96 Hours (12 page)

Abby chuckled, but Erica thought it contained a sliver of uncertainty. “I told you, I was making good money when I was working. I was living at home, so I was able to save some up. Plus, I’m good at traveling cheaply.”

“I see.”

This time, Abby’s laugh was a bark, a quick staccato burst that startled Erica. “No, you don’t.”

“What?”

“You don’t see at all. You’ve been silently judging me this whole time. Do you think I can’t tell?” She wasn’t angry, and she could see right through Erica.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You think I’m lazy.”

Erica’s head snapped around and she caught her eye. “What? No. I never said that.”

“But you don’t agree with my decisions.”

“Your decisions are your decisions.”

“But you don’t agree with them.”

“It doesn’t matter what
I
think.”

“I’m asking you what you think.”

Erica stopped walking and they stood facing each other. “Why?”

“Because I’m interested in your opinion.”

“Why?” Erica asked again.

“Why not?” Abby shrugged, her expression playful.

“You don’t even know me.”

“True. So what’s the big deal about giving your opinion to a stranger?”

Abby’s lighthearted tone was starting to grate on Erica and she suspected that Abby knew it. She tried to keep from taking the bait, but Abby was determined.

“Don’t you ever take anything seriously?” Erica said. “Is everything a game to you?”

“Is that what you think?” Again, no anger, no hurt in Abby’s voice, just curiosity. “That I’m a perpetual clown?”

“That nothing is a big deal to you? Yeah. You do come across that way.” She tried to soften her words. “A little bit.” She began walking again, Abby falling in step next to her.

“I just like to have fun,” Abby said. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Like I said, if more people would focus on being happy rather than on being rich, the world would be a much better place.”

“Maybe.” Erica’s tone said she doubted it.

“Come on. Haven’t you ever just, I don’t know, cut loose? Thrown caution to the wind? Lived in the moment?”

They held each other’s gaze, then both spoke at the same time.

“No, huh?”

“Not really, no.”

A moment passed and then suddenly they were laughing. Laughing at the silly circular path of their conversation. Laughing at being trapped in another country. Laughing at their impromptu outfits. Laughing at whatever they could laugh at to keep their minds off the situation back in the States, to keep from thinking about the thousands of people crushed to death in the towers, to keep from thinking about the grief of those who were endlessly, achingly searching for their missing loved ones, to keep from thinking about how badly they wanted to go home.

Chapter 9

She should be exhausted. After the Night of Poor Judgment (as she was now referring to her foray into the Land of Tequila, where she hoped to never visit again, and the hour-long walk around the pond, Erica thought she’d be ready for a nap. Instead, she felt a weird sense of energy, like she’d tapped some area of reserve in her body that revved her up, made her hum like a machine.

Alone in the basement, she reveled in the quiet. The four of them—Erica, Abby, Brian, and Michael—had lunch together at a little diner, which was filled to capacity with Plane People (as the locals had taken to calling them). After that, Abby had wanted to drop by the Lions Club and check on the Bakers, see how Corinne was doing, visit the couple with the new baby, be social—which was fine, but Erica opted out. The situation alone overloaded her brain. She knew she should probably tag along, but she wasn’t good at small talk, never had been. She was sure she’d only end up feeling awkward, thereby making others feel awkward, and that was the last thing anybody needed. So she asked to be dropped off, claiming a headache. None of the other three argued with that.

The basement was cool and comfortable. She knew she was free to be upstairs, to watch TV or help herself to the kitchen, but she felt intrusive. Corinne and Tim had been beyond kind, beyond generous, and Erica was certain they wouldn’t be fazed in the least to find her on their couch watching some daytime talk show or soap. Hell, they’d probably be happy about it, but she didn’t feel right doing so. The basement was easier, felt safer, more allowed. She dropped onto the foot of the bed, leaned back on her hands, and blew out a breath as she kicked her sneakered feet. For the first time, Erica was glad she’d followed Abby’s advice and purchased these sporty clothes. Thinking ahead, Erica had purchased two similar sets in different colors, uncertain as to how long she’d be stranded. She knew a washer and dryer stood behind the closed doors in the corner and she wondered if Corinne would let her toss a load in later that night. At this point, who knew how long it would be before they were able to go home? For all she knew, she could be here for weeks.

Stress seized her at the thought and she quickly tried to focus on something else. The cat appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and curled up next to her thigh.

Kate MacDougal was a reader. There must have been a hundred books stacked on the shelves every which way. Erica imagined they had been neat at one time, lined up next to each other, maybe even alphabetically. But as more books arrived and were read, Kate had to fit them in where she could: on top of the rows, in stacks on the very tops of the shelves, piled on the floor. The range of authors was wide, from classics like Jane Austen and Virginia Woolf to biographies of Ingrid Bergman and Arthur Ashe to bestsellers from Dean Koontz and Nora Roberts. Her tastes were all over the map, kind of like Abby.

She flopped back onto the bed and stared at the acoustic tile of the ceiling while she scratched absently at the purring feline (what the hell was his name anyway?) and recalled their earlier conversation. She’d been so appalled over the idea of quitting a job with no notice and sponging off parents that she didn’t really give herself any time to roll it around in her head, examine it from different angles. That was how she usually approached things that she had trouble reconciling and it made her good at her job. She didn’t want to admit to the fact that Abby was actually growing on her, considering how determined she’d been to dislike her on sight. But because Erica almost liked the woman, she found herself wanting to analyze the decisions Abby had made. If she was going to be honest, Erica had to confess there was something almost admirable about quitting a job simply because you were unhappy.

Again, she thought of her father, but this time instead of stressing out over the image, she almost laughed. Jim Ryan would absolutely blow a gasket if she told him she’d left her job and was moving in with him until she felt the “time was right” to find new employment, but this time the thought of his face reddening like a beet, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s as he searched for the right words to express his disapproval, was nearly cartoonish.

“Good thing I don’t hate my job,” she said aloud to the empty space around her. Not that there weren’t things she’d change about it. She worked way too many hours, the ratio of time she spent at work versus the time she spent at home alarmingly unbalanced. She liked her coworkers. They respected her and she them, but she often felt something was missing. She just didn’t know what it was.

Her brain drifted from topic to topic as she lay there alone with the cat, his purring the only sound in the house. What were other Plane People doing today? Did any of them have a clue about when they’d be allowed to go home? She’d heard some people at the table behind her at lunch in the diner talking about a shopkeeper offering her shower to them, so she knew the MacDougals weren’t the only people in Gander vying for sainthood. And another woman walked by them conversing with her companion, confirming Abby’s statement that the pharmacy was filling prescriptions for free. For the umpteenth time, Erica wondered just what was in the water in Gander that made everybody so kind and generous. It was bizarre and she doubted such selflessness would be shown in America.

With a squirm and a shift, she rolled onto her side so she was spooning the cat, boredom and excess energy warring within her body. Abby’s backpack sat in a corner against the bookshelves and brought Erica’s mind back to the subject of her . . . what? Roommate? Fellow Plane Person? New friend? From her vantage point in back of the passenger seat of the MacDougals’ car, Erica’d had ample opportunity to study Abby without her knowledge. She’d tried to avoid it, but Abby’s laugh kept pulling Erica’s eyes back toward her. She wore her dark hair in a ponytail again today, and it corkscrewed along the back of her neck. Erica’s gaze had stuck there for what felt like a long time, focused on the smooth skin, the short, probably soft hairs that rebelled against the rubber band, the curve of muscle and sinew where Abby’s neck met her shoulder. Erica didn’t know anybody who had ‘smiling’ eyes, but Abby did. The blue of them was the color of the summer sky, and small crinkles in the corners were a testament to how often she grinned or laughed. She was perpetually cheerful, even in this trying situation.

“I don’t know how she does it,” Erica stated to the cat, who regarded her silently. “Do you?”

The cat looked at her with its cat eyes—eyes that seemed too green to be real—and yawned widely.

“Nice.”

Finding her mind drifting back yet again to Abby—this time to the hard muscles of her calves as well as the deceptively long legs—Erica sat up with a frustrated groan, annoyed with herself.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she asked the cat. “I just have some excess energy, right? No big deal. Lots of people have excess energy. It’s nothing to stress about. I just need to channel it in another direction. Before I go crazy. Or my head explodes. That’s all.” She scanned the room and her eyes fell on the treadmill. “See? Perfect.”

Exercise was exactly what she needed to release some of her pent-up energy. At home, work usually didn’t allow time for her to feel restless and jumpy. She was always busy, always focused on the next project or the current project or both. Being stuck in one place without much to do was very new to her. Not only did she not like the feeling, she also worried she wasn’t handling it well. Running a couple of miles would surely help clear her mind.

Wishing she had her own Sauconys from home, she hoped the sneakers she’d bought would suffice. She pulled her hair back off her face, tightened her laces, and perused the control panel of Kate MacDougal’s treadmill.

Several blocks away, Brian and Michael saw Tim in the parking lot of the Lions Club unloading some supplies and offered their assistance. Abby went inside, looking for the Bakers. The Lions club was abuzz with activity, noise from the Plane People—telephone conversations, children playing, babies crying—interspersed with noise from the locals—delivering supplies, cleaning up used items, directing people toward stores, churches, and parks. Both televisions still stood in the corner, reporting the latest on the situation in the States. Abby had avoided the news at all costs, but felt the sudden desire to check in with her mother again. All the phones were occupied, but she kept an eye on them as she scanned the area.

Abby was bummed that Erica had chosen to stay at the house, having realized during their walk that she was growing to like Erica, despite the differences in their personalities. They didn’t have a ton in common, but Abby found her interesting to talk to, fun to tease, and fascinating to look at. She wished her new friend was still with her. Their walk around Cobb’s Pond had been wonderful—relaxing, stimulating, and enlightening. Erica certainly wasn’t the first person over thirty who’d tried to hide disapproval over her current state of unemployment and how she’d gotten there, but it didn’t matter to Abby. She was perfectly comfortable in her decisions and as long as she knew she had her parents’ support, whatever anybody else thought didn’t matter to her. It was a freeing attitude because it allowed her to defend and debate her stance without getting angry or too personally entrenched. Rather than becoming insulted, she’d actually enjoyed the little bit of sparring with Erica. It got her blood pumping.

Across the lobby area, exiting the ladies’ room was Mrs. Baker. Abby barely recognized her. Was it possible for somebody to age ten years in only two days? The poor woman had enormous bags under her eyes, the circles dark and plainly visible. Her cocoa brown eyes drooped with sadness and worry, and she wrung her hands habitually. Abby’s heart cracked a little at the sight.

“Hey, you,” she said as she approached, wrapping her arms around Mrs. Baker’s shoulders. “How’re you holding up? Any news?”

Mrs. Baker leaned into her. “Nothing yet. My daughter is calling here every couple of hours, trying to keep us informed, but nobody’s heard from him yet. That can’t be good.”

“Don’t give up.” Abby faltered, wondering what on earth she could possibly say that would make any of it any better. “Tyson needs you to stay strong right now. Don’t give up. Okay?”

“Okay.” Mrs. Baker squeezed her. “How’d you get to be such a shining star, huh? I’ll say it again: your mama raised you right.”