Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(22)

“Because paying for us would set a bad precedent,” Gil the pharmacist said. “You know? Not negotiating with terrorists?”

Roy snorted. “So they’re just going to let us starve? Or wait until they shoot us all?”

“Calm down,” I said. “Trying to figure out what they will or won’t do isn’t going to help.”

“Oh pardon me, but you’ve found something better to do than wonder if you’re going to get out of here alive? I got kids, you know? A wife. A job.”

“I’d hazard a guess that every person here has jobs, kids, and spouses,” Carol snapped.

“I have two little girls,” Sylvie said. She smiled through tears. “I can’t stop thinking about them. If I’m going to see them again.”

Tanya scooted closer to the dark-haired woman and put her arm around her. “You will. And I’m going to see my son again.” She forced a smile. “He’s seventeen. Probably been playing video games until he’s half-blind by now.”

The others talked about their families, their children, or spouses. I talked about my ailing father who was in a group home, and even about Callie a little bit. I hadn’t meant to, but realized I needed to. I felt so far away from her, talking about her was the only thing I could do to keep her close.

I noticed Alex stayed mostly silent. She mentioned her parents, and said she hoped they weren’t too overcome with worry, her dad in particular. But of her fiancé, Drew, she didn’t say a word.

Fast food arrived at what we assumed was dinnertime, but though she hadn’t eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours, Alex only picked at her share of the greasy burgers and fries. Mostly she sat with her hands in her lap, twisting a gigantic engagement ring around and around before slipping it into her jacket pocket.

“You’re not eating,” I said.

“That’s not really food.”

“It’s close enough.” I tried for a smile. Nothing. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head.

“Thinking about Drew?” Not that I wanted to know, but she looked upset and if she wanted to talk about it—or him—the least I could do was be there for her.

She glanced up at me sharply. “What? Uh, yeah…Yes. I am. He’s probably worried sick.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner, supportive, and so was alarmed to see her eyes fill with tears. How can you be surprised? I told myself. She’s away from him and surrounded by danger. I wanted to put my arm around her but thought that would be a pretty dick move if she were crying about another man. But she swiped the tears away before they could fall and huffed a breath.

“I never cry,” she said. “Never.”

“It’s understandable…”

“No,” she insisted. “It’s not a good reason, why I…I mean, I’m not crying because I’m scared or missing my friends or family, even though I feel both. I miss my parents, of course. My dad especially. I know he’s more worried than anyone. My mother is probably cool as can be, assuming everything will work out because she demands it to.” She gave a short, rueful laugh. “Life bends to Marilyn Gardener’s will. The monster squad will soon get the memo, I’m sure.”

I smiled, but said nothing. Just let her talk.

“My friends…” She shook her head. “We call ourselves the Posse. I don’t know who said it first. Probably Lilah. Of all of us, she’s the most likely to compare a bunch of women having expensive lunches to a gang of cowboys, and of course, the others didn’t get the irony. They just thought it was cute.

“Anyway, Antoinette’s our unofficial leader, of sorts. A queen bee. She’s probably jealous that something so extraordinary like this has happened to someone else. Unless I die in here and then she’ll wail the loudest at my funeral. That sounds like a horrible thing to say about a friend, but it’s true.”

I didn’t hear much after she mentioned her funeral. A mental image of a white casket topped with a burst of red flowers came to mind and I shivered. “Jesus, don’t say that. No one’s having a funeral.”

She smiled sadly, like a thank you, and said, “My friend Minnie is probably crying real tears of worry and condemning the barbarity of the city. Maybe writing a strongly worded letter to the mayor, while Rashida’s looking at it through her prism of pragmatism. When we get out of here, she’ll tell me to be thankful for surviving and not dwell on the unpleasantness.

“And Lilah…” She inhaled a tremulous breath. “My best friend. I miss her. And…”

And Drew. I waited for her to say his name next, to talk about how she missed him and loved him, that he was the reason she’d been crying. I braced myself. Instead, she gave me a half-smile and picked at a French fry. Just like that, conversation over.

Nothing happened for the rest of the evening, just small talk and few rounds of HangMan in which I tried to get Alex to laugh with “Frankie is a smelly little dickweed.”

And she did laugh until we both realized how dangerous it was if that smelly little dickweed saw the paper. Then her smile vanished for the rest of the night. I tore the paper to tiny shreds and added it to the fast food trash. I wished that the police would just storm the bank already, or that the monster squad would realize how backed against a wall they were and surrender.