96 Hours (14 page)

“All right. Abby, you are the Salad Queen. You can make one big one or six individuals. Up to you. Brian, you get to be Mr. Potato Head. Can you peel and dice those potatoes? They need to go into a big pot of water, which you’ll have to find first.”

“I’m all over it.” He began searching cupboards and pantries.

“Michael, I’m pretty sure there was some fresh rosemary wrapped up in the fridge and I need the butter in the door.”

“Right-o.”

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but did I see a bag that had wine in it?” She raised her eyebrows in hopeful question.

“You did,” Brian responded, finding said bag.

“All chefs need to have a glass while they work,” she instructed.

“My mom always has a glass while she’s cooking,” Abby confirmed with a nod.

Brian pulled out four bottles, two red and two white. “And if it sucks, blame the British guy. Abby and I were at a loss.”

Michael grinned at Erica. “I assure you, it will not suck. Trust me.”

“How do I not trust a guy who sounds like James Bond?” Erica asked, feigning bewilderment.

The four of them worked like a well-oiled machine, Brian peeling and chopping, Abby slicing and tossing, Michael following Erica’s instructions regarding the corn, and Erica treating the chicken to a savory-smelling rosemary and olive oil rub. They talked about their afternoons, teased one another playfully, and essentially felt like one big family, akin to siblings home for the holidays. By the time Corinne walked in at five-thirty, the kitchen was filled with delicious aromas, laughter, and lively conversation.

“Oh, my, it smells divine in here,” she exclaimed, setting her purse on the bench by the side door.

“Where’s Tim?” Michael asked her.

“Oh, I decided I could use some fresh air after being inside so long, so I walked.”

“You walked? We could have come to get you.”

Corinne waved a dismissive hand. “Not at all. It did me good.”

Brian held up two wine bottles for her to see. “Red or white?”

Erica laughed and shook her head. “He means Merlot or Pinot Grigio.”

“White,” Corinne replied.

“I’m surrounded by Neanderthals!”

Corinne laughed and took the glass Brian poured for her. “How are things at the Club?” he asked.

A sip of the wine seemed to visibly relax her and she exhaled heavily. “People are restless. Of course. They want to go home. And those poor Bakers.” She tsk’d, her expression sympathetic.

“Still nothing about their son?” Abby asked.

“Not a word. Nobody’s been able to get in touch with him, though their daughter did find out that some of his colleagues are safe.”

“That’s good,” Brian said.

“I think so, too.” They absorbed that quietly for a moment before Corinne changed the subject. “It’s so wonderful of you to cook for us.”

“Please,” Abby said. “It’s the least we can do. You’ve been so amazing to us.”

“This whole town has,” Michael added. “Did you know we had to force the gentleman at the grocer to take our money?”

“You did?” Erica asked, surprised.

“He wanted to just give it to us.”

“My god,” she said, utterly awed by the generosity. “The phone company, the pharmacy, now the grocery store.” She turned to Corinne, hoping she could see the gratitude she felt. “The people of Gander are something else. Truly. I’m stunned by the kindness and generosity we’ve run into here.” With a half-grin, she added, “And I’m not easily stunned. By anybody.”

Corinne shrugged, her expression telling them it was no big deal, like this was how her fellow townsfolk were all the time, like it would never occur to them to handle the situation any differently.

Tim arrived about ten minutes later, forgoing a glass of wine for a beer and by 6:15, the six of them were seated around the dining-room table, a veritable feast laid out in front of them.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Michael announced, raising his glass. “To the MacDougals, for taking in four complete strangers at a time of crisis and providing them with beds, showers, food and drink, and the comforts of home while they’re all so far away from their own. Your hospitality is so much more than ‘appreciated.’ Thank you.”

“Hear, hear,” Abby added.

They clinked glasses as Corinne and Tim blushed at the praise, and then dug into the food—which was delicious if the moans of pleasure were any indication.

“Oh, my god, Erica,” Brian said around a mouthful of chicken. “This is incredible.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you could cook,” Abby said with a wink. “Wow.”

A little self-conscious, Erica smiled at the compliment. She’d forgotten how satisfying it could be to cook for others. Maddie had loved to throw dinner parties and Erica found cooking to be a good way to not have to socialize with the six or seven people in her living room; it was a built-in excuse to stay in the kitchen, and she used it whenever she could. The fact that she got good at cooking—and also began to enjoy doing it—was simply a bonus.

They ate and talked and laughed. They shared wine and stories of their lives and Erica was shocked at how much they felt like a family. How could that happen in three days? How could she feel so close to these people—people she essentially knew nothing about? She was not a person who settled in easily. She was uncomfortable more often than not and when they’d first arrived at the MacDougal house, she’d been sure she’d be certifiably insane within twenty-four hours. Yet here she sat, breaking bread at the dinner table of a couple she barely knew and feeling more comfortable than she had in weeks. Months even. It was as close as she’d felt to being at home with her family in longer than she cared to think about. The realization brought an unexpected surge of emotion and her eyes misted even as a gentle smile crossed her lips.

Abby had not allowed them to leave the grocery store without dessert: ice cream. Four kinds, as she didn’t know who liked what. Chocolate, vanilla, mint chocolate chip, and black cherry. They all protested that they had no room left after such an incredible dinner, but they all ate a bowl. By seven, the six of them were slouched in their chairs.

“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.”