No Less Than a Lifetime

by Christine Rimmer

  A while, he was sure. Twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour. Time he’d spent rocking the child and whispering reassuring things that were probably lies: that they were safe, that they would be all right.

  To a limited extent, he supposed, his lies were truth. The table had protected them. They were both still alive.

  The air was thick, choked with masonry dust. In his arms, Eli coughed.

  The small, sharp sound disturbed the careful balance of the rubble packed so tightly all around them. A few chunks of masonry slid down; one hit Price sharply in the small of the back. The table creaked in protest at the minuscule shifting of its load.

  Eli whimpered.

  Price put his mouth very close to the boy’s ear. “It’s okay,” he breathed. “Just stay still. Try not to make any loud sounds. Talk in a whisper. We’ll be all right.”

  The small body shook with shock and fear. “M-Mr. Montgomery…I’m so scared…”

  Price hugged the boy more tightly. “I know. So am I. But we’re not hurt, are we?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Me neither. And soon, I’m sure, help will come.”

  “But how will they know where we are? My mom was in the bathroom taking her shower when I snuck out of bed. She doesn’t know…where I went.”

  “They’ll find us,” Price said, with more assurance than he felt.

  “But what if everyone’s all buried just like us?”

  “They’re not.”

  “But how do you know?”

  He didn’t, but he wasn’t telling the kid that. He explained, “The morning room and the floor above it just weren’t attached well enough to the rest of the building, that’s all. And as soon as the earthquake separated them, there was nothing to hold the ceiling up. It’s a special situation. The rest of the house should be fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Fine.”

  The boy was silent. His shivering seemed a little less. There was more shifting and settling around them. Price felt the boy start to cough—then hold it back.

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Look. Just call me Price.”

  “Okay. Um, how long do you think it will be? Until they find us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Like hours?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But…”

  “Look. I just don’t know.”

  “Oh.” There was a world of worry and disappointment in that single sound. “And we have to just sit here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well. What do you know?”

  “Hell.”

  “You swore.” It was an accusation.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Look.”

  “What?”

  “In a while, after we’re…more relaxed, maybe we’ll explore a little.”

  “Explore?”

  “Yes. We’ll check this place out. Very carefully. We’ll see if there’s a way we can dig ourselves out of here.”

  The boy considered that idea, then decided, “That would be good, wouldn’t it? To dig ourselves out. Maybe we could be heroes then. They’d put us on TV.”

  “I’d just settle for getting out.of here, myself.”

  There was a small sigh. “Me too…” The boy’s head relaxed against Price’s shoulder.

  In the moments of silence that followed, Price pondered all the things he didn’t know: how much debris surrounded them, how strong the table was, what the odds were that an aftershock would start a slide that would fill in their little cave and crush them alive. How the rest of his family had fared…

  Price’s leg was going to sleep. He shifted a little.

  The boy moved, too, getting himself more comfortable. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Do you, um, think my cat’s okay?”

  “Your cat?”

  “Well, he’s going to be my cat. I just know my mom would let me have him. I would feed him and take care of him. She wouldn’t have to worry about him at all.”

  “Right.”

  “I mean it. I would take care of him.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  A silence, then “Well. Do you? Think he’s all right?”

  “Sure he is,” Price said, as if he actually knew what he was talking about. “That cat is just fine.”

  After fifteen more minutes of buried cars and shellshocked faces, Faith couldn’t take it. She went back to the kitchen and dialed the familiar number.

  She heard two rings, and then a recorded voice told her to try her call another time. She hung up just as Oggie arrived.

  He hobbled into the kitchen. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I called and couldn’t get through. And there’s been no mention at all of Sausalito and how bad it is there.”

  “Got coffee?”

  “You bet.”

  “Pour me a cup, will you?” The old man was already turning toward the big blue chair in the living room.

  Faith started to reach for a mug, then paused for a moment and stared out the window that had provided her that final view of Price’s Jaguar yesterday, when she’d sent him out of her life forever.

  It will be all right, she told herself. The Loma Prieta was a much larger quake than this one.

  The odds of Price or his family being hurt had to be minimal…

  “M-Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Price.”

  “Oh, yeah. Price?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I wish it wasn’t so dark.”

  “Me too.”

  They’d just spent several minutes “exploring” their cave—feeling around in the dark for a possible way out. They’d found none. To all intents and purposes, they seemed to be buried alive.

  The boy in Price’s arms took in a big breath and asked as he let it out, “Are we gonna die?”

  Price felt his throat close up. What the hell could he say to a question like that? “I, um, don’t know, Eli.”

  This time the child didn’t comment on all the things Price didn’t know. Price didn’t like that. It meant the kid was getting scared again, too scared to argue. He decided he’d better try a little reassurance. “The table’s strong. And we’ll stay very still, won’t we, and keep our voices quiet?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” The small body relaxed against Price once more. Eli let out a careful breath of air. “Mrs. Curry died.”

  Now who the hell was that? “Mrs. Curry?”

  “She was a real nice lady. In the house before this house.” The small whisper went on, “You know, where my mom worked before. Mrs. Curry was very old. She had lots of wrinkles. But they were nice wrinkles. Like from smiling, you know?”

  Price made a noise of understanding.

  It was all the encouragement Eli needed to go on. “But my daddy wasn’t old when he died. He was young. For a grown-up.” Eli laid his small hand on Price’s arm. “Did you know that my daddy died?”

  The boy’s hand was so small. And soft. And warm. God. Don’t let him die here. Price realized he was praying. He’s so little. Let him have a damn life…

  “Price? Did you hear me?”

  “I…Yes. Your mother told me. I was sorry to hear it.”

  The boy shifted around a little. He moved his legs, wiggled his arms. When he spoke again, it was with a sigh. “My mommy says all people die. She said that we, my mommy and me, we have to go on living. My daddy would have wanted that, she said.” There it was, that small hand on his forearm again. The small head was turned, looking back at him. He could feel warm breath across his cheek. But it was too dark. Their eyes couldn’t meet.

  “So anyway,” Eli whispered, “I think we better not die under here, Mr. Montgomery. ’Cause my daddy wouldn’t like it.”

  Price had to swallow. “I…I think that’s a good idea, Eli.”

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Price.”

  “Price, right. Are you okay? Your voice sounds kin
da funny.”

  “I’m fine.” Price swallowed again. And then, with an eerie mixture of horror and relief, he heard himself say, “I…I had a little boy like you.”

  “You did?” The small voice was eager.

  “Umm-hmm.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Price thought, Stop talking about it. But he didn’t stop. “He died.”

  “Oh.” Eli thought about that. “I bet you miss him lots.”

  Through the darkness, Price saw Danny, sitting in the antique carved high chair they used to pull right up to the formal dining room table. Marisa was trying to feed him green peas. Danny blew on the spoon. The peas rolled off and bounced around on the high-chair tray. Danny chortled in delight and clapped his pudgy hands…

  That was the thing about Danny. He’d been so damned alive…

  “Price? Do you miss him?”

  The image faded. “I do miss him,” Price made himself admit aloud. “Lots.”

  “So,” Eli said. “You have to go on living, too, huh?”

  Surreptitiously Price swiped a hand across his damp eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “Like me and my mom. You know. Because your little boy would have wanted that.”

  “He would have—?”

  An aftershock hit. The earth growled and mumbled. Eli let out a small, terrified yelp, then somehow managed to squirm around and bury his head against Price’s shoulder.

  Price cradled him, close and sure, as the table creaked and shuddered and the rubble around them seemed to creep inexorably closer.

  When it finally stopped, they were still safe in their dark little cave. But it was a smaller cave than before.

  “Price?”

  “Urn?”

  “We’re still alive.”

  “Yes.”

  Price realized that he was glad. So damn glad.

  It occurred to him that death happened. And that no man had the power to stop it when it came.

  But not to live every moment of life in the meantime. That would be the truly unforgivable thing…

  Before him, superimposed on the darkness, he saw Faith, in that last moment before he had left her, her sweet face tipped up, her lashes like fans against her cheeks as she closed her eyes for his final kiss. As usual, wisps of shiny brown hair had been curling around her temples, having escaped the plain knot at the back of her head.

  God, how that woman could love.

  And what a damn fool he’d been…

  The small body in his arms stirred again. “Price?”

  “I’m here.”

  “What was his name? Your little boy?”

  Price moved just a little, readjusting Eli against his chest. “Danny. His name was Danny.”

  “Did you ever tell him stories?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “I, urn…Jack and the Beanstalk, I think. And stories about Paul Bunyan and Babe, the blue ox.”

  “I know both of those. But it’s okay. I could hear them again.”

  “Eli. I haven’t told a story in a long time.”

  “It’s okay.” The whisper was full of trust and expectancy. “You can do it.”

  Price closed his eyes, which changed nothing. It was dark whether they were open or not. Then, hesitantly, he began, “Once upon a time, there was a boy named Jack…”

  It was only one shot, but Faith saw it.

  An aerial view of Sausalito. And there, near the top of the hills, Montgomery House.

  “Look!” She pointed at the screen. “There! That’s it! Montgomery House!”

  Oggie leaned forward in the chair. “It looks like—”

  “The morning room!” Faith leaped from the couch. “What happened to the morning room?”

  The helicopter bearing the camera moved on, back toward the Golden Gate Bridge. But the grim image was already burned in Faith’s brain. The morning room was completely gone, and the roof of the floor above it sat like a hat on a pile of pulverized debris.

  Oggie was looking at her.

  Faith marched into the kitchen and tried the Sausalito number again. Again she was advised to call at another time.

  She went back to the living room.

  “Well?” Oggie asked.

  “The phones are still out.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  She smoothed her hair back with a nervous hand. “What can I do, really?”

  Oggie shrugged. “Nothin’ that I can see.”

  “The Bay Bridge is closed. And the Golden Gate. They’re not letting anybody in except emergency crews. I have to be realistic.”

  “Right. Realistic. But the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge is still open, I do believe…”

  “But everyone’s probably all right, don’t you think? I mean, what’s the likelihood that there was anyone in the morning room or on the floor above it when the earthquake happened?”

  “Not large?”

  “Not that large. It was early. On a Sunday.”

  “Probably nothing to worry about then, right?”

  “But that’s the first place they all go. On Sunday morning. When they get up, you know?”

  “Well, since you say it, I guess I know now.”

  Faith went to the couch and tried to sit down.

  She couldn’t do it. “It’s insane. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Right. Nothing you can—”

  “But I can’t just sit here.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I…I have to go there. I have to go to them.”

  Oggie reached for his cane. “Fine. I’m ready.”

  “Oh, Uncle Oggie, I can’t ask you to—”

  “You sure as hell can. And whether you ask me or not, I’m goin’. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Price! Eli!”

  The boy in his arms stirred. “Price?” The excited whisper brimmed with hope.

  He rested his chin on the small, dusty head. “They’re looking for us.”

  Above them and several yards away, Price heard boards being shifted.

  “Price!”

  “Eli!”

  One of the voices sounded like Justine’s. And the other, Price could have sworn, belonged to his brother. More voices joined the chorus. Ariel’s. And Regis’s, too.

  Price closed his eyes. Praying again. He’d turn into a praying fool before this was over. This time it was a prayer of gratitude. Everyone in the house was alive.

  So far.

  “We have to answer them,” Eli whispered.

  Price thought of the precariousness of their cave. How much more rubble would shouting dislodge? And would the damn table withstand the strain?

  “I suppose we have to chance it,” Price said.

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  They threw back their heads in unison and yelled as loud as they could.

  “Here!”

  “We’re here!”

  “Help, we’re under here!”

  The table started to shake. Above them, something shifted, and they heard a scraping sound.

  The man and the boy fell silent. Price didn’t know he was holding his breath until he heard his brother call.

  “We heard you! Sit tight! We’ll get you out!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Since Oggie insisted on driving, they took his Eldorado. “Wouldn’t drive nothin’ else,” he told Faith with pride.

  Oggie had something of a lead foot, but Faith didn’t complain. She wanted to get there fast, anyway. They raced down highway 80 at well over the speed limit. But traffic thickened and slowed them down as they neared the beleaguered Bay Area.

  Oggie brought them in from above, across the endless Richmond-San Rafael Bridge. As the old man had predicted, the bridge was open, though traffic was bumper-to-bumper all the way across. They got on Highway 101 on the other side, then had to detour off the highway in Corte Madera for some reason Faith never did understand. Oggie drove with one h
and most of the time, fiddling with the radio dial, trying to get a station with decent coverage of the earthquake. He didn’t have much luck.

  “Need me a new radio, I’m afraid,” he muttered more than once.

  Fortunately, except for the failing radio, the ancient Cadillac ran like a dream.

  They crossed the finger of bay to Marin City without incident. And at last, they were there. On Bridgeway in Sausalito, passing the Marin ship area, the docks that housed stately yachts and floating software companies. The damage from the earthquake didn’t appear too bad, though Oggie dodged bricks in the street and traffic crawled.

  All the streetlights were out. A few buildings, she noticed, looked not quite right somehow—their facades had massive cracks now, or decorative masonry had chipped and broken off. There were a lot of shattered windows. And already, in many places, yellow caution tape had been strung. All over, people were at work cleaning up the mess.

  Faith told Oggie where to turn to start the climb into the hills. There, on narrow, winding streets amid thick, green trees, the damage was even harder to gauge. Most of the houses seemed intact. But only a closer look would let her know for sure.

  And Faith had no time for a closer look. By then, five hours had passed since they’d left North Magdalene. All she wanted was to find out whether Price and his family were okay.

  At last they reached the gravel drive that would take them to the house. Faith could see its tall towers and bays, standing proud against the cloudless sky.

  Oggie drove them right to the kitchen door. As they approached, they saw a lot of men, climbing all over what was left of the morning room wing. Some of the men wore hard hats and sturdy rescue gear. But there were others in cutoffs and T-shirts and running shoes, pitching in to do what they could. The screams of chain saws filled the air.

  Dread settled in Faith’s stomach, like a hard ball of ice. Why would all these men be here right now, when there were so many emergencies all over the Bay Area? Unless there was someone trapped under there…

  Oggie pulled the car to a stop. Faith spotted Ariel, not ten feet away, in a torn pair of linen slacks and a dirty lime green silk shirt. Ariel turned at the sound of the car. Her face was smudged with soot and crisscrossed with scratches. Her hair—as always—was hanging in her eyes.