Lola catches my eye, reaching out to grab my hand as we all walk across the roof together. She holds the fur stole close over her shoulders, keeping it from being snatched away by the wind.
“This is so exciting,” she breathes, her cheeks aflame with excitement. “Nance says there are three hundred people down there! Probably people you know!”
“Steady…” Jake growls in my ear as I begin to object. I swallow hard and force myself to smile.
“That sounds wonderful,” I lie. “I can’t wait to see… everybody… again.”
“It’s going to be wonderful!” she breathes. She stops and pushes up on her toes, reaching up to kiss me with those sweet, pink lips. For just a moment, everything else falls away and it is only us two, alone at the top of the mountains, sharing a simple gesture of our attachment.
But when she pulls away, the noise returns. Desperately, I want to go back home.
With all seven of us, the elevator is actually quite crowded. We stand stiffly, pretending not to see each other’s reflections in the mirrored walls. Liam and Kill tug at their collars of their tuxedos, while Timothy looks absolutely radiant. He definitely seems to be the most excited. Jake hovers over all of us, naturally acting like a combination of father figure, bouncer, and drill sergeant.
I have to admit, his presence calms me.
When the doors open, I’m shocked to see dozens of people already staring at us expectantly. A collective gasp goes up as they realize that in fact, yes, the Carrutherses have come back to life.
The air begins to strobe with flashes as everyone seems to snap a picture at once. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, but then allow Lola to catch my fingers and tug them back to my side.
In the past few years, it looks like everyone has gotten a cell phone, and they’ve gotten bigger again. The LED flashes are so bright, I find myself fighting back a wave of rage.
Lola jiggles my hand affectionately and squeezes it. She steps forward, only slightly wobbly on her still-healing ankle. Gently she pulls me out of the elevator and into the ballroom.
“Mr. Carruthers? It’s me, Chuck, from school? From Wharton?”
“Ah, Chuck!” I call out, searching the faces to see who is talking to me. I do remember someone from business school, right before I switched to law. Was his name Chuck? I thought his name was Chip or something stupid like that.
But before I could find him, another woman crowds forward, an older lady with an arched brow and fluffy, unnaturally colored hair. She holds an old-fashioned notepad and a pen and purses her lips at me insouciantly.
"Mr. Carruthers… Chelsea Wasserman here. Remember me? Would you like to explain the last three years, perhaps?”
“Absolutely not,” I quip, pivoting in the opposite direction.
Sensing a break in the crowd, I plow forward, hoping that Lola or Jake or someone is coming along with me. I need air. I feel like someone has just taken all of the water out of my aquarium, and I’m suffocating on the gravel, unable to breathe or get away.
“What’s it going to be?” The bartender smiles as I take a seat.
“Bourbon, neat,” I shrug.
“Coming right up,” he answers politely.
Facing the bar, I can see the crowd gathered behind me reflected in the mirrors. People are chattering excitedly, craning their necks to see what is going on. There are way too many people here. This is not what I expected.
I knew that people wanted to see us in real life, but I assumed it would be a quieter affair. Maybe a dignified dinner party or some other kind of gathering. This feels like a cross between a museum exhibit and a frat party.
But if this is the normal way her people celebrate a big piece, then I will have to deal with it. Lola explained that the New York Times piece was a hit. They want a book. They are talking about a movie. I guess this is some kind of big deal.
But why all the excitement? I really don’t get it. Because I’m still here, breathing? Because we are all still breathing? How morbid. What’s the big deal if we are alive or not? We didn’t affect anybody’s life at all. It seems to me that if I feel like putting a bag over my head and hiding out in somebody’s basement for the rest of my life, I should be able to do that. And when I take the bag off, it would be nice if everybody would just leave me the hell alone and not make a big deal out of it.
“You’re doing great,” Jake murmurs, coming up close next to me. “We don’t have to do this all night. We certainly don’t have to do it forever. But take a look at her, would you? Look how happy she is.”
Slowly, I scan the crowd until I find her. Lola. She’s surrounded by a dozen women and men, far less beautiful than she is. She glitters. She glows like a flame in that flickering red dress. Everyone’s attention is on her, completely rapt, totally charmed. She is the real star of this event. That is the only thing that makes it tolerable.
And then I hear it, that sound. The last thing I ever wanted to hear. The voice that pushed us into the wilderness.
“Whitney!” someone calls out.
A hush seems to fall over the crowd as people shuffle to either side to make a path. From where I am sitting, I have a direct view of her. Whitney Carruthers. My ex-wife.