you guys eat? I’m starving. I can make us something.”

  Abby finally rolled over and faced her, but her expression was different. So not what Erica pictured when she thought of Abby. Not gentle. Not kind. Not cheerful. Instead, she was angry. Annoyed. Pissed off.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” she spat in Erica’s direction.

  Erica flinched as if she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry?”

  “You heard me. What’s wrong with you? Why are you suddenly so cheerful? Do you have any idea what’s happening at home? Any idea? Do you even care?”

  “Abby.” Brian’s voice was a low warning.

  “Do you know that the death toll is going to be more than five thousand? More than five thousand people, five thousand Americans were just senselessly killed, burned alive by explosions and airplane fuel, crushed by concrete and steel, splattered on the pavement of Manhattan. Five thousand people!” She scoffed. “And you want to know what we want for dinner. Unbelievable.”

  In one quick motion, she rolled to her feet and left the room, her footsteps thumping down the basement stairs a few seconds later. In the silence that followed, Erica swallowed hard; embarrassed, hurt, and speechless. She couldn’t remember ever having been bitch-slapped like that—and in front of other people. She felt humiliated. Tears pooled in her eyes.

  Michael stood up. “Christ. I’m sorry, Erica. We should have all stopped watching this dreck hours ago. Details are continually being unearthed and it’s just horrifying stuff, really. It’s made us all so angry—even those of us who aren’t American.” His expression was gentle. “Abby’s been having a rough day as it is and I’m afraid you just got the brunt of it.” He approached her and held out his hand. “Come on, love. I’ll help you with dinner.”

  They worked in companionable silence for a while, slicing and chopping. Erica got the water boiling and the tomato sauce simmering for the spaghetti while Michael prepared salads. Once Erica had given herself the time to calm down, she spoke.

  “Wow,” she said quietly, not wanting Abby to overhear her.

  “I don’t think she’s angry with you, love. I think she’s just angry.” He stopped chopping celery and looked up, seeming to collect his thoughts. “I think it’s hard to be Abby. I think she has this rosy view of the world, this sense that life is fair and people are good, and she’s been trying to maintain that view even in the wake of what’s happened. She’s kept smiling, kept being cheerful, even though her mother and friends have been drastically affected, could have been killed. She’s managed to hold tightly to her world view. But today, all those news reports, the playing of the video over and over and over.” He shook his head. “I just think her innocence has been shattered.”

  Erica nodded, everything Michael said making sense. “You’re probably right.”

  Her tone must have conveyed her hurt because Michael gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Really, Erica, don’t take it personally. She’s probably down there right now feeling terrible about taking her frustrations out on you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You were smart not to hang around here all day with us and watch that bloody telly. Horrible, horrible stuff, but like a train wreck: I couldn’t manage to pull myself away. Now I can’t get some of those images out of my head.”

  “I hear you,” Brian said, scrubbing a hand over his face as he entered the kitchen. “Jesus. I’ve watched the replay a zillion times today and I still can’t believe it’s happened. It’s almost surreal.”

  They set the table as a team, like they’d been sharing meals together for years. They set a place for Abby, even though all three of them knew she wouldn’t be joining them. “I’ll save her a plate,” Erica said aloud to nobody in particular.

  “Hey, did you say some flights are leaving?” Brian poked his fork in Erica’s direction as they ate.

  “That’s what Corinne told me. The flights that came from Europe, some of them have been cleared to go back.”

  “But what if your destination wasn’t Europe?” Michael asked. “Like me. I’m headed for Texas.”

  Erica shook her head. “I don’t know the details. I mean, we all came from Europe, right? Our flight hasn’t been cleared to go back. I wonder if it’s the foreign airlines.” She explained the story of the Lufthansa flight.

  “That could be the case,” Brian said. “American airspace is probably still closed, but European flights on European planes can’t be held here indefinitely.”

  “Right.” Michael sopped up his sauce with a slice of bread. “We should ask Tim when he gets back. He might know more.”

  “Seriously, how much longer can they keep us all stranded like this?” Brian asked. “I mean, I understand the caution behind it, but come on.”

  “People at the Lions Club are looking frazzled,” Erica said. “They’re doing okay, but they’re snapping at each other. They’re tired. They’re frustrated.”

  “We had no idea how lucky we got when Corinne and Tim asked us to stay here. Can you imagine still being on those damn cots in a giant room with a hundred and eighty other people? I don’t know how we ended up being the blessed ones, but I’m going to send one big-ass gift when I get home.”

  “That’s a great idea. What are you thinking of?” Erica asked.

  “I have no fucking clue.”

  Laughter was good; it helped ease the tension of all that the guys had seen that day, as well as helping Erica to feel better about her row with Abby.

  “First thing we need to do is replenish the wine supply here,” Michael said, gesturing to the rapidly emptying wine rack with his eyes.

  “We could do that tonight,” Brian suggested. “Go to that little shop we hit the other day?”

  “You guys go ahead,” Erica said. “I’m beat. I’ll clean up here while you’re doing that.”

  “You sure?” Michael said. “We all ate. I hate for you to clean it up alone.”

  Erica touched his cheek fondly. “Michael, if you weren’t married and I didn’t like girls, we’d be a match made in heaven.”

  He blushed all the way to his receding hairline, took her hand, and placed a chaste kiss on the back of it. “We all need to exchange addresses, e-mail addresses, whatever. Soon, lest we forget.”

  “Absolutely,” Brian agreed. “At the risk of sounding sappy, I don’t want to lose touch with you guys. You know?”

  The three of them looked at each other. Michael still held Erica’s hand and she reached her free one out to Brian. “I know,” she said softly.

  “Me, too,” Michael added with a nod.

  After a moment, Erica broke the silence. “Okay. Go. Find wine. I’ve got this.”

  The guys took the keys to Corinne’s car and headed off to do a wine run while Erica took her time cleaning up the dining room and kitchen. She made individual plates up for Tim, Corinne, and Abby, not knowing if the MacDougals planned on coming home that night or if Abby ever planned to eat again. She put them all in the fridge with notes and smiley faces, wondering absently who she’d become in the past four days; was she now the woman who drew smileys on all her notes? Dotted her i’s with hearts? Her team back home would find that rather amusing.

  She loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the counters, put away the remaining bread, and poured herself the last of the cabernet. She thought about sitting outside, but the evening had co
oled down considerably and she decided staying in was better.

  A glance at the basement door told her what she really needed to do, but she hesitated. A fight was not something she was up for. And if she was being honest, she didn’t even care about an apology at the moment. Abby was having a rough time making sense of it all. Hell, they all were. But Erica was a smart girl and she could see how it would be difficult for Pollyanna to wrap her happy little brain around the idea of killing thousands of people just to make a point. It had to be a hard lesson.

  Taking a deep breath and then blowing it out, Erica stood. “Okay. Here we go.” She opened the basement door and headed down the steps.

  The first thing that hit her when the room came into view was a vague sense memory of Abby curled up behind her, wrapping her in the safety of her arms. Perfect. That’s all I need right now. She took a slug from her wine glass and continued down.

  Abby was sitting on the loveseat, her head tilted back, her arm thrown over her eyes. Her knee was bouncing up and down, telling Erica she was trying to keep herself from exploding.

  “Hey,” Erica said quietly, sitting next to her. “I saved you a plate of spaghetti. It’s in the fridge if you get hungry.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay.”

  They sat in silence for long moments. Erica was sure Abby had more to say and decided she’d wait her out, hard as that was. Her patience paid off eventually.

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” Abby asked finally, not removing her arm.

  “Doesn’t what bother me?”

  Abby heaved an annoyed breath. “The price of gas per gallon. Jesus. The whole thing at home. The planes flying into buildings. The people dying. The horror of it all. Doesn’t it bother you at least a little bit?”

  Erica’s eyes widened at the implication. “Of course it bothers me. Of course it does. How can you think it doesn’t?”

  Abby removed her arm then, sat up and looked Erica dead in the eye. “How can you be so cheerful and smiling, then? You’ve barely smiled the entire time we’ve been here and suddenly today, after nearly four days of being stranded and seeing the horror on TV, you’re suddenly in a good mood?”

  Erica pressed her lips together, trying hard to find a way to explain something to Abby that she could barely explain to herself. “I don’t know how to put this into words,” she began. “I just—the whole thing is horrible. Of course it’s horrible. How could you even think I wouldn’t agree with you on that? But there’s something about being here, in Gander, around these people. I don’t know how to explain it, but today when I was helping Corinne and the other volunteers—I don’t know.” She threw up the hand without the wine glass. “I felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.”

  “So, it’s about you, then, is it?”

  Erica sighed, trying to keep a lid on the hurt and annoyance she felt over being so harshly judged for speaking truthfully. “Don’t you think this might be what those terrorists want? For all of us to be acting just like you?”

  Abby cocked her head. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t you think they’d be very happy to see us all crushed and broken? Tearful and in pain? I’m not saying we’re not—and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but—don’t you think a better way to show our strength is to help each other get through it all, be there to support one another through the awful times that are no doubt screeching head-on in our direction? Isn’t that the American way? If you were a terrorist, wouldn’t that piss you off? Seeing your intended victims picking up the pieces and carrying on, carrying each other if necessary?”

  Who am I? Erica thought as soon as she finished talking. None of this sounded like her. She was not patriotic. She was not a help-your-neighbor kind of girl. She had no idea where in her heart or mind this stuff was coming from. But she liked the way it sounded. And what was more: she believed it. She believed it all.

  Abby looked at her, held her gaze, seemed like she was absorbing everything Erica had said. Then abruptly, she stood. “I need a shower.” The bathroom door shutting signaled the end of the conversation.

  “Okay,” Erica drew out. She rubbed a hand over her face, worried about Abby, but not knowing what else to do. Feeling the pull of home, she rummaged around for her cell phone and called her parents.

  Chapter 13

  Abby didn’t understand what was happening to her.

  She was horrified by the things she’d seen on TV. She was confused by the feelings sloshing around inside her. She was appalled by her own behavior.

  Thank god Corinne and Tim weren’t around. She couldn’t bear the thought of them thinking her rude or ungrateful. That was not who she was. Abby Hayes wasn’t rude or cruel or snide or mean. She was happy. Cheerful. Helpful. Kind. All the things she hadn’t been to Erica just now.

  With a groan, she turned the water on and let it run, waiting for it to get hot. Maybe if she was lucky, she could scald some of the disorder out of her head. Gingerly stepping into the steaming shower, she muttered to herself that she never should have watched the news reports all day. She should have found a way to pull herself from the screen, to peel herself out of the living room, to escape. She should have joined Erica at the Lions Club. At least there she could have done something, occupied herself, been useful. Scrubbing the toilets with a toothbrush would have been better than the helplessness she felt every time she watched a replay of a plane hitting a Tower, saw a shot of somebody frantically searching for a loved one, or observed the bewilderment on the faces of the people of New York City. Utterly and completely useless; that’s how she’d felt all day. Sickened and useless.

  Abby’s skin reddened immediately. The water was too hot, but she let it run nonetheless, let it sluice over her skin, and she welcomed the discomfort, the almost-pain. It was nothing compared to what some Americans were going through this week. The country would never be the same again; she knew that instantly. It was only fitting that she feel pain, too, that she share it. Her thoughts turned to the Bakers and she was hit by a wave of guilt. She should have gone with Erica today. She should have sat with Mrs. Baker, should have made sure Mr. Baker was eating. They were going through hell right now. The not knowing must have been killing them inside, slowly but surely; and instead of offering her support, Abby had laid on the floor in front of the tube all day long.

  “What is happening to me?” she said aloud.

  Anger like this was new to her. Anger and confusion. She didn’t like it. It made her feel uncertain, out of control. She didn’t like that she’d snapped Erica’s head off. Abby was embarrassed about that. It was so unlike her. She should be glad Erica was enjoying pitching in; that was a big step for her. She should have been proud of her newest friend, not jealous of her good mood. Not envious that she wasn’t destroyed.

  Her poor mother. Abby knew that her mom was putting on a brave front, a purposeful façade so that Abby wouldn’t worry about her. But Abby was a pro at reading people, especially those she loved, and she could hear the slight quaver in her mother’s voice, note the faintly lower octave. The odds of Michelle Hayes not knowing somebody who’d died in the towers were pretty slim, but she’d pretend for Abby’s benefit, not realizing that fooling her daughter wasn’t something she could pull off any longer.

  The thought of her mom losing somebody in the crush of concrete and metal brought her back to all the ghastly images that had assaulted her that day, and she ended up right back where she began: depressed, angry, and so confused. All the horror. All the death. It felt like it was raining down on her and she couldn’t stop the tears any longer. They forced her to her hands and knees on the tile floor of the shower, the hot water beating down onto her back, the combination of steam and tears clouding her vision. The harder she tried to keep her emotions inside, the more they churned to find a way out until she couldn’t hold the sob in any more. It ripped out of her and she felt like it took part of her soul with it. Her hand over her eyes, she had no choice but to give in
as the anguish poured out of her.

  She didn’t hear Erica knocking on the door, had no idea that she’d pushed into the bathroom until the shower curtain was opened.

  “My god,” Erica exclaimed, her voice laced with concern and worry. “Abby?” Abby barely registered the words over her own crying, but she knew Erica had stepped right into the shower; she sensed her closeness. The water stopped. “Hey. What are you doing?” Her question was gentle as she reached for the towel and draped it over Abby’s heaving back, wrapping her in the soft terrycloth. Hands rubbed her back tenderly and only when Abby felt Erica’s breath near her ear did she realize she was kneeling on the shower floor with her. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, Abby. It is.”

  Words weren’t possible for Abby. She continued to cry and let Erica wrap her arms around her, rock her slowly.

  “So much death,” Abby managed after a long moment. Her voice was gravelly, rough. “All that pain.”

  “I know,” Erica said softly. She continued to move her hand up and down, stroking Abby’s back.

  “I just, I can’t understand. All those people.”

  “Here. Come on. Let’s get you up off this wet floor.” Erica helped her to stand and step out of the shower onto the small, soft throw rug. For the first time since her meltdown, Abby looked at her roommate as they faced each other and Erica held the towel around Abby. Erica had changed into her sleeping attire and was barefoot in the white tank top and blue-and-white-striped panties. She’d gotten wet, was almost wetter than Abby now, and the steam had had its way with her hair, left it hanging in damp copper waves that skimmed along her shoulders. The tank top clung to every curve and her nipples made themselves known beneath the wet cotton. Stunningly beautiful were the first words that appeared in Abby’s head. Stunningly beautiful. She swallowed hard, forced her gaze up to meet Erica’s. The blue eyes that were normally so icy had changed, and the things Abby saw in them now were completely different than what she’d grown used to seeing. There was no judgment, no warning to keep her distance. Instead, there was concern in them. Tenderness.