“You’re alone? Oh, Hanna.” Claire sounded aghast at this revelation. “I’m going to send a car over for you. You can’t be on your own at a time like this.”
AS SOON AS she arrived at Cheyne Walk, she was swept inside the house by Claire and Nathan, the two of them almost carrying her until she was placed gently down on a slouchy sofa. Their eyes were rimmed with red, wetness shining off their skin as they mourned the passing of life as they knew it. They tried not to vocalize the fear they had for Richard.
“Steven is putting feelers out for your father,” Claire said as they sat and watched the muted TV. “He has contacts in the embassy and the state office. They’re doing everything they can, but it is a mess over there. Nobody can contact anyone, all of the communications networks are down. It’s going to take a long time before we find out anything.”
Hanna could feel a numbness wash over her skin as she continued to watch the news coverage. She didn’t flinch when footage of a third plane crash into the Pentagon was broadcast, nor did she comment when a fourth plane crashed into a field in rural Pennsylvania. She just sat, her eyes wide open, her mouth still breathing, her heart still beating. She didn’t want to see the recordings of the plane crashes being played on a continuous loop, but she could not tear her eyes away. It was like being hypnotized against her will.
They sat, and they watched, and they remained mute, until a loud bang came from Steven’s office. It sounded like something being thrown against a wall. There was a noisy, splintering sound, followed by the frantic wail of a grown man.
Claire stood up and ran over to the office door. Hanna and Nathan stared at her moving body as she moved, their faces frozen with fear.
As Claire reached the door, it was flung open to reveal Steven standing there. His normal suave façade had disappeared, replaced by that of a desperate man. His shirt was askew, his hair falling all over the place. What really pierced Hanna through the heart was the expression on his face. As long as she lived, she would never forget that look. It was a mixture of fear and misery, frustration and inaction. It was a father fighting for his son.
“The fourth plane was heading for San Francisco,” he whispered.
Hanna’s shaking returned. She hugged her arms around her stomach in an attempt to stop herself, but instead found herself rocking forward and backward again.
“Where did it take off?” Claire asked.
“Newark.”
“Steven.” Claire’s voice was a wail. She flung herself into her husband’s arms, her sobbing increasing as he held her tightly.
Hanna started to shake her head, as if she was trying to deny what was happening. She looked over at Nathan, to see him sitting with his hands covering his mouth. His blue eyes stared straight back at her.
“Was he definitely flying from Newark?” she whispered to Nathan, grabbing for any flicker of hope, like a drowning man searching for a life jacket.
“I don’t know. I don’t think Dad knows which flight he was getting. But he’s flown from Newark before.”
Glancing at the television screen, Hanna could see from the clock in the right-hand corner it was almost 2:30 p.m.
“Ruby,” she whispered, trying not to watch Steven and Claire’s desperate embrace. “If I leave now I can get to school in time to pick her up.” Hanna needed the fresh air, and the purpose that such a trip would give her. Distance and time were what she craved.
“I’ll go with you. I don’t want her to hear about this from anybody else,” Nathan whispered.
“Do we tell them we’re leaving?” Hanna looked over at Claire. It was like she and Steven were in their own bubble. Nathan’s gaze followed her stare, and his face crumpled again as he watched their misery unfolding before him.
“You go and grab your coat, I’ll tell them we’re picking her up.”
HIS MOTHER WAS awake when Richard walked in, curled up on the silk-covered sofa in the drawing room. He was pleased to see her hand wasn’t wrapped around the stem of a crystal wineglass, although they were pale and shaking, just like the rest of her. Her hair fell around her face in pale strands, and her lips were red and dry from the constant scraping of her teeth.
“I’m going to shower and then come right back,” he told her. She looked up at him with glassy, blue eyes.
“Hurry, darling. I don’t like being alone.”
The shower was necessary. His hair was covered with dust, and his skin was itching from the effect of the wind and detritus in the air. More than anything, he wanted to wash away the memories of today, and watch them follow the grey sludgy water down the drain. Unfortunately, dirt was more easily dealt with than thoughts.
He went back downstairs with his hair still wet. His mother hadn’t moved; she was still staring at the same spot on the wall, looking at the pictures of their family and friends. Photographs of happier times, when life was predictably good, and evil was just a concept in an old book.
“Was it terrible out there?” Even Caroline’s voice seemed to have deadened. She spoke through thin, dry lips.
“It wasn’t pleasant. I gave blood then went to see the—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, although he suspected at some point he would need to do so.
“Is there any hope?”
He knew she was asking if there were more survivors being rescued. He shook his head.
“Please don’t leave me, Richard.” A single tear emerged from the corner of her eye. It ran down her cheek, dripping from her chin to make a stain on the silk sofa. “I know I said I didn’t want you to move to California before, but I mean it. I don’t think I can do this on my own.”