Chapter 14 #2
A wooden pallet stacked with cases of bottled water sat on the concrete pad.
I walked over, grabbed the plastic wrapping on the top case, and hoisted it into my arms. The weight was significant. My muscles burned. The healing blisters on my palms ground painfully against the packaging.
I welcomed the burn. I needed the physical pain to drown out the emotional static in my head.
I carried the case down the hallway, pushed back into the noisy gymnasium, and dropped it next to the registration table. I ripped the plastic open with my fingernails and started handing bottles to the thirsty people crowding the area.
Then I turned around and went back to the loading dock for another case.
I hauled water until my arms shook. I hauled water until sweat plastered my cotton shirt to my spine and my breathing turned ragged. I hauled water because it gave me a singular purpose.
I made trip after trip down that hallway.
I didn't stop to rest. I hauled cases for the elderly couple missing their medication. I hauled cases for the terrified tourists. I hauled cases for the tired volunteers. Every time my brain tried to drift back to the penthouse, every time a memory of Reid’s voice threatened to surface, I just picked up another case of water and forced my legs to move.
On my tenth trip back to the loading dock, my grip faltered.
The plastic casing slipped from my sweaty hands. The case hit the concrete floor with a crack, splitting open and sending bottles rolling in every direction across the dock.
I dropped to my knees to gather them up.
My fingers brushed against the plastic of a bottle. A wave of exhaustion finally pinned me to the ground.
I knelt on the concrete, hidden away from the chaos of the gymnasium, and let out a jagged breath. My arms felt like lead. My hands were raw and aching. The physical exertion finally caught up with the emotional devastation.
I stared at the scattered water bottles, my vision blurring again.
I had spent years trying to be the perfect corporate wife.
I had hosted the dinners. I had smiled at the investors.
I had kept the penthouse clean and quiet so Reid could focus on his empire.
I had poured all my energy into supporting a man who ultimately viewed me as an expendable asset.
I had twisted myself into knots trying to fit into the margins of his schedule.
And the very moment I had needed him to show up for our marriage, he had sent Victoria Albright to buy a necklace.
I gathered the bottles, tossing them back into the cardboard tray with angry movements. Then, I picked up the damaged case and stood up. I carried the water back into the gym, dropped it at the table, and picked up my clipboard.
"Next," I called out to the crowd.
I spent the rest of the evening working.
I registered evacuees until my handwriting degraded into an illegible scrawl.
I directed traffic, handed out supplies, and answered the same frantic questions a hundred times over.
I walked through the aisles of cots, offering water to people who couldn't sleep, holding the hands of frightened older residents, and assuring tourists that the county was doing everything it could.
I moved through the gymnasium fueled entirely by the stubborn refusal to break down in public.
When the sun finally set, it brought no relief. The high windows of the school glowed with an eerie orange light. The fire was growing, eating its way across the island. The smell of smoke in the gym grew thicker. It was a constant reminder of what was happening outside the cinderblock walls.
I walked away from the registration table and headed back toward my cot near the bleachers. The noise in the gym had settled into an anxious murmur as people tried to sleep on the canvas beds. Flashlights and phone screens created small pockets of illumination in the dim room.
I lay down on the thin canvas, pulling a scratchy wool blanket over my shoulders. The smell of smoke was inescapable. It clung to my clothes, my hair, and my skin.
I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. My mind raced, tracking the fire moving across the island, wondering if it had reached the bluff yet. I pictured the flames licking up the whitewashed brick of the lighthouse. I wondered if the heat was shattering the glass of the lantern room.
I pictured the penthouse in Seattle. I pictured the quiet living room and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay.
I wondered if Reid was sitting there right now, drinking his expensive scotch, analyzing the financial fallout of my departure.
I wondered if he even realized the island was burning.
I wondered if he was checking his watch, calculating how long it would take for me to calm down and come crawling back to the city.
I turned onto my side, facing the dark space under the bleachers. My hands throbbed. My legs ached. My throat was raw from the smoke. But as I lay in the dark gymnasium surrounded by hundreds of displaced strangers, my mind was finally quiet.
I had survived the evacuation. I had survived the day. Tomorrow would be another day and I would somehow survive that, too.