Elevator, The (18 page)

Michelle hears the solid thumps of his departing steps, then something jolts the car. Isabel topples forward, falling away from the other women, and the dangling lanyard slaps Michelle’s cheek. She looks up, hoping Eddie can provide an explanation, but the shaft is now alive with creaks and flaps and the yawning stretch of metal. Eddie, she realizes, has stepped away and she hasn’t felt his returning tread on the roof, but suddenly there he is, his face appearing and vanishing in the open exit, accompanied by a flash of green that rustles as it passes by…

Was that a
potted palm?

The technician’s hoarse cry blends with a canine howl and Isabel’s terrified shriek. Through the roaring din, Michelle breathes one name: “Eddie?”

Her rescuer does not answer.

She shrinks back as raindrops fall into the car, flung by a teasing wind that howls in the elevator shaft. Cold sweat prickles beneath her arms and her heart pounds like a trip-hammer as glass pebbles and sheets of paper rain through the open hatch.

After a fierce assault, the wind retreats and the debris stops falling. But though her eyes keep returning to the rooftop opening, Michelle sees no sign of Eddie Vaughn.

She covers her face with her hands, exhales slowly and peers through her fingers at the others. Like a panicked fish on a hook, Isabel struggles to free herself from the safety harness, then curls into a knot at the back wall.

In her corner, Gina’s face has gone idiotic with shock. “Is he—did he—”

Michelle closes her eyes and watches the scene replay itself on the back of her retinas—the invasion of a wind so strong it slammed the elevator against the wall of the shaft and hurled debris at the man who had come to save them.

She covers her mouth as a fresh wave of nausea strikes.

G
ina feels her own gorge rise as the sound of the brunette’s agonized retching fills the car. She looks away, hiding the look of revulsion that has to be on her face, but the combination of Michelle’s vomiting and the maid’s weeping is straining her nerves. She will scream in a minute; she will open her mouth and release the frustration that has been building since this morning….

No. She can’t lose control, not here, not now. Unlike her mother, who used to become apoplectic if the dog peed on the carpet, Gina has never been prone to hysteria. Life is filled with unfortunate events and a confident woman learns to accept the bad with the good. What you cannot change, you accept; what you cannot accept, you change.

Which is why she’s going to make an adjustment in her marriage as soon as she is released from this elevator.

If
she is released from this elevator.

Reminded of the nasty event that has brought them to this low point, she lifts her head and peers at the ceiling. What, exactly, happened to the repairman? From the horrified look that twisted Michelle’s face, Gina surmises that the brunette saw him fall down the shaft. In any case, he’s gone. The opening in the ceiling now reveals nothing but a thin stream of gray light.

She strains to listen for signs of life outside the car, but she can’t hear anything but the howl of the wind and the occasional patter of falling debris. No cries or moans. Even the dog has gone silent.

The technician probably died on impact. She’s read about people who survived falls from incredible heights, but Eddie Vaughn didn’t look like the type to beat the odds. More scarecrow than Schwarzenegger, he is more likely to be sprawled at the bottom of the shaft than hanging from a loose chain or climbing his way up an elevator cable.

Too bad. He’d been foolish to come out here alone and unprepared, but he had been chivalrous enough to give up his safety harness—a fact she’ll have to mention to the reporters after their release. He probably thought he could rescue them with no trouble, but the easiest person to deceive is oneself….

She draws her knees closer to her chest, suddenly aware of a trembling that has risen from her core. Why is she shivering? The stale air in this car is anything but cool, yet still her heart rattles in its cage of ribs.

She considers the question, then a sudden thought almost makes her laugh aloud—had she been secretly hoping the mechanic could get them out? If so, her subconscious must be more childlike than she realized.

All morning common sense has informed her that they are going to spend at least a couple of days in this car. They’ll have to talk about practical sanitary arrangements soon, but those matters can wait until after the other two have finished with their emotional tantrums. Until they accept reality, she will focus on those outside this awful elevator.

Her children are safe at home, thank goodness, and Sonny is probably wrapped in his mistress’s arms. Justice would be served if the hurricane flattened the woman’s building or blew it out to sea, but today fate seems to be stacking the odds against the wronged wife, not the adulterer.

When she glances at her watch, her nervous concern shifts to an urgent and more immediate fear. By now, the kids are awake and moving around. Have they realized she’s missing? Have they made calls to locate her? They know nothing of the private investigator’s report hidden under her mattress, so they might assume she’s gone to be with Sonny. The poor dears have to be worried.

She can’t stop fretting about them. Have they heard that it’s wise to stay inside and seek the safety of interior rooms when the hurricane moves ashore? Does Mattie know that the emergency radio is in the laundry-room cabinet? The house is new; the windows guaranteed, but what if the garage door buckles? Because one component failure can lead to another, one little worm of wind can snake its way in and rip off a roof….

She’s done all she can to protect her darlings, but often the greatest danger occurs after a storm has passed. Matthew could go outside and step on a downed power line; Mandi or Samantha could drink contaminated water or eat spoiled food from the freezer.

Gina chews on her thumbnail as a dozen questions rise to needle her brain. Why did she leave the house this morning? Sonny is a cretin and deserves to die, but when people hear that she’s missing, they’ll whisper that any woman who would leave her children in harm’s way has to be the world’s most irresponsible mother.

It isn’t true, and yet…though this admission would sound absolutely outlandish if she spoke it aloud, until the elevator stalled she had enjoyed every moment of her morning. For the first time in years, she has taken charge of her predictable life and made bold plans without Sonny. She has even—

She glances toward the other women, then turns her face toward the wall, unwilling that they should glimpse her thoughts in her eyes. She can’t admit this to anyone, but neither can she deny it.

Even this disaster has exhilarating moments.

A man has died on her account. How often does that happen? And though she feels awful about Mr. Vaughn and admires his willingness to help, he suffered the results of his own foolhardy actions. If he wanted to remain safe, he shouldn’t have surrendered his harness to the Mexican girl.

Just as Sonny shouldn’t have stolen from his children. But he did. And so, like Eddie Vaughn, he will reap the results of his own foolishness.

She lifts her head and checks on the other women. The maid has fallen silent except for an irregular sniffle; Michelle has finished retching and is wiping water from her eyes. She does not lift her head at the touch of Gina’s gaze; the woman is probably embarrassed. Who can blame her?

Gina rests her head against the wall and retreats into her own private thoughts. Moving slowly, so as not to attract attention, she lowers one arm to the fabric square that is her folded trench coat. Her fingers tiptoe through the folds until she finds the opening to the bulkiest pocket, then her hand slips between the layers and curls around the cool metal of the gun.

The trembling at her center slows and stops. She inhales a deep breath, lifting her chin as the future sharpens into focus.

She will get out of here. She will handle the publicity, make sure her children are safe. And then she will deal with Sonny—she will find a way to take him completely, permanently, out of their lives.

“I think,” Michelle says, her voice jagged and jittery, “this is the most frightened I’ve ever been in my life.” Her gaze catches and holds Gina’s. “Are we ever going to get out of here?”

“We certainly are.” Gina smiles to reinforce the note of confidence in her voice. “It’s only a matter of time.”

For the first time in weeks, Gina thought she could feel a tinge of autumn in the evening breeze. She stood with Samantha at the foot of the bleachers as other parents and students filed by. The crowd, engorged with joy at the Gaither High Cowboys’ win over the Sickles Gryphons, chattered and laughed as they emptied the stands and moved into the night.

Gina leaned against the chain-link fence around the football field. Matthew had played his heart out, bringing a smile even to Coach Higgins’s sour features. He’d scored two touchdowns, running the ball over thirty yards each time. The fans had gone wild each time, pounding each other and stomping on the benches until Gina thought she and Samantha were likely to bounce out of their seats.

She slipped her fingers through the links and stared at the gold goalposts. Sonny should have been here.

He’d read about the game in the paper tomorrow morning, of course. He’d sit across from Mattie at the breakfast counter and try to pry a few words out of their son, but he might as well try to start a conversation with the dog. On a Saturday morning, after a hard game and a late victory party, Mattie wouldn’t feel like talking.

To her left, the band members filed out of their reserved section, moving to a steady cadence provided by the percussion section. One high-stepping sax player strutted by, swinging his horn, and Gina pretended not to notice the wink he gave Samantha. She looked adorable in her Cowgirl outfit, even though the hem on those shorts had caused a major war an hour before they’d left the house. Sammy insisted that all the girls wore short shorts to football games; Gina countered that no daughter of hers was going out in a costume consisting of an exposed fanny and fringe.

Finally, they compromised. Sammy sewed a row of fringe at the bottom of her white shorts, lowering the apparent hem by at least two inches. The fringe matched that on the bolero vest she wore over her light-blue shirt, so the entire effect was enchanting.

Score one for Mom.

Samantha stepped closer to Gina’s side and jerked her chin toward the stands. “Here comes Mandi.”

Gina turned in time to see her older daughter pick her way down the stairs, remaining in step and swinging her flute down-left-right-up as if her future depended on it. Mr. Gleason was tough on the band kids, requiring them to remain in a disciplined formation almost from the time they arrived until the time they exited through the main gate. He allowed them to mix, mingle, and go for soft drinks during the third quarter, but otherwise he made them toe a tight line…and the kids loved him for it.

Gina made a mental note to ask the band director for his secret.

Samantha nudged Gina’s ribs. “Do you think she’ll say hi to us?”

“Wouldn’t count on it.” Gina tipped her head back and stared at the cloud of insects swarming around the bright stadium lights. “But you can try.”

Samantha giggled and moved to Gina’s other side, where she’d have more direct access to her sister. Gina watched, half-interested, as the flute players came down the steps, turned a sharp right corner, and marched toward the open area where Gina and several other parents waited.

“Hey, Mandi!” Samantha raised her voice to be heard above the noise. “Mandi! Over here!”

Samantha waved as if she hadn’t seen her sister in years, and Gina suppressed a smile when Mandi’s pleasant expression vanished beneath a get-me-out-of-here look.

“Mandi! It’s me, your sister!”

Mandi stopped staring at the head of the student in front of her long enough to send Samantha a drop-dead glare.

“That’s enough,” Gina said, dropping her hand to Sammy’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t want her to tease you like that.”

“I wouldn’t care.”

“When you’re fourteen, you’ll care.”

“Gina!”

She turned in time to see Gladys and Herb McGee striding toward her.

“You must be awfully proud of that boy!” Herb’s big hand swallowed Gina’s as he pumped her arm. “What is he, a junior?”

“That’s right.”

“He’s got big things ahead of him, you mark my words. Scholarship, maybe? To FSU? He’s quite a football player, Gina. I know Sonny must be about to bust his buttons.”

“He is.” Gina smiled at Gladys when Herb finally released her hand. “Did you all enjoy the game?”

“Say…where is Sonny?” Herb rose on tiptoe to scan the milling crowd. “Probably down at the sidelines bragging to the other fathers.”

She smiled again, her face aching with the effort. “Sonny had to work tonight.”

Herb gaped in exaggerated amazement. “Why—that’s awful. You tell him he’s working too hard. No man ought to miss a game with the crosstown rivals.”

Gina nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

Gladys linked her arm through her husband’s and pulled Herb away. He was still exclaiming over Sonny’s workload when she caught Gina’s eye. “We’ll see you next weekend.”

Samantha tugged on her sleeve. “Mom? Can I go get a Coke?”

Gina squinted toward the snack bar. “Aren’t they closing?”

“Please, Mom? There’s people there, see? I just want a Coke.”

Gina sighed, then glanced at her watch. Nine-fifty, so the players shouldn’t be too much longer. She didn’t know what kind of speech the coach delivered in the locker room after a winning game, but so far he’d taken half an hour to deliver it.

She pulled a dollar bill from her purse and gave it to Samantha. “All right, but hurry back. I want to catch Mattie before he heads out with his friends.”

Sammy took the money and sprinted away, leaving Gina alone. She glanced toward the closest exit, clogged now with uniformed band members whose formation dissolved the moment they passed through the gate. One of the boys, sweaty in his uniform pants, T-shirt and suspenders, had doffed his jacket to chase a girl who’d filched his cowboy hat.

Gina scanned the area around the snack bar, then spotted Samantha moving through the crowd of band boosters who were cleaning up. A twinge of guilt made Gina wince; as new band parents, she and Sonny ought to spend a Friday night behind the counter.

She clenched her fist. What work could possibly be so important? Sonny should have been here.

She turned toward the gate and spied Mandi talking to her friends. She’d wait by the parking lot, pretending to be independent and parentless, until Gina and Sammy left the field. Then Mandi would wave to her friends and walk to the car in her mother’s wake.

Gina laughed softly. A few years ago she could remember feeling the same way—wanting desperately to be independent, being embarrassed to have to depend upon Mom for a ride, for money, for anything.