“Till today,” says Bo.
“Till today,” Hope agrees.
“You’ve initiated contact?” he asks.
“I tried,” she says. She fills him in on the police’s attempt to enter the building, on her ignored call. “I was just thinking about what to do next when you arrived.”
“And what did you decide?” he asks. She is surprised, and grateful, that he doesn’t assert his opinion.
She does not tell him she was torn about what to do. She just says what comes to her mind in the moment. “I thought I’d try again,” she says. “Try to get him to respond, or maybe try the hostages directly if he won’t.”
Bo nods once, his large head dipping down and back up again. When he looks her in the eyes, Hope feels like the pupil who got the right answer in front of the whole class. “Then let’s get to work,” he says. He points at the post office, and they both take it in for a moment.
Those poor women, she thinks.Trapped like that.
“We need to get them out of there,” he says, an authentic tone of concern in his voice.
“Yes,” she agrees. “We do.”
Chapter 17
When Sylvie falls, it is Morrow who moves toward her instead of freezing like the others in the room do.This is motherhood, she thinks,this instinct.She did not use to have it. It showed up with her children. With the arrival of her son, then several years later, her daughter, she came to understand why mothers fought wild animals, faced off villains, lifted whole cars to save their children. It starts with your child, then extends to the world. This kindness, this love, this grace that comes with opening your heart as wide as motherhood does. No one child—or children—can hold it all. So you give it away any chance you get, knowing it is a renewable resource. At least it has been that way for Morrow.
Her fall happens so fast, so unexpectedly. One minute Sylvie is leaving the window in spite of Tommy’s protests. The next she is pitching forward, her arms scrambling for something to hold on to as she goes down. Morrow rushes to her side. “Are you okay?” she asks as she kneels beside her. Sylvie nods, momentarily confused as she focuses on Morrow’s face. Morrow sees that she hit her forearm on the edge of the stool as she grasped for it. She will have a bruise.
The phone rings, a shrill burst of sound that startles them all. But everyone is focused on Sylvie, so no one moves to get it, and then the ringing stops. Gingerly, Morrow helps her to her feet and rights the stool so she can sit. “I—I—” Sylvie tries to speak.
“Yes?” Morrow prompts her. She sees that Sylvie is gesturing at the fruit basket the woman dropped when she ran out of the post office. Apples and oranges lie scattered about on the tile. There is a package of cheese crackers and a package of peanuts and other things besides that still inside the basket.
“Are you hungry?” she asks Sylvie.
“Hypoglycemia,” Sylvie manages to say, looking ashamed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“What’d she say?” Tommy asks, the concern plain on his face.He should be concerned, Morrow thinks. He has further victimized an elderly woman.
“She said she has hypoglycemia,” Morrow tells him, her voice clipped.
Tommy looks confused by this. He turns to Nadine. “Is that like that dog your sister got?”
Nadine’s laugh in response to his question is more like a jeer. “That’s hypoallergenic, Tommy,” she says. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
Morrow sees Tommy bristle at her reaction and hurries to cover over Nadine’s derision. “Hypoglycemia is a condition where your blood sugar drops, and it can make you quite weak,” she tells the room, as if Tommy isn’t the only one who might not know what hypoglycemia is.
She pats Sylvie’s shoulder. “My daughter had it when she was little.” She gestures at the contents of the spilled basket. “You just need some food, and you should be right as rain,” she tells her.
Blythe makes herself useful, hurrying over to the food items, grabbing an apple, an orange, and the package of peanuts, then running back over to Morrow and Sylvie. She thrusts it all in Sylvie’s direction, as if to ask,Will this work?and Morrow smiles at her effort, then takes the package of peanuts and tears it open before handing it over. When Sylvie accepts it, her hand is shaking.
Nadine goes over to the basket as well, crouching to paw through it as Tommy intently keeps his eyes on her. Not for the first time, Morrow wishes he would let the customers go, since it is clearly Nadine he is here for. He couldn’t care less about the rest of them. So why keep them here? Morrow does not understand.
Nadine shrugs and stands up. “I was hoping there was a bottle of water in there. Might be good for her to have something to drink too.”
Morrow remembers the bottle of water in her tote. “I’ve actually got one,” she says and stands to go and retrieve it. She reaches inside and paws around, pretending to look for her water as she sneaks a peek at her phone. Nothing from Maya.
She pulls out the water bottle and takes it over to Sylvie, who is already looking a little less peaked. Sylvie takes it, looking grateful but still ashamed. Ashamed, Morrow knows, of falling, of being weak, of needing. Morrow would feel the same if it were her.In a few years, Morrow thinks,I will be you.She can’t believe how quickly she has already become a woman in her fifties. Time just keeps moving, faster and faster.
Sylvie finishes the small pack of peanuts, then tries to get off the stool to throw away the wrapper, but Morrow stops her. “I’ll do it,” she says.
“Thank you,” Sylvie says, her voice a bit stronger now.
