CHAPTER 39

Life line

The sight of a fire fighter walking towards the chapel always caused Monica's heart to pound loudly in her chest and the reason was twofold. Her greatest hope was that it was someone coming to tell her that Andrew had been found and that he was all right and then she would be taken straight to his side, where she so longed to be. The other side of the coin was her greatest fear; the fire fighter was coming to tell her that Andrew was dead, that he wasn't coming back, that they had found his body or something that he had been wearing buried in the rubble that was once the World Trade Center.

But Mark seemed to instantly recognize the tremulous emotions on the face of Andrew's beloved wife. His chief had told him Monica was volunteering here at the chapel, but so far, Mark had missed her the other times he had looked for her. The look on her face spoke volumes to him; he and his own wife had spent many an evening with Andrew and Monica, laughing, talking, sometimes taking in a board game, and he knew her fairly well. Never before had he seen her look so weary or broken and he went with his first impulse when he approached her; he grabbed her up in his arms and hugged her tightly.

Monica gasped slightly, her emotions of gratitude, fear and surprise all warring for top priority and she only relaxed when Mark whispered softly, "I don't know anything, Monica. I just needed to see you. Andrew would want me to check in on you."

His words brought instant tears to her dark eyes and she nodded against his shoulder, "Thank you. Are you all right?"

Mark pulled away but kept steadying hands on her shoulders, "No, not really. This has been...terrible; beyond terrible. So many fire fighters are...missing."

"I know," Monica replied, the tears welling up in her eyes once more, "But we can't give up hope, Mark." She felt as if she were trying to convince herself even as Ella's words played over and over again in her mind.

Andrew's closest friend was quiet for a moment as he looked into her liquid brown eyes, "You know, if he is out there, he will find his way back to you. He loves you so much, Monica. There isn't much that would keep him away." The only thing that would was death and they both knew it but were trying not to think it.

"He's everything to me," the little angel whispered as a lonely tear trickled down her cheek.

Mark glanced out the door, knowing he should get back to the endless task of clearing the rubble and looking for survivors, but then his attention was again focused on Andrew's wife. Beneath the calm, quiet exterior, he could somehow sense her absolute terror. No, sometimes the right thing to do was not the obvious task, "Hey, let me grab a couple of cups of coffee for us. You look like you could use a break."

The smallest of smiles flickered across her face, "I'm supposed to be taking care of you, Mark."

He raised an amused eyebrow, "I think your husband would tell me otherwise if he took one look at you right now," He replied matter of factly before he walked across the room to the ever present coffee pots.

"Mark?"

He turned at the sound of Monica's weary Irish lilt, "Yeah?"

"Um, decaf please," She couldn't tell him about the baby; she didn't want anyone else to know but Andrew, but Mark didn't question her.

A few minutes later, she held the steaming cup of coffee in her cold hands and brought it to her lips. It was slightly too sweet and there was not quite enough cream and she was reminded of how Andrew knew exactly how she liked it and always fixed it perfectly; the thought both warmed and saddened her heart.

"So when was the last time you were home?" Mark asked his blue eyes showing concern as he sat down next to her in the pew.

"A few days ago. I, um, it's too hard to be there...without Andrew."

He was quiet for another moment, gazing into his cup of black coffee. He could clearly see how fragile she was right now, how she was barely holding herself together, the way her hands trembled slightly as she raised the Styrofoam cup to her lips, "Look, Monica, sweetie, if you need a place to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, you can come to our place. We have a spare room and you are more than welcome. You and Andrew, well, you're like family to us. Amber asks me about you every time I go home. She's been worried."

Monica swirled the coffee around in her cup, considering the offer, "Thank you. That's very kind, but I think it's better that I stay here. Andrew...he'd know where to find me. He'd know I'd be somewhere helping...and being here, if anyone sees him...I've been talking to everyone, showing them his picture so they all know what he looks like and if someone sees him, well, they know I'm here, so I really can't be anywhere else, you see, because..." She looked up at him and tears slipped down her cheeks, "I just really need to be here."

Setting down his cup of coffee and taking hers from her shaking hands, Mark hesitantly opened his arms to her, "Ya know, I know these aren't the ones you miss, but maybe for a couple of minutes you could lean on me?"

Her vision blurred completely at Mark's kindness and she fell into his arms, weeping softly, for a moment allowing herself to feel some comfort. The one she loved with all her heart had seemingly vanished from her existence and the last time she'd had the blessing of being in his presence, she had been angry with him. She felt as if she didn't deserve comfort. Maybe she was punishing herself for not remembering what she had so often told assignments; that tomorrow was never guaranteed, that they needed to tell the ones they loved how they felt as tomorrow may be too late. Had she remembered that, she would have spent those last precious minutes on September 10th holding her husband close and telling him just how much she loved him. It's what she should have done.

It was what she would do for the rest of eternity if only she would get a second chance.

Three more days passed with a kind of agonizing reality that Monica could not bring herself to cope with. Ever since Ella had told her what she believed; that Andrew had died in those towers on September 11th, every day seemed to take what she had considered to be Ella's opinion to be a possible fact. That thought alone was debilitating her.

She sometimes spent hours sitting alone in a dark and quiet corner of the chapel, staring, unseeing at the scene around her. She hadn't been home in days, and instead another volunteer had allowed her to use her apartment to shower and change. Monica wasn't sure now how she could ever walk into her apartment again. The last moments she had spent there with her beloved Andrew had been spent arguing and she would give her life to have that moment to do over again. Instead of being angry, she would have told him it was fine and she would have held him close and told him she loved him.

Then she would have begged him not to go to work that night.

Monica had played the scene in her head so many times she could almost believe that was really the way it had happened, but then she would open her eyes to the cold, cruel reality. She had cried so many tears in private she didn't know how there could be any left inside of her and she felt as if something inside of her was slowly dying. She slept only when her body insisted upon it and nightmares constantly plagued her. She knew the other volunteers were worried about her, but she simply couldn't take on their concern. She was too busy reminding herself to breathe.

"Ella." Janet's face filled with great relief at seeing Monica's friend hurrying into the chapel, "Thank God you're here. I'm so worried about Monica; it's like her grief is causing her to slip away and we don't know what to do for her anymore..."

"I know, Janet, but I'm about to help with that," The old teacher had tears in her eyes as she patted the volunteer's arm and walked purposefully in Monica's direction. Her young friend was standing in front of the window, arms crossed across her slight body, "Baby?"

Monica slowly turned around and Ella drew in a sharp breath. Somehow Monica looked worse than she had last seen her just days ago. Her pale face was laden with fatigue, her dark eyes red and swollen from tears and lack of rest. She was so fragile right now, but Monica didn't give Ella the chance to speak first.

"Ella...I...think you were right," She whispered brokenly, "I think...I think Andrew...that he's dead...I'd have heard from him by now...you were right..."

"No, Monica," Ella laid her hands gently yet firmly on her friend's shoulders, "I was not right. Listen to me, baby, please," A tearful smile crossed her dark face, "Andrew is alive, honey. He's in a hospital in New Jersey in a coma. I'll explain it all later, but he's alive. I saw him myself, because I didn't want to tell you and have it be a mistake."

A cry escaped the little angel and her legs nearly gave out from under her, but Ella and Janet, who had been listening nearby, caught her and helped her to a pew to sit down, even as the tears came once more.

"He's...he's alive? Andrew...my Andrew...are you sure?" She was begging for certainty because she couldn't bear for it to be anything but the truth."

"I'm sure, baby," Ella smiled as she stroked Monica's hair back from her face, "I'm sure and I'm going to get you to him as soon as you're ready."

"Oh God, Monica, this is such wonderful news," Janet uttered, grasping her friend's hand tightly.

"I need to get to him," she sobbed, dark eyes pleading with them to make it happen. He was alive. She needed to be with him. Nothing else mattered to her right now. She could barely wrap her mind around this being the truth, not when she had nearly given up on ever seeing him again, "I'm ready...please..." She was crying too hard to say anything more, but a moment later, Ella and Janet were helping her to her feet.

They left the chapel and no one, either rescue worker nor volunteer, had dry eyes as they watched them depart.