All We Can Do Is Wait(47)

But all that was wasted energy, Alexa knew. She needed to be active, to take care of things that could be taken care of here in all this chaos. She’d find Mary Oakes, or some more helpful doctor, and she’d demand something, some kind of answer. A timeline, a theory, whatever. Someone had to know where her parents were by now. It had been hours, and as Alexa looked around the waiting room, she saw that there was only a handful of people left. Little groups huddling together, a few lone people looking frayed and shell-shocked. These are the people who are going to get the worst news, she thought, knowing that meant she was one of those people. So. What could she do? How could she keep her world from spinning entirely out of control?

Her family. She should call them. Her aunt Ginny in Connecticut. Maybe Ginny and her second husband, Henry, could drive up. Wouldn’t Alexa and Jason need some adults around? She wondered if Ginny already knew, but then, how would she know? Someone would have to call her. Alexa would.

She’d also have to track down her mother’s brother, Paul, who lived in London and didn’t speak to the family anymore. There had been some big fight, years ago, back when Jason was a baby, and Linda only occasionally mentioned her brother, little memories from the house in Wellfleet from when they’d been kids. “Paul used to . . .” Like he was dead. But he wasn’t. He was just across the ocean, living with his partner—Nikhil, Alexa remembered, from a Christmas card the Elsings had received one year, a photo of a tall thin man, her uncle, standing with a handsome younger man, Indian or Pakistani maybe, the Tower Bridge proud and gray behind them. Alexa would find them and they’d get on a plane and then there would be at least some semblance of family around them.

She’d need to tell school, too. Of course, they knew something. They’d seen her tear out of the building earlier that day. It was so strange that it had all been the same day. That just hours before, Alexa had been living a relatively normal life—a sad one, but still, mostly normal. And now here she was, thinking about calling another country to tell a family member she’d never spoken to that . . . what? Her parents were dead? She didn’t know that for sure, there was still some bit of hope left. Maybe she should wait. Maybe it was hasty to call anyone when there wasn’t any concrete news.

But the idea of waiting more made Alexa feel crazy. She needed to do something, to feel some sense of movement, of progress, even if it was toward a scary future.

She got her phone out, checking Twitter and e-mail for updates. To her surprise, there were already some victims named, with photos. A thirty-year-old mother of two from Saugus. A retired piano teacher and her husband. A whole family from Maine. The Boston Globe said the death toll was at thirty-two. How many people had Alexa seen brought into the hospital? A few dozen? More? She couldn’t remember, it had been such a blur. She should have counted.

She read more. There were some high school students, from Newton, who were missing. Alexa realized that must be Scott’s girlfriend and her friends. There was no news beyond that, that they were missing and thought to have been on the bridge when it snapped and crumbled. Alexa had seen the semi photo, the one Scott had shown her, and now, on Twitter, there were more pictures, posted by friends, saying “Pray for Aimee,” all showing a smiling blonde, sometimes in costume from a play, one on the beach, another of a big group at a restaurant. Scott wasn’t in any of them, but maybe he was the kind of guy who didn’t like to pose for pictures.

Alexa felt nosy, peering in on this missing girl’s life, so she closed Twitter. Poor Aimee. Poor Scott. She turned and saw him, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, lost in thought. She went over to him, touched his shoulder. He looked up, smiled, his cheeks making big, friendly creases when he did.

“Hey!”

“Hey. You doing O.K.?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah . . . just thinking.”

“Have you heard from Aimee’s parents?”

“Uh, no, they’re . . . on their way, I guess. I think they work kinda far away, so it takes a while to get downtown.”

Alexa nodded, wanting to help Scott in some way, to distract him or comfort him—so she could distract and, maybe, comfort herself too.

“You want to go for a walk?”

Scott looked confused. “Where? Like outside?”

Alexa shrugged. “No, like, just around the hospital, I guess. I think there’s a chapel somewhere. We could go find that.”

Scott hesitated. “Oh, I’m not, like, religious or anything. I mean, my parents are Catholic, but only on Christmas and Easter, really.”

“I’m not either. We don’t have to pray there or anything. It’s just a change of scenery.”

So they went, asking one of the nurses where the chapel was. She nodded seriously, saying, “Of course,” and pointed them in the right direction. They had to go up a few floors, the elevator slow and creaking. Standing next to them, in a surreal contrast to the despair and grimness of the waiting room, was a pregnant woman, hand on her belly, looking serene and optimistic as she watched the floors pass.

Scott and Alexa got off on the third floor, walked down a few strangely quiet hallways, and there it was, an unremarkable door with a sign saying “Chapel.” Inside, the room was decorated in stained glass, the lights far dimmer than the hallway, a few rows of chairs set up. There was no cross or Star of David or any particular iconography. Just a sense of hush and peace and solemnity. It actually was calming, Alexa realized, to be in a place specifically designed for comfort and reflection.