by Jodi Picoult
Lucy felt her knees shaking so hard they knocked into each other. Get lost, she thought right back at him.
To her surprise, the ghost did exactly as she’d asked. He took two steps forward, one of which brought him directly through her, icing her bones and her blood so thoroughly that for a second she was still as these rocks surrounding her, and then he vanished.
Lucy smiled. She even laughed a little. She looked around, but there was nobody else haunting this pit. And sure enough, the tightness in her belly was gone. Slipping into their cave again, she sat down beside Ethan, who was banging the side of the EMF meter into the slab of granite. “Well,” he said, “this is a piece of crap.”
Lucy stared at him. “You didn’t see anything?”
“Nah, it was a false alarm.” He glanced up. “Why? Did you?”
“Yeah,” Lucy said with wonder, and she sat down to tell Ethan all about it.
Shelby had been saving up words for this: velutinous, sybaritic, hedonic, effulgent. She had imagined them painted across the ceiling—paroxysm, tumult, fillip, whet. Yet as Eli’s hands skimmed over her skin, as her nails dug into his back and urged him closer, Shelby found that she could not think at all.
His body was long and lean and sculpted, his touch as light as the promises he whispered. She followed his lead through the moment when she was certain she would not recall what to do or how to do it right, and by the time their limbs were tangled together, Shelby could not remember ever having doubts.
He kissed his way from her ankles up, calves and knees and thighs, until she was shaking for him to settle. When he did, when his mouth came over her, she arched into him and closed her eyes to see vistas of gold, glowing emeralds, scatters of rubies. They burned hotter, smaller, into quasars and novas and filled a universe. Eli moved as if he had all the time in the world. Then, just as she could not hold on any longer, he was suddenly above her, forcing her to look at him so that she would know exactly what road her life was heading down. “Where have you been?” Eli murmured, and he filled her.
Their bodies rocked at a fulcrum; their rhythm told a story. And at the moment they both let go, Shelby lost every word she’d ever learned except for one: Us.
When Eli fell asleep heavily in her arms, Shelby slipped out from beneath his weight and curled up against him. She tried to memorize the constellations of his freckles and the crooked line of the part in his hair. She smelled herself on his skin.
Something bit into the soft side of her thigh, and she shifted, trying to get comfortable. But whatever it was moved with her, and Shelby reached down between herself and Eli to grab a small, sharp item. She held it up to the pink sliver of daylight that fell diagonally across the covers and frowned. This particular setting, this combination of stones, was all too familiar.
“Hey.” Eli reached for her.
“Hey yourself,” Shelby said against his lips, forgetting everything but Eli as she dropped the diamond solitaire Ross had once given to Aimee, and then lost months ago in a room at her own house.
It was the prettiest thing Ethan had ever seen—the thin pinks and creeping salmons, the rosy flush that swallowed the stars, the line where the night became the day. Ethan wanted the dawn to happen all over again, right now, even if it meant that he would be another day older and closer to dying.
Lucy had still been asleep when Ethan crept onto the ledge. He sat cross-legged, his arms held out in front of him, each degree that the sun hiked in the sky causing another blister to rise on his skin.
But, God, it was worth it. To witness the arrival of the morning, without a pane of glass between him and it. To feel a sunrise, instead of just to see it.
His left arm was an angry red now, itching like crazy. Lucy came up beside him, yawning, and then looked down at his arm. “Ethan!”
“It’s no big deal.” Yet it was. Anyone could see. Suddenly something glinting on the bottom of the quarry caught his eye. A silver button—or buckle, maybe. It was a baseball cap, and when Ethan leaned over the edge of the granite ledge he could make out the writing on it. “That’s weird,” he said. But before he could point out to Lucy what he believed to be his uncle’s cap, it exploded before his eyes.
Like every other morning when Angel Quarry blasted for granite, the computers set off the first explosion of dynamite, pausing to let the rock settle for minutes before the next charge was detonated. Boulders flew and fine particles rose in a mushroom cloud; rock dust blanketed the roof of Ross’s car. In the wake of the first blast, the second one rang out. One spike of granite smashed into the windshield, shattering it. “Oh, God,” Meredith cried, and she opened the car door while Ross was still driving, stumbling out and breaking into a dead run toward the quarry where her daughter might be.
Great slabs of granite fell like dominoes, knocking other pillars of stone from their pedestals and sending up such a thick cloud of silver grit that Meredith couldn’t see two feet in front of her, much less into the base of the quarry. Ross came running up to her. “I can’t find Az,” he said. “I don’t know how to stop it.”
She was breathing in rock; she was covered with residue. Meredith hooked her fingers into the chain-link fence. “Lucy!” she yelled. “Lucy!”
The only answer was another round of bombardment, a one-sided war. The roar of rending stone was even louder than the blasts of dynamite, and rang in Meredith’s ears. Then there seemed to be a détente, several long seconds of absolute silence, punctuated by the gravel avalanche of shifting granite.
Another person might not have heard it—the small gasp that preceded a sob—but Meredith would have been able to pick that sound out in the middle of a holocaust. “Lucy,” she whispered, and she strained to see some evidence that her ears had not deceived her. She found it, huddling on a stone ledge—the thinnest flash of color through the haze, a magenta stripe of Lucy’s T-shirt that hadn’t been covered with gray powder. Meredith leaped onto the fence and began to climb.
“Meredith!”
She heard Ross’s voice, before he simply stopped in mid-sentence and started after her. There was every chance that the dynamite hadn’t run its course yet, that this was a lull to let things settle. Meredith could have cared less. She set her sights on Ethan and Lucy, down in the pit and five hundred yards away, and started her descent down a ladder drilled into the quarry wall.
At the bottom, she hesitated, daunted by fallen stone obelisks six times taller than she was. Determined, she scaled the first one and began to chart a course, the shortest distance between herself and her daughter. The rock scraped up her palms, and her own blood made it harder to grab hold. She slid down hard on one ankle and cried out, and at that moment Lucy caught a glimpse of her. “Mommy!” she heard, that and crying, and she forced herself another fifty feet forward.
A horn went off, three long blasts. “Get back,” Meredith yelled, urging them into the hollow of the cave they’d found. She covered her head, as if that might make a difference, just as the charge went off on the other side of the pit. The explosion was far enough away from where she huddled, but reverberations made the ground shake beneath her hands and feet. She felt the stone slide beneath her, her slick fingers scrabble for purchase, and then she was falling and landing all wrong, her bad leg brittle as a twig, as it snapped beneath the weight of the granite plate that pinned her.
Not again.
Ross saw the dynamite burst in slow motion; he heard the scrape and drag of rubble reshifting and it echoed in his ears with his own racing pulse. He could not speed up time; he could not make his arms and legs move fast enough. The entire world was being blown to bits around him and he was hypersensitive— the blasts louder, the explosions more brilliant— yet even in this cataclysm, Ethan’s cry for help rang clear above everything else.
Ross was not aware of the unstable ground, the oncoming detonations, the sheer odds of getting across safely to the other side of the quarry pit. All he knew was that he would not let someone he loved die, again. That Ross was
the only person who could save him. That this was what had to be done.
That history was not going to repeat itself.
By the time he reached Meredith, his calves were shredded to ribbons from the jagged granite. Blood ran down the side of his face where one flying shard had cut his temple. She was trapped beneath a shelf of rock as large as a grown man. “The kids,” she gasped, and he nodded at her.
He jammed his boot into a fissure between two stones, stretched out with his hands, and then hauled himself forward.
Again, and again. Sometimes the rocks would move beneath his feet or his hand would slip; from the bottom of the rubble Ross got up and kept inching forward. He kept his eyes on Ethan and Lucy, standing on that ledge behind a screen of dust, waiting for him.
The two leaning blocks that had formed a shelter for Lucy and Ethan suddenly collapsed. Lucy screamed and stepped as far out onto the ledge as she could. “Hurry,” she cried. “Please!”
After a thousand years, or maybe a heartbeat, Ross reached the base of the crumbling hill. He stretched for a handhold, and wedged his boot against the rubble, and started to climb. One hand over the other. One foot at a time. When he lifted his head, he could see the toes of Ethan’s black sneakers.
A blast thundered behind his back, and then Ross was falling along with the wall he’d been trying to scale. He rolled to the left, a guess, and covered his head as rocks rained down in five-foot square cubes. Lucy’s sobbing was louder now, and he could hear both Ethan and Meredith yelling his name. He stood up, wildly looking around to see how much damage had been done.
The ledge where Ethan and Lucy had been was still standing. But between it and the rock where he now stood was a chasm. A space six feet across and fifteen feet deep ran the length of the quarry, isolating the children on an island of stone.
Ross looked in both directions, and then into the new, vaulted pit. Its steep walls had been cut along the grain of the granite, a sheer drop. The only other way around was to cross all the way along the fissure to the southern edge of the quarry, scale the walls to the guardrail, and climb back in on the far side of the gap. “Listen to me,” Ross yelled across. “You’re going to have to jump.”
Meredith had seen the whole thing—Ross’s amazing progress across the devastated wreckage, his careful climb up toward Lucy and Ethan, the terrifying moment when the very mountain he was on deteriorated under his feet. When he disappeared out of her line of sight, she screamed for him, trying to turn so that she could locate him and setting off a wave of pain in her leg that nearly rendered her unconscious. Fighting to stay alert, she’d watched the ripple effect as a canyon split the bottom of the quarry in half, with the children on the other side.
It would be impossible for Ross to get all the way to the quarry wall and climb out, not before another explosion hit. He was right—the only way to save Lucy and Ethan was to catch them, once they leaped. Ethan would do what his uncle had asked. But Lucy—well, Lucy wouldn’t jump. That required a depth of bravery that her daughter had never possessed.
Tears came to Meredith’s eyes. “Lucy,” she yelled, “do it!”
They would die here, she and Lucy, buried by the rubble. She wished for courage, something that she might wing to her daughter. And just as she was thinking about fearlessness and taking flight, Meredith saw Lucy take a step back, run for all she was worth, and soar into the air.
She landed hard in Ross’s arms, knocking them both down; and on the side of safety now, she did not seem capable of letting go of him. Delighted, amazed—he hadn’t expected her to jump, not before seeing Ethan make it to the other side—Ross kissed her forehead. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair as she sobbed against his shoulder. “You’re all right now.” He peeled the little girl away from him. “I need to get Ethan, okay?”
“Okay,” Lucy sniffed. She wrapped her arms around her knees and ducked her head, still shaking.
Ross stood up again, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Ethan, I won’t let you fall.” He watched his nephew nod, race as fast as he could to the edge, and jump.
Ethan was Superman, and he was flying, and nothing— nothing—could stop him from saving the world, or at least himself. With his eyes closed he didn’t have to look at how far away it was where Uncle Ross was standing, or at the broken-toothed rocks that were just waiting at the bottom of the pit. He stretched the tips of his fingers as far forward as they could go, and he chanted silently in his mind: I am a bird; I am a plane; I am already there.
When his fingers brushed something solid, he blinked right away and found himself hurtling into his uncle’s embrace. He grabbed on tight and that was when the tears came, so quick and thick he couldn’t even speak. His feet slid down Ross’s legs, planting themselves firmly on the ground.
“You,” Uncle Ross gasped, “are punished.”
And that was when the ground disappeared beneath them.
Ross felt them skidding down the slope into the crevasse, and he turned his body at the bottom so that he would bear the brunt of the fall. Ethan landed hard on top of him, and rocks dug into his legs and back. “Get up,” Ross said, hauling his nephew to his feet. “Are you all right?”
Ethan couldn’t find words, but he nodded. Ross looked up. “Lucy!” he cried. “Where are you?”
A tiny white face appeared at the edge of the cliff overhead. Tears striped through the dust on her cheeks. Ross looked at the precipitous wall of rock—there were some spots where he could find holds to climb up, but he would never make it carrying Ethan. And Lucy wasn’t strong enough to haul them up together.
“Ethan, I’m going to need you to help me,” Ross said.
“I’m going to put you on my shoulders, and you’re going to have to climb up to the top by yourself. Lucy!” he yelled. “I need you to grab hold of Ethan when he gets close, all right?”
He waited for her to answer, but she didn’t. From where he stood, he could no longer even see where Lucy was. But if they waited, another explosion might go off. Another opportunity to climb could be lost. “Come on,” he said to Ethan, crouching down so that the boy could scramble onto his shoulders. “By the time you get to the top, she’ll be there.”
Lucy was shaking so hard she could not catch her breath. She had seen the world turn inside out—the dawn go gray, the solid ground vanish, her mother trapped. Ross and Ethan were stuck in the bottom of that hole, and she was up here, and nothing was the way it should be. She covered her head with her arms, wishing she could make it all go away. It had worked before, after all—when you didn’t want to see what was before your eyes, you simply had to keep them shut.
“Lucy!” That was Ross’s voice. He wanted her to help Ethan up. But that would mean moving to the edge of that cliff, the one whose last edge had collapsed. And Lucy could not bring herself to do it.
“Hey!” Ethan’s hand popped up over the lip of the chasm. “Hey, Lucy, where are you? Uncle Ross, she’s not coming!”
“Lucy!”
Lucy held her hands up to her ears. They would go away, all this would go away, and when she woke up she would be in her bed at home and the sun would be streaming through the windows and she wouldn’t have to worry about ghosts.
She didn’t have to worry about ghosts, though, not anymore. Lucy looked up, brought her hands to her side. Being brave didn’t mean that you weren’t scared out of your wits. You were—the whole time—but you just kept on doing what you had to.
She started to crawl to the edge of the cliff again, stopping only once when a little chunk of pebbles slid from beneath her palm into the ravine. Swallowing hard, she peered over the rim and saw Ethan, just a few feet beneath her, clinging to the rock wall like a spider.
Lucy lay down on her belly and pressed her cheek against the rock. Then she stretched out her right hand, the one that was closest to Ethan. She felt his fingers brush against hers, and then grab tight, a key to a lock.
Because she couldn’t lift his weight, she made herself
an anchor. He inched his way up her arm, grasping onto her shoulder and then hitching himself over the edge.
They stared at each other, panting, breathing in each other’s air. “Lucy,” Ethan said, his voice so husky that it was easy to imagine the man he might never become.
She managed a tiny smile. “What took you so long?” she whispered.
Ross carried Lucy on his back, and guided Ethan footstep by footstep, as he carefully picked a path through the wreckage to the ladder on the other side of the quarry. Several times, he had to change his course as another distant explosion led to a rearrangement of the rocky landscape. It never occurred to him that they would not make it, and that alone was enough to propel him forward.
At the rusty ladder, he set Lucy on the rungs and told her to climb. Ethan went up behind her. “Call 911,” Ross instructed. “Break into the office if you have to.”
Ethan nodded. “Aren’t you coming?”
Ross looked over his shoulder. “Not yet,” he said, and he squeezed Ethan’s calf. “Go.”
Then he crawled back the way he had come, frantically searching for the large tablet that had pinned Meredith. He hadn’t heard her screaming for some time—either because she hadn’t been, or because he’d been too busy to listen. By now there were many broad plates of granite scattered in the quarry; it was difficult to remember exactly where she had been. He crested a small rise of stone and saw Meredith’s arm.
“Meredith!” he called, and she shook herself awake.
“Lucy?”
“Is fine. She’s out.”
She could not see it, but her leg was bent back at a grotesque angle from her body. The large slab that had her pinned at the thigh was twice as wide as Ross, and as thick as his arm. To free her, he would need a smaller rock to make a lever, lift the slab, and drag Meredith away before the makeshift jack collapsed. Then he would have to immobilize her leg enough to carry her on his back across the rubble, like he had done with Lucy. “Go get help, Ross,” Meredith said, crying.
