by Sara Rosett
“Okay, okay. But don’t you think you’re taking on too much? This is supposed to be a vacation, remember? Well, a vacation for us, even if Jeff and Mitch are working during the day,” Abby said.
I swallowed the chocolate and said, “No. I have to see Summer. It would be rude not to stop in and see her while we’re so close. And the thing with Debbie—that won’t take long—a couple of hours. Just a quick meeting. Besides, it means a lot to her. It’s the least I can do for someone who endured the rickety card table with me at Thanksgiving when she didn’t have to.”
My phone rang in my hand. It was the same Texas area code as my parents’ house, but not their number.
“Ellie! It’s Debbie. Did you meet him yet?” A mixture of expectation and fear mingled in my cousin’s voice.
“No. It’s tomorrow,” I said as I watched Wellesley’s approach. I raised my hand to wave at her. She’d almost reached the Reflecting Pool when a man joined her. He was shorter than her and had black hair and heavy dark eyebrows. I lowered my arm and said to Debbie, “I’m going to meet MacInally in the hotel lobby tomorrow for breakfast. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I talk to him.”
“Okay.” Debbie’s voice was strained. “I’ve waited thirty-plus years to find out what happened. I guess I can wait one more day.”
“How’s Morgan?” I asked as I watched the man and Wellesley. He pulled at the neck of his thin white T-shirt, which distorted the logo of a tree and the outline of the Capitol above the words Capitol Landscaping. His dark green pants were paint-splattered and had muddy patches on the knees. He shifted his weight from one heavy work boot to the other as he talked rapidly to Wellesley. She shook her head and stepped away. He caught her arm and spun her back toward him.
Debbie said, “Itchy and mortified. Thirteen is a difficult age without the chicken pox. I still can’t believe she got it even after she’d had the shot. I’m so—ugh—so disappointed I can’t be there, but I can’t leave Morgan right now and I can’t wait any longer. I have to know what MacInally has to say.”
I divided my attention between Debbie’s voice and Wellesley’s encounter with the man. The rough way he’d jerked her arm worried me a bit, but she didn’t seem to be bothered by it. She tugged her arm away, said a few terse words, and strode away from him.
I tuned into the silence on the phone line and said cautiously, “Debbie, MacInally may not know anything.” Debbie had such high hopes for this meeting, but I was afraid I might not bring much more back than photos of her dad’s war buddy.
The dark-headed man on the other side of the Reflecting Pool watched Wellesley walk away, his face under his heavy eyebrows expressionless. After a long moment, he turned and walked in the other direction. I expected him to join a landscape crew that was trimming bushes, but he passed them and continued on toward the Washington Monument. “Debbie, I’ve got to go. Our tour guide is here. I’ll call you as soon as I talk to him, I promise.”
Wellesley spotted Irene and they walked over together. Wellesley didn’t seem shaken by the encounter with the man. She asked, “How’s my band of mothers doing?” When she’d found out that morning that both Abby and I were pregnant and that everyone else in the group either had kids or stepkids, she’d dubbed our group the band of mothers. It was a cute designation, but I thought she might not think we were so endearing after a few more days of constant pit stops for bathroom breaks, since one of the less exciting parts of being pregnant was the need to keep within sight of a restroom at all times.
She asked about our tour of the Capitol and then said, “Your afternoon is on your own. There’s a nice exhibit at the natural history museum.” She handed out brochures. “But we’re going there tomorrow, so you might want to wait. If you want to see more of our founding documents, visit the National Archives, across the Mall.”
“I’m ready for a nap and room service,” Abby said.
“Okay, I’ll head back, too,” I said. Maybe Abby was right and I was trying to squeeze too much into my vacation itinerary. Lounging around the pool or even lounging around my hotel room for a few hours completely alone sounded pretty good. It might not be the Caribbean, but at least it was a four-star hotel.
“I think I’ll go to the Library of Congress,” Irene said as she studied the map.
Gina and Nadia agreed they were ready for a break, so Wellesley gave Irene directions to the Library of Congress and then walked with the rest of us back to the Metro stop.
The day had started out a little on the cool side, but now Washington’s famous humidity was creeping in. By the time we reached the escalators and descended into the cavelike darkness of the Metro stop, I was glad to get out of the sun. We inserted our Metro cards into the machines connected to the turnstiles and pushed through them. Then we took the second escalator down to the platform. It was quiet, almost peaceful, under the barrel-vaulted ceiling, except for the occasional shrieks coming from two kids running in tight circles at the far end of the platform. They were so close to the edge it made me a little nervous. Nadia had her camera poised in front of her as she took more “snappies,” but she didn’t ask us to pose for her, which was a good thing since I thought Gina might yell at her if Nadia told her she wanted another snappy.
Wellesley stood beside me as we waited for the train, so I asked, “Do you have another tour this afternoon?”
“No. I’m heading back to my office to work on my other business.”
“You run two businesses?” I asked.
“With the cost of living in this place, you’ve got to have two incomes to live here. Unfortunately, I’m not married so I have to bring in both of them,” she said with a smile.
“What’s your other business?”
“Household Helper. It’s more of a resource for people looking for a gardener or a housecleaner. We’ve got some handymen, too, for small remodeling jobs. If someone wants to update their bathroom—and believe me, there’s a lot of that going on around here with people buying older homes for the inside-the-Beltway location and fixing them up—but they don’t want to pay a contractor, I’ve got tile guys, plumbers, and someone who can hang cabinets. All with references and a record of actually showing up for work.”
“Wow. Your clients must love that,” I said.
A new group of people arrived on the platform, led by two women, both in suits and heels, a marked contrast to the usual tourist uniform of T-shirts and shorts. The shorter woman in a navy suit lugged a load of equipment, including a video camera with the name of a local news station on the side. She extended the legs of a tripod and said nervously, “This look okay? I’ll set up as close to the tracks as I can, all right?” The other taller woman wore a cream suit that complemented her blond hair twisted up in a chignon. She stalked over to the edge of the platform and positioned herself in front of the camera while dialing her cell phone. She pressed the phone to her ear, then barked, “Speak up. The connection’s bad.” After a few seconds she said, “You’re cutting in and out. Call me back in fifteen minutes. We should be done here by then.” Frowning, she ended the call, pulled off a lanyard with an ID tag dangling from it, and tossed the lanyard and the phone at a man standing off to the side.
It’s funny how group dynamics play out, even in impromptu groups, like random people waiting for a train. I realized the news camera had the attention of everyone on the platform, including the kids at the far end. Since I’d just had some less than pleasant encounters with the media, I was glad the camera wasn’t focused on me.
The reporter threaded a small microphone under the blond woman’s collar and stepped back. “Okay, we’re ready.” A bright light attached to the camera clicked on and, just as quickly, a smile lit the woman’s face, replacing her frown. The reporter said, “Ms. Archer, tell us why the Women’s Safety Initiative is so crucial.”
“We’re all concerned about safety. Our nation’s security has been our top priority recently, but we can’t overlook individual safety, especially for women. Women must
be safe in their homes, at work, and on public transportation, like the Metro. That’s why the Women’s Advancement Center has worked closely with Senators McKay and—”
There was a burst of noise from the top of the escalator and we all turned to look. Another group of teenagers, this time wearing dark blue shirts, flooded down the escalator in a gush of chatter and the flutter of miniskirts.
I noticed the lights in the floor of the platform near the edge of the track flicker on and off, a signal the train was arriving.
Ms. Archer snapped at the man holding her phone, “Tell them to keep it down. We’re recording,” but her voice was overpowered by a high-pitched shout from a girl in a blue T-shirt. “Here comes one. We can make it, if we hurry!”
The train sped into the station and a whoosh of air swept across the platform, stirring my hair as a scream rang out. I thought it was one of the teenagers horsing around, but then little waves of panic rippled across the platform.
People started shouting. Someone yelled, “Call 911.” Suddenly, we were pushed forward. “What happened? What’s wrong?” A few people pushed back, fighting against the surging tide. The noise level on the platform swelled. “An accident.”
I heard someone crying.
“…horrible…”
“Can you believe—”
The reporter disconnected the camera from the tripod, yanked the microphone off the other woman, and pushed into the fray.
A woman behind me said, “Oh God. I hope it’s not terrorism. Is there a bomb?”
The whole platform descended into chaos as the word “terrorism” was repeated. We all turned and ran for the escalators. Hands pushed at my back. I looked around for Abby, but didn’t see her. I was caught in the horde of people in the bottleneck at the foot of the escalator. The tide of people shoved forward and smashed me against the wall of the escalator. Trampled. I’m going to be trampled. The crowd surged again. The sense of fear permeated the air like the heavy stench of sweat. I’m going to be crushed.
“Wait! Calm down!” A man had jumped up on one of the benches. “Someone fell off the platform.” The crowd swirling around him slowed. The pressure against my back eased. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Slow down. No terrorism. Someone fell. It was just an accident.”
An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Trip
Travel planning
The Internet is a great place to start your research for a trip. Major cities usually have Web sites with extensive information. Some sites like TripAdvisor.com and IgoUgo.com have firsthand traveler reviews of hotels, restaurants, and tourist sights.
Chapter Two
Tuesday
“Ellie, have you seen my belt?” Mitch tossed the suitcase down and stomped to the closet.
I clicked off the morning news and snuggled farther into the luxurious layers of the bed. “You’re sure it’s not in the suitcase?”
“Yes,” Mitch said shortly and picked up our carry-on bag. “I know I packed it, but I can’t find it.” I cocked my head to the side and watched him as he patted the closet’s top shelf. It was so unlike him to be frantic. That was usually me.
“Well, there’s military bases everywhere around here. We’re not that far from the Pentagon. Couldn’t you buy one there?”
He slid the closet door closed with a thump. “You can’t just walk into the Pentagon. And I don’t even know if they have a uniform shop.”
“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be crabby. Pregnancy hormones and all that.”
That made him smile. “I’ve learned to never mention those words—or any variation of them. Sorry, I’m stressed.”
He looked different in his “blues,” a uniform with a light blue shirt and dark blue pants. He didn’t wear it too often because he was usually in a flight suit. “You look good,” I said. That distracted him from his search for a moment as he glanced at me and smiled slowly. That slow smile gets me every time.
A quick knock on the hotel door interrupted anything interesting that might have happened. “Mitch, are you coming down or not?”
I recognized Jeff’s voice and I said, “Why don’t you see if he’s got an extra belt?”
He did. Wardrobe crisis averted. Mitch returned with the belt, slipped it on, then shrugged into the dark blue jacket. He brushed at his shoulders and smoothed his hands down over the silver wings and lines of ribbons. Then he turned to me and leaned on the bed, squashing down the pillow with his elbow as he kissed me good-bye. “Love you. Be careful today. Don’t overdo.”
“I won’t. We’re just doing the American Indian museum and the natural history museum.”
He smiled. “Hey, don’t try and fool me. I know how you are with sightseeing. You think it’s an endurance sport. Kind of like you shop for purses. So take it easy.”
“You know I get my purses online.”
He tilted his head down and raised his eyebrows.
“Usually,” I amended.
“Right,” he said. “Like I said, just take it easy. You brought, what, four purses?”
“You know I only brought two.” I didn’t want to lug more suitcases around than we absolutely had to, so I’d pared my clothes down to a week’s worth of casual capri pants, shirts, and skorts. Actually, Abby had helped me pack. She’s the best at coordinating out-fits. I’d limited myself to two purses, my trusty mahogany Coach backpack purse, and my roomy Louis Vuitton Luco Tote.
“I know. I’m afraid you’re going to go into withdrawal,” Mitch said.
“Watch it,” I joked. “If you keep teasing me I might skip the sightseeing altogether and go shopping for a new bag instead.”
His tone turned serious when he said, “And watch out in the Metro.”
“I will. That was scary yesterday. Besides, today is my meeting day. MacInally at nine and Summer at four. She’s going to meet me at the natural history museum. We’ll come back here and get you, then head out to dinner. Sound good?”
“Yes, as long as she actually shows. You know Summer. She’s not good at follow-through.” He kissed me again and picked up his paperwork.
I sighed. “You always say that. Sure, she’s a little flighty, but I think she’s growing up. She’ll be there.”
Mitch laughed. “She’s never stood you up before, has she? We’ll see how you feel after that happens.”
I let it go. Sometimes your closest family members are the last to notice changes.
“Didn’t you want to call the squadron today? See if there’s any news on the move?”
Mitch checked his watch. “Too early. I’ll call them during the lunch break,” he said as he headed to the door.
I called out, “Don’t have too much fun in your class.”
“Yeah. My goal is not to snore.”
I stretched and grabbed the phone. My mom answered and put Livvy on right away. “Hi, Mommy.” Her voice came over the line squeaky, but upbeat.
“How are you?”
Long silence. “Okay.” Was she talking to me or my parents?
“Do you know that I miss you?” I asked. I didn’t want to start a crying bout, but I did want her to know that I missed her.
Her undistinguishable muffled answer could have been yes. Then she laughed, said bye-bye, and I heard a thump.
My mom’s voice came on the line. “She had to go. Barney’s on.”
“Have you ever watched Barney, Mom?”
“No.”
“You’re so lucky. Don’t start now. Get out of there before the music starts,” I said. I was only half joking.
My mom’s voice sounded slightly gleeful. “Livvy’s in charge of the TV and that means no sports.”
“Must be killing Dad. So, how are things going?”
“Fantastic. She’s fine. We’re fine. You have fun and don’t worry about us. We’re having a great time.”
I felt slightly depressed when I hung up. Livvy didn’t need me. She obviously got along great without me. When she was crying and clinging to me with a
death grip, I’d often wished she’d get over her separation anxiety, but now that she had, it was kind of sad. For me, anyway.
I put my hands on my stomach and closed my eyes. It was too early to feel the baby move, but it didn’t hurt to be quiet for a few minutes and see if I felt anything.
I waited as several minutes ticked off the clock. Nothing, except a few growls from my stomach. Maybe by the end of the week. I tossed back the fluffy duvet and went to the closet. No use wallowing in self-pity because Livvy was too busy to talk to me. I had to get up and have some fun. Everyone else was having fun, I might as well try and have some.
I rolled the closet door back and contemplated my clothes. Picking out clothes to wear when you’re pregnant is always an adventure. So far I was still able to wear most of my clothes, but sometimes it seemed that the baby grew overnight and what I could fit into one day was an absolute impossibility the next day.
An hour later, I sipped my orange juice and glanced toward the entry of the hotel restaurant again for a big guy with dark hair going gray and a blue-and-white-striped tie. I shifted on the bench and sighed, dreading the phone call I’d have to make if MacInally didn’t show. I’d give him thirty more minutes. Debbie would be crushed if he didn’t show up. I checked my phone again. No messages.
I grabbed a discarded newspaper from the next table. There was a small article on the local news page about the death in the Metro. The man had been an illegal immigrant who worked temporary jobs. His name was being withheld until family could be notified. I stared the grainy picture of a man with thick brows and dark hair.
He looked like the man who’d talked to Wellesley yesterday. Maybe he was one of her landscapers? I wondered if she’d known he was illegal.
