Written in the Scars(80)

Tears wet my lashes as I let that thought wash over me. “You’re a survivor,” I tell him. “You’ve made it through hell before. And I need you now more than ever.”

My hand goes to my belly and I fight the tears. “I have a surprise for you, Ty.”

I catch a sob before it escapes and I draw Lindsay’s attention. Right now, stressed to the max, the lights dim, my life on pause, I need this moment with my husband—real or not.

“You have so much to do here yet. I need you to fix the back door. I need you to make sure the furnace is still on. I need you to hold me,” I say, even my not-real voice breaking.

My body quakes with the tears that beg to spill, my back lifting off the brown fabric of the chair.

“Get my brother and get Cord and get out of there,” I beg. “Do you hear me?” I scream inside my head. “You can’t leave me here! Not again.”

A man’s voice makes me jump, nearly catapulting out of my chair. My lids fly open, only to see Vernon standing at the front of the room.

Lindsay gives me a strange look and I realize I must not have heard him knock.

“I just received an update from the mining board. We will begin boring into the hole within the hour,” he relays.

I glance at the clock. It’s nearly noon, Ty’s day off. “That’s fantastic!” I exclaim.

“It’s great news,” he says cautiously. “Just remember, this is not a guarantee.” He holds his hands out as Lindsay and I balk. “I don’t want to scare you, but I want you to be aware of the risks.”

“Which are?” Lindsay asks.

“We have flown in an expert in this kind of thing. He has designed plans to extract miners numerous times before, so we have reason to be optimistic. But you have to remember, we are battling Mother Nature. There are no guarantees.”

The room suddenly feels too small. The air too stale. The lights too fake.

I begin to pace, walking back and forth across the laminated floor. “I need to get out of here,” I say, stopping and looking at Vernon. “Can we get closer to the mine?”

“I can get you into a different room here, certainly. But we aren’t authorized to get any closer to the mine. And I strongly suggest not going outside, unless you want to give a statement to the press. They’re camped out, waiting for news, just like we are.”

My head tilts towards the ceiling and I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.

“I’ll work on getting a fan brought in. Maybe circulating the air will help?” he asks.

I watch him like he’s crazy. No, a fan won’t help. No, circulating the air won’t help.

Having my husband and going home will help.

He seems to sense my thoughts and backs towards the door. “We will do our best to update you before any news hits the media. They are outside filming. If you’d like to watch, I can bring in a television . . .”

Lindsay looks at me and I stare blankly at him. He leaves.





TY


Jiggs sits on top of a lump of coal, his head buried in his hands. Water laps at the tops of his boots, just like it does mine.

It leaks inside my boots, the bitter cold stinging my toes. Our teeth are chattering as we struggle to stay out of hypothermia. It’s been this way for a couple of hours now.

My spirits are falling, as much as I try to keep them up for all of us. I’m tired, cold, achy. And I have this overwhelming fear that’s taken root in my gut as my energy wanes that this isn’t going to end well. Every hour we’re down here increases the chances we won’t make it out. That’s why they suggested we write these letters. They know the odds.

Shivering, my heart as broken as the walls of this cavern, I look into the darkness. So many things I didn’t do, so many things I put off, so many things I took for granted because who would’ve thought this would’ve happened to me.

I look at my friends.

To us?

Cord takes the pen from me and rips a sheet of paper from the notepad the top sent down. I can see the paper wet as his damp fingers touch it.

A heaviness sits on us, silencing us all. Once they start boring, which they informed us will happen shortly, our contact with the outside world will cease. All attention will be put on the bore and the reservoir of water sitting on our heads, the same water that’s slowly filling the room.

“I’m done,” Cord says after a while. He folds the paper into quarters. He puts it in the baggie and when Jiggs and I don’t make an effort to drop ours into it, he crushes the opening with his hand and sighs.

“Just . . . give me a minute,” I eke out, watching the paper tremble in my hands.

If shit goes wrong, these will be my last words to my wife. To the love of my life. To the woman I would do anything for and love beyond measure. I wish I had more time to write this, more time to be able to find the words to tell her all the things I want her to know, to give her some sort of guidebook on how to do the things she doesn’t know how.

I look away into the darkness and blow out a breath, even the darkness a blur through my tears.

I love her. So damn much. And if I don’t make it out of here, I’m okay with that on my part. I mean, I hate I won’t get to experience life with her, but what will I know once I take my last breath? Nothing.

I hate it for her. For the pain she’ll go through, for having to recalibrate her life. I feel like I’ve let her down, and I just wish I could talk to her, face to face, one final time, and beg her to forgive me and tell her how much she means to me and hold her in my arms and . . .