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Chapter TWO

Sirens ring out, and a crowd is gathering. I hear somebody crying in another part of the room. Together the guy and I drag off broken pictures and pieces of wood and glass from the piece of wall, and I haul the shattered cash register out of the way. It gives me enough leeway to squat down to peer into the space below.

Right away, I see it's bad. Virginia's leg is twisted sideways, and her arm is stuck between the booth and the wall. There's so much blood on her face that it looks like something from a horror movie. She looks white and scared. "Get me out of here!"

"I'm not sure we can move that by ourselves, V." I nod toward the booth, then look up at the guy, trying to telegraph with my eyes that it's bad. He gives me a sober nod. "The experts will be here in a second and they can help us, okay?"

"Don't leave me!" she cries. "I'm so scared."

"No," I reach in to see if I can hold her hand. "I'm right here."

The guy touches my back. "I might need you for one more thing," he says. I look up, and he points at the table by the window, the one with the old woman. I can see a skirt. That's it.

The guy kneels down next to me. "Hey, Virginia, you're brave, I can see that, but there are a couple others stuck and we need to see what we can do to get them out, too. All right? Your friend will be right back."

"Okay," she says. She's sobbing a little, and her grip is about to break my fingers. I don't want to leave her, but then somebody screams under the other table. I grab the apron from around my waist and pass it to Virginia. "Put this on your face. I'll be back in a sec, okay?"

"That old lady was right by the window."

"I'm going to check her right now." I stand up, trying to get my bearings. It's hard. I think of pictures I've seen of tornadoes on TV, everything all shredded and out of place.

"Over here," the guy says, touching my arm. "I think."

"Right."

We start the process again, moving small debris to see under the mess left by the wall. Everybody there is okay, though, just banged up a little, with cuts and bruises. It takes three of us to get the old woman out, but aside from some minor cuts and bruises she's fine, too. They were all protected by a beam and, unlike Virginia, they didn't take a direct hit from the car.

Around us, customers are standing around dazed. My boss has a massive bloody cut on his bald head, but he's helping the driver out of the car. He's old, bent over and thin, and he keeps repeating, "I thought it was the brake. I thought it was the brake."

The guy next to me says, "Can you tell if this is everybody?"

I frown and look around, counting. The couple eating pie, check. The family group we hauled out. A lone man drinking coffee, check. In my imagination, I scan the restaurant in the seconds before the crash and can't think of anyone else. "I think so. We got lucky that it wasn't earlier. An hour ago, the place was packed."

The guy nods. He's frowning, as if he's trying to piece the scene together, too. "I can't think of anybody else, either."

The fire trucks arrive, and I rush over to direct them to Virginia. It takes the firefighters and EMTs ten minutes to get her out, and she's not looking great when they do. They're yelling and shoving bystanders out of the way. I'm standing beside her as they load her onto the ambulance. "Who should I call?" I ask.

She just gives me a glazed look.

"I'll come see you later." They pull her away and tuck her into the ambulance, and I stand there with a hollow chest, wondering what her kids will do while she's in the hospital. Maybe I can find her purse. Maybe-