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And as he smiled his response, the mic still caught between his front teeth, Mary thought, Please, don’t let the ropes catch on fire.
She didn’t want to look down to see how far they still were from the ground.
Tool Guy bit down on the metal necklace. “WILCO.”
There had been someone in his ear directing him.
“You’re going to feel my teammate reach for you,” he said.
A hand snaked around her waist and detached the carabiner that had held her and the man together. She wanted to fight against the release. Mary was afraid that they might save her and leave him. And that was unconscionable. Her eyes were frantic as she looked into the man’s. She should know his name. She should have asked.
“He’s got you,” Tool Guy reassured her. “You’re okay.”
Mary believed him, but still, she didn’t want to let go.
“Lean back into my arms. Release your legs,” the man behind her said.
After unknotting her ankles, her body hung long. Strong hands reached for one of her wrists, then the other, and Mary knew enough to turn her hands and grasp his wrists, as well.
Mary realized this guy was balanced on a teammate’s shoulders as she was passed down. It was something out of a circus act how they got her feet positioned on the sill.
“Hold onto my leg for balance,” the next man said. “Keep moving down. There’s help below.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but Mary walked her hands down the man’s leg to a crouch, then setting her butt on the ledge, she rolled herself over until the sill bit into the front of her hips, like a gymnast on the uneven bars. From there, she lowered herself until another set of hands wrapped her waist, scooped under her knees, and cradled her to his chest as he carried her over the sidewalk to the street where she was set down, away from the glass.
She looked up as her Tool Guy climbed down the stack of buddies.
Glancing around, she didn’t see the babies or the mother. A rescue worker approached her, and she just wanted to be alone. Wanted to get away from the smells and roar of fire that muffled words that she couldn’t understand. She waved her hand to tell him she was all right and he should go away.
And before anyone could press and insist, Mary turned and walked down the street in search of cooler, cleaner air.
She was surprised as hell to be alive.
That was going to take an adjustment. She realized that she had come to the conclusion up there that her birthday was also going to be her death day. She hadn’t expected to survive.
As people approached her with open hands and worried eyes, Mary shrugged them off. She was claustrophobic and didn’t want anyone or anything near her. The water that filled the gutters felt so soothing on her feet. Blissful and cool.
Walking down the block and another and finally, free of the crowd, Mary walked behind a delivery trailer and sat on the curb, where she hugged herself tight and let the tears flow. There were no sobs to go with it. No sounds. Just the cleansing release of tears.
Did the family even survive?
Mary felt the rough cement through her thin polyester panties, the ones with sparkly fireworks she’d found in the sale bin after the Fourth of July.
She’d have to go back and try to find her clothes eventually. Her phone was in her pocket.
Then she remembered Deidre. Her friend was probably done with her coffee and wondering what had happened to Mary. But Mary didn’t have the energy to care.
Right now, she just wanted to sit still until she could accept that she was okay.
And in her okay-ness, Mary was both horrified by what Mrs. V. sent her to do and immensely grateful.
Mary could feel Deidre being frantic. But she tucked her chin and rested her forehead on her knees. Deidre was going to have to wait. Mary needed another minute to still her limbs from their quivering. And test to see that her legs would hold her up.
The last time she had been this rubbery and exhausted, she had just pushed her second twin, Kaleb, out into the world and listened while he let out his first hearty yell.
She rested there with her arms wrapping her knees until she was startled out of her stupor by the poke of a cool, wet Malinois nose. The dog dropped her pants next to her; her shirt was shoved into one of her shoes. He circled around to sit at her back, looking in the direction he’d come from. Inch by inch, he shuffled over until her back was against him.
Mary felt like he was telling her to rest, that he was there to support her. She wrapped her arms around him and tucked in, rounding her forehead against his neck, and this time, she was able to cry out loud. It was a cathartic blubbery, sobbing kind of release.
