96 Hours (10 page)

“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.” She relayed the story of the MacDougals and what they’d done for their little foursome. It soon became obvious that her stories were helping to calm Michelle, so she continued, telling about the Walmart trip, about dinner, about the game. By the time she finished, her mother was almost chuckling, the smile apparent in her voice.

“Any idea when you’ll be here?”

“You probably have a better handle on that than I do,” Abby told her. “We haven’t heard anything; it’s kind of remote here. I do know that nearly forty planes landed here, so there have to be thousands of people stranded like me and nobody’s allowed to get their baggage.”

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters right now, believe me. I’m so thankful I’m not one of those poor people wandering the streets outside trying to find their loved ones. I can’t imagine.”

“You’re safe, too. Right?”

“I’m fine, baby. I decided to stay here for the night simply because it’s too crazy to go out there. The subway is packed, cabs are at a standstill.”

“Sounds like staying put is smart.”

“There are seven of us here. I have a change of clothes in my gym bag and one of the higher-ups has a shower he’s letting us use. There’s a cafeteria downstairs, so we have food. We’re fine. It just makes more sense.”

“Good.”

They spoke a little longer about mundane things, mostly just to keep hearing each other’s voice. Abby was reluctant to hang up, but worried about the cell phone bill she could be causing. And the irritation Erica would have when she found out. Abby briefly wondered if she could keep Erica drunk for the remainder of their stay.

Back in the basement, Erica hadn’t moved and still sounded like a chain saw, which brought a smile to Abby’s face. The cat had reappeared and was curled up between Erica’s legs.

“Lucky cat,” Abby muttered as she put the phone back where she’d found it. The bathroom light made it easy for her to see, and she paused to study Erica’s face. The same thing she’d noticed at the Lions Club struck her again: how relaxed Erica looked while asleep and what a departure it was from her usual stern, studied gaze. Her face was relaxed, the skin smooth, all the scowl lines and worry creases gone and nothing left but a creamy, even complexion sprinkled with freckles. A corkscrew of auburn hair fell over one closed eye, and Abby gently moved it. As she did so, she wondered for the umpteenth time just what it was that kept Erica from being more comfortable in her own skin, why she was so serious, so contemplative, so reserved. Alcohol had loosened her up and loosened her up quickly. Abby found that interesting. She wondered if that meant the grave and stoic exterior was just that: an exterior. If maybe the fun, witty Erica she’d seen tonight was actually the
real
Erica, the one who was being hidden. But why?

And why did she care? That was the biggest question of all. Why should Abby give a shit? After all, they were going to go their separate ways eventually, probably sooner rather than later, and she would probably never cross Erica’s mind again. So why should she expend so much time and energy on trying to figure out a woman she’d most likely never see again after this ordeal?

That was the question that stayed with her as she re-settled herself on the loveseat, adjusted blankets, punched and reshaped pillows, and attempted to get at least a few hours of sleep. It stayed with her because she had no answer.

September 13, 2001
Thursday

Chapter 8

“Wow! Erica? Erica Ryan? Is that really you? You look . . . fabulous.” The expression on Kristy Tarrington’s shockingly pudgy face said the words forced their way past her lips, that she wanted to say anything but them.

“Yes. Yes, it’s me. Erica Ryan. Graduate of the same high school as you.” Erica was on a stage, under a spotlight, and wearing a to-die-for emerald green bikini. Kristy was right: she looked fabulous. Striking a model’s pose, she tucked a hand on her hip and stood with one foot slightly in front of the other as she spoke. “The same girl you called an ugly nerd, a hopeless wannabe, and . . . what was the other one? Oh, yeah. A sad and pathetic specimen of the human female. Wasn’t that it?”

Kristy grimaced, giving prominence to all three of her chins. “Oh, come on. We were kids. That stuff didn’t mean anything.”

Erica’s eyes flew open wide. “Didn’t mean anything? To who? To you? I’ve got news for you, Kristy. It sure meant something to me. You ruined my teenage years. You made me feel like crap, day in and day out. The things you said to me all through high school, the names you called me—they shaped how I think about myself even today. I’m thirty-two years old, for god’s sake, and I can still remember how worthless you made me feel. Don’t you get that?”

Kristy shrugged. “Jesus, Erica. Don’t you think it’s time you get over that stuff? I mean, really, it’s been more than ten years.”

Erica was appalled. Was it supposed to go this way? Wasn’t Kristy supposed to apologize? She blinked rapidly, searching for something to say, horrified that she felt small, insignificant, and sixteen all over again.

“You got fat.” It was the best she could come up with.

“Yup,” Kristy replied, pulling a cheeseburger out of thin air. She took a bite and looked above Erica’s head as she chewed. “Heads up.” Erica followed her gaze just in time to see the light grid falling down on top of her, smashing into her skull, causing immediate and splintering pain . . .

Pain.

Throbbing.

Pain and throbbing. The only things of which she was aware.

Throbbing like timpani being beaten inside her head and pain like jackhammers pounding against the interior of her skull.

“Ugh.”

She was afraid to move. She was afraid to open her eyes. A mental inventory told her that she was in bed on her stomach. Her right arm was under the pillow beneath her head and had fallen asleep some time ago; she couldn’t feel it. Her mouth felt pasty, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her teeth sporting furry little sweaters. Her legs were splayed in opposite directions, a strange vibration humming against her left calf.

And she was completely naked.

“Morning, sunshine.”

The voice was so close to her ear, Erica started as if she’d been poked in the ribs. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t think he can help you today.”

Abby. Damn her, she was enjoying this. Erica could hear the amusement in her tone. “What the hell did you do to me?” Her voice barely sounded like her own, more like gravel in a blender. She tried to clear her throat without moving her head or opening her eyes.

“It wasn’t me. I tried to help. I gave you water and Motrin before you passed out. How’s the head?”

“Feels like it’s been rolling around in a dryer.”

“Yeah, tequila will do that to you.”

“Ugh. I hate tequila.”

“Didn’t look that way last night.”

Erica groaned.

“Do you want me to see what Corinne’s got to eat?”

“God, no.” Erica’s stomach churned a warning at the mere thought of food.

“I didn’t think so. You should drink some water, though. You’re dehydrated.”

Finally, finally, Erica cracked one eye open and focused on her temporary roomie. She looked fresh as a newly blossomed flower, smelling of baby powder, the ends of her dark hair still damp and leaving wet spots on her T-shirt. “Why aren’t you like this?” she muttered in annoyance.

“I am one of the few people tequila is actually nice to,” Abby explained, so cheerfully that Erica wanted to bust her in the mouth. If only she could lift her right arm. “I was a little tipsy last night, but . . .” Abby trailed off, arching an eyebrow.

“Not like me.”

“No. Not like you.”

“How did I end up nude?” Covering her face, Erica pleaded, “Tell me you didn’t have to help me.”

“I didn’t have to help you. You got undressed all by yourself.”

Visible through her fingers, the trail of clothes from the bathroom to the bed told her all she needed to know. “Oh, god. You were here, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I kept you from coming down the stairs on your face.”

“And I undressed right in front of you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Oh, god.” Erica pulled the covers over her head. From under them, she shouted, “And stop enjoying this so much!”

Abby laughed, but it was kind, not teasing, not at her expense. Erica peeked out, made a face. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Believe me, Erica, you have no reason to be.” She waggled her eyebrows lasciviously and Erica took a halfhearted swipe at her. “I’m going to go grab some breakfast and bring you down some juice or something, okay? Just lie here, take your time. There’s no hurry. I don’t think we’re getting out of here today.”

Though it wasn’t the news Erica wanted to hear, not having to force herself to get up was a relief. Besides, she didn’t know if a herd of elephants stampeding through the room right now would get her to move. Her limbs felt filled with concrete and her head was too foggy for any attempt at raising it.

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Abby patted her shoulder and headed upstairs.

“Ugh,” Erica said aloud, again, just to say something. She tried hard to focus her brain, to make herself remember the previous night. She was worried she’d done something worse than strip in front of a virtual stranger, concerned she’d said something stupid. Or worse, provocative. Alcohol usually made her kind of flirty, but last night, all she could remember was sober, then trashed—and nothing in between. She’d have to ask Abby later and hope she’d be honest.

Abby.

What was it about her? There was something Erica couldn’t put a finger on, something that intrigued her—which was unusual because Erica rarely bothered with people. People were unreliable, fallible, needy, and they made her uncomfortable. Her boss was unendingly telling her what an asset she was to the science lab because she didn’t get caught up in personal stuff: she was all about the facts, the organization, the marketing. He liked that; he wanted that running his lab.

Abby, though; Abby interested her, much as she hated to admit it. She also annoyed her and irritated her and rubbed her the wrong way. But she was interesting just the same. She didn’t make her cringe as much as she had that first time in the airport, and Erica wondered why. Was Pollyanna actually growing on her? Did Pollyanna actually
like
her? No, that couldn’t be.

Most people found Erica cold. She knew that, and she tried not to let it bother her. Shrugging it off had always been her response. That’s how she’d managed to get through high school, and it was a method she carried on into adulthood. She’d taught herself not to care. And it had worked very well until recently, the past year or two. Maddie—the one who’d given her the Cartier watch for their one-year anniversary—had snapped that an iceberg had more warmth than Erica. The next day, she packed up and left for good, leaving Erica to wonder for the first time since the ninth grade exactly what kind of person she’d allowed herself to become. She hadn’t liked the answers and so she’d spent the next year-and-a-half trying to avoid them, submerging herself in her work and unwittingly isolating herself, walling herself off. Erica wasn’t a stupid woman, not by any stretch of the imagination. Somewhere deep inside, she knew such segregation was unhealthy, but she continued on that same course for months until her life outside of work consisted mostly of, well, her.

And now here she was, in Gander, Newfoundland, stranded in a house full of people, naked and hungover in the bed of a total stranger.

What the fuck?

Brian followed his nose down the stairs and into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee the only thing driving him. His head throbbed, though not quite as badly as he’d expected. It was probably a good thing he’d bowed out of last night’s shenanigans when he had. A couple more shots and he’d have spent much of the night praying to the porcelain god. Luckily, he’d simply passed out and slept straight through the night. He woke up disoriented and alarmingly thirsty, but no worse for wear.

Abby was humming quietly in the kitchen as she poured two mugs of coffee, looking as if she hadn’t had anything to drink the night before, let alone just as much as the rest of them. Well, him and Erica anyway.

“He’s out for a run?” Brian said with thinly veiled disgust as he read the note on the counter.

“Michael was the smartest one of all of us last night.”

“I hate him.”

Abby nodded with a quiet laugh.

“Is one of those for me?” Brian gestured to the mugs with his chin.

“Um, yes. As a matter of fact.” She pulled another mug from the cupboard, handed a full one to Brian, and filled the third.

“So, three of us are accounted for. Where’s the fourth?”

“Still in bed.”

“Crying?”

Abby barked a laugh. “Maybe. She’s a hurtin’ unit, that’s for sure. I don’t think an evening of shots is a regular occurrence for her.”