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Miranda yanked on his arm, forcing him to slow and meet her gaze. “Of course, I’m coming with you. Of course.”
They continued on in silence.
Connor sucked in a breath as they neared what was left of the building. There were barriers set up, but around them were countless emergency vehicles and news vans with satellite dishes on top.
“Oh, this is terrible!” Miranda cried.
Connor couldn’t even vocalize that much.
He could tell himself what he was seeing was a scene from a disaster film. Maybe that way, he could create distance from the loss.
He shrugged. It wouldn’t work. What he saw in front of him was as painful as a sledgehammer to the face. And yet, he couldn’t look away.
“God,” he whimpered, maybe in shock, maybe in prayer.
The building had collapsed. Hishome, gone, just like that.
He grabbed Miranda’s hand. There was no getting around the barriers and through all the emergency personnel and news media. He led her across the street to the little park he never knew the name of—some guy, Thomas something? The green space was on a rise, and a quick walk to the top would give them a good view of all that had occurred.
At the top of the hill, with Aurora Avenue traffic whooshing behind them, they looked down.
How do you describe a loss so utterly devastating it breaks your heart and clutches your gut with an iron grip?
You don’t. Even when you make a living from words, sometimes they’re inadequate.
The condo building Connor had lived in for so many years was gone. In its place was a giant crater, rebar sticking up. The parking garage beneath the building was buried under rubble, ash, and mud. Connor assumed the cars within had been crushed. There was no trace of the swimming pool at the front of the building.
Everything had slid down over the bluff and onto Westlake Avenue.
Connor wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. But all he could manage was an awed silence. He felt almost a reverence for what nature could do, so quickly, brutally, and completely. In a weird way, he was impressed. All of this chaos and destruction probably took less than a minute to achieve.
He had a flash—when he’d first viewed the unit. It had been a spring day and the lake outside shimmered a deep blue. A seaplane skimmed across its surface, buzzing like a giant bee. To his left was the steampunk ruins that created Gas Works Park. Along its rises, people lay out, sunning themselves. Someone was flying a bright red kite.
He pushed the happy memory away because it hurt too much. That was when the worst cost of all hit him—his kind and friendly neighbors.
Had they all gotten out? Had anyone been hurt? Killed?
He thought of their faces, their smiles, their laughter, the gossip at the mailbox, the sharing of food and good cheer at the annual holiday party and summer pool bash. Where were they all now? There were only twelve units, and Connor knew everyone well. He also knew that many of them were elderly and that earthquakes and landslides could happen in the blink of an eye.
“I hope everyone got out. God, did they have enough warning? Enough time?”
Miranda simply stared at him, lower lip quivering and eyes filled with tears. She’d turned her back on the carnage, presumably because she couldn’t bear to look.
He’d find out if everyone survived soon enough. Even though he wasn’t much for prayer, he sent one up for his neighbors anyway.
The wreckage and its rubble contained more than just plaster, wood, concrete, metal, and glass. It held all of his memories. Times with Steve. Holidays and celebrations with Miranda. Lonely but productive hours at his computer, creating the worlds and the enigmas of Juanita and her sidekick, Boots.
Inside the condo was just about everything he owned, clothes, jewelry, furniture, artwork. Personal mementos. Photographs of Miranda growing up. A cookbook his grandmother had put together and had run off on a mimeograph machine as a Christmas present one year. His awards. His printed contracts. The translations and various editions of his stories that had come out over the years. His computer with his books, his current work-in-progress, and his ideas and plans for future stories.
He supposed the latter was safe in the cloud. But who knew? Who expected their world to be ripped away in an instant? As much as he tried to safeguard things, no one could adequately prepare for such total disaster.
He couldn’t blame Trey. Not for this.
Connor surprised himself—he hadn’t thought of the man nor his betrayal since they’d arrived in Seattle. Suddenly, although the threat of him was no less lethal, his mind was preoccupied by this loss. There simply wasn’t headspace for so much bad.
And Steve? Dear, sweet, precious Steve, whom he now knew—after he was gone—how much he loved him. What would he think of all this? Would he comfort Connor, sharing in the tragedy? Would the trauma of all this have brought them back together?
He took one more look at the disaster, still not believing it. “We should go back to the car. I’ll get us a room somewhere downtown, and we can start checking things out—insurance and the like.”
