Chapter 20
As Tommy directs them out the door and into the vestibule, Morrow falls into step beside Nadine, thanking her as they head
for the bathroom. “I’m so glad you asked for this. I’ve had to go for the past hour, but I was afraid to say anything,” she
says. “Funny how something as simple as going to the bathroom can feel like a luxury.”
Nadine thinks about what Morrow has said, how when something you once took for granted is taken away, you’re that much more
grateful for it when it is restored to you. She looks over at Tommy and thinks of all the things they took for granted, things
that will never be restored to them, especially now. She thinks of what they would be doing if things were different. Probably
planning one of their “Sunday Fundays” for the coming weekend, heading to the beach with sub sandwiches from Publix and a
cooler of cold drinks to spend the afternoon listening to Jimmy Buffett or Morgan Wallen while lying in the sun. Though nothing
particularly special, those were her favorite days. They were happy once; she remembers this fact whether she wants to or
not. They did love each other. Which makes what’s become of them even harder to accept.
Ahead of Nadine and Morrow, Sylvie walks beside Tommy, who isn’t keen on the idea of taking them to the bathroom.
He hasn’t said so, but Sylvie is betting he’s probably worried about losing control once they are out from behind the barricade.
Still, they could all use a bathroom break.
They’ve been inside that room for hours.
And so, like a kindergarten class with the meanest teacher in the world, they shuffle their way out into the vestibule. They
pass the dropped hot dog, and Sylvie wonders if she should get some paper towels in the bathroom to clean it up but then rethinks
it. Tommy did pull a gun on the two women who came in. Sylvie recalls the women’s terrified faces, the way they ran for their
lives. Oh, how she wishes she could’ve joined them.
Tommy gives orders as they near the door to the ladies’ restroom, embracing his authority. “You go in there, you do your business,
and you don’t dawdle,” he says. “I’ll be waiting out here, and if you don’t come out in a reasonable amount of time, I won’t
hesitate to come in there.”
“Tommy,” says Nadine, with that past-tense way of saying his name that says she’s done with him, only he doesn’t seem to notice.
“There’s no exit out of this bathroom,” Nadine continues. “Just a little window not a one of us could fit through. We have
no choice but to come out.”
Tommy attempts a look that Sylvie supposes means he is not to be trifled with. “All right, then,” he says. “Go on.” He makes
a little shooing motion with his hand.
Released, they hurry behind the bathroom door, each of them stopping as the door closes between them and their captor. No
one goes into the stalls. Instead, they just look at one another, knowing this is their chance to communicate apart from Tommy.
But to say what? No one seems to know the right words for a moment like this one.
Then Sylvie reaches out her hands, grasping Nadine’s on her left and Blythe’s on her right. Nadine looks over at Sylvie, then reaches out her free hand to grasp Morrow’s. Blythe does the same. They cluster in a tight circle and hang on to one another.
“We will get through this,” says Sylvie. She makes eye contact with the other three women as, one by one, they each nod. Sylvie
adds, “Amen.” Then they let go and take turns in the stalls before convening again at the sinks to wash their hands.
When Morrow goes to open the door, Nadine stops her. “One more thing,” she says, keeping her voice low. She reaches into her
pocket and reveals a set of keys.
“But you just—you gave those to him?” Blythe says, her mind struggling to catch up with what she sees.
“There’re two sets,” Nadine says. “But he doesn’t know that.” A little smile crosses her face. “One thing about Tommy. If
he gets bored and sits still long enough, especially after he’s been drinking, he’ll pass out. And when he does, he sleeps
hard. If that happens, I can quietly go to the door, turn the lock, and we can run.” She raises her eyebrows for confirmation. They all nod just as Tommy hollers in to ask what’s taking so long.
Nadine calls out that they’re just finishing up, promising they’ll be right out. “When I make a move, you guys be ready.”
They all nod again, absorbing this bit of hope. It might be a flimsy plan, but it’s more than they’ve had before.
When they exit the bathroom, Tommy is zipping up his fly and tucking in his shirt. “I had to go too,” he tells them and grins
as he juts his chin in the direction of a potted ficus near the entryway.
“That poor tree,” Morrow mumbles as they make their way back into the post office.
When they get inside, Tommy makes a big show of locking the door. With his back turned, they exchange cautious, brief smiles. Tommy moves to the center of their circle and jingles the keys at them like some sort of threat. He is their captor, their jailer, he thinks. But not for long.
The besieged women return to the stools and resume their seats as Tommy checks on the scene outside the windows, still keeping
his distance. Blythe sees him casting about for something to do, nervous energy wafting off him. He is jittery, vibrating.
He wanders over to the counter and paces the length of it, then goes behind it and walks the length of the other side. Then
he just stands there, pawing around with his hands along the counter, agitated and purposeless.
Tommy’s restlessness reminds her of Bryan, the guy she was texting this morning, who is the reason she is here. He’d been
restless too, never able to relax. If he sat down, he’d only last a few minutes before popping back up and roaming around,
looking for what that next thing might be. One day he’d up and decided the next thing would be law school. And then he’d gone
without her.
He’d broken her heart, leaving her to wonder what she’d done wrong. They’d talked of marriage. They’d even gotten Murphy together,
a rescue they’d both adored. That he’d left Murphy behind as well was a small consolation. After he was gone, she’d cried
many tears into Murphy’s fur, stroking the velvety softness of his ear as she posed questions aloud for which there were no
answers.
She doesn’t know how she would’ve gotten through that time without Murphy. And without her gran, who’d invited her here to
Sunset Beach to live. “Change your view, change your life,” her gran had said. Blythe had done both, and her gran had been
right. She thinks again of the question her mother posed last night: “Do you ever hear from Bryan?” She should’ve said no, not let on to her about the messages between them on Instagram that had quickly led to texting.
But the wine had done its work, loosening her lips and making her hope that her mother could be the mother she needed rather than the mother she has always been.
It was no secret that Bryan had been her mother’s pick for her daughter. When marriage was mentioned, she’d taken them both
out to dinner and promised them the wedding of their dreams. “No holds barred,” she’d said. “Anything you guys want.” In hindsight,
it was probably that dinner that sent Bryan running off to law school, but she would never say that to her mother. Though
Blythe had eventually moved on—hence the engagement dinner at Aaron’s house the night before—her mother never got over the
breakup with Bryan. Last night was proof she still held out hope that they would get back together, that Blythe would marry
someone more “suitable.”
Blythe sees Tommy suddenly squat behind the counter, his face disappearing into the area where her package dropped. She hears
a sharp inhalation of breath and looks over to see concern on Nadine’s face. She has hidden his liquor in that spot, Blythe
realizes, and he is dangerously close to discovering it. Someone needs to throw him off.
Should she ask him to get her package for her? Tell him she’s decided not to send it after all? That would deter him. But
then he’d probably want to know why. She looks around at the women she is trapped with. She’d have to explain it to them all,
and that’s not something she wants to explain to anyone. She’s still trying to figure it out for herself. Blythe glances down
at her engagement ring, the one her mother frowned at, just as Nadine speaks up.
“Tommy,” Nadine hollers. “Get out of there. That’s federal mail. You shouldn’t be poking around in there. That’s people’s
private business.”
Tommy stands to his feet, puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t care,” he says.
“Well, you should,” Nadine retorts. “Would you want someone reading something you wrote? Something personal that’s not for anyone else to see?”
Now everyone is looking at Nadine. But she had to do something to get Tommy away from that spot. She thinks of the envelope
they fought over, of his gun jabbing at it as he demanded she tear it up. There was part of her that wanted to tear it to
bits, and that is the truth. She never wanted any of this. She wanted more beach days together.
Defiant, Tommy stoops down again, reaching into the cart where the packages are deposited. He keeps his eyes focused on Nadine
as he gropes around without looking, then he randomly extricates one, grinning like a man who’s pulled a winning ticket from
a hat. He looks at what he’s grabbed, squints as he pulls it closer, shakes his head, and tosses the envelope on the counter.
He drops his head, his eyes still on the envelope. The room is silent as they all watch Tommy, who can feel their eyes upon
him.
“What is it?” Nadine asks him.
Tommy shakes his head as he continues to look at the envelope. It is nothing really, just a magazine renewal. But Tommy can’t
help but stare at the familiar logo of the hunting magazine his father subscribed to for as long as he can remember. When
Tommy was little and bored, he’d page through whatever recent issue was around. He’d look at the full-color photographs and
make up stories about the people in the pictures, the fathers and sons and dogs featured prominently. They all looked happy
in the pictures; even the dogs seemed to smile. In his stories the little boys lived with their daddies all the time instead
of only seeing them every other weekend, and they had lots of fun adventures together. Remembering all that, Tommy hits upon
something he can do, if only to buy himself more time.
“It’s nothing,” he says, wondering as he says it why of all the mail he had to pull from in that box, this was the one he chose.
He has to think it means something. He picks up the envelope and pointedly drops it back into the mix where it came from, then looks to Sylvie.
“I want to talk to that woman,” he says.
Sylvie’s eyes get larger behind her glasses. “Okay, we can do that. But . . . why?”
“I figured out what I want,” he says. “I know what I’m going to ask for.” He glances down into the cart where the envelope
disappeared. “I want to talk to my dad.”
“Tommy, you can’t do that,” Nadine pipes up. “You—”
Sylvie cuts her off. “Sure you can,” Sylvie says. “This is what they want. For you to tell them what you want. If you don’t, there can’t be a negotiation. The sooner they can get you what you want, the sooner they can get this
all resolved.” She gives Nadine a look. It is a look that says, “For now it’s best just to keep quiet.”
“Well,” Tommy says, “then that’s what I want.” He nods, agreeing with himself. “I want to talk to my dad.”
“Okay, I’ll get Hope on the phone.” Sylvie starts to rise but pauses, raising her eyebrows at him. She is bone-weary, yet
she feels a rush of adrenaline. “But they’re going to need to hear from you this time. They’re not going to want to hear what
you want from me.”
Tommy nods, and there is a broken look about him. Sylvie wonders what envelope he extracted from the cart full of mail that
made him decide so quickly that he wanted to talk to his dad, but she doesn’t dare ask. Instead, she stands, goes to the phone,
and picks it up. She knows that out there in the land of the living the authorities have done something to make it so no other
phone calls are coming in or going out of this line. It is a direct line, Sylvie hopes, to freedom. It is a direct line to
Hope.