Happy closing day to Waitress (Broadway) and Hamilton (Chicago).


Delayed.

Paige hadn't traveled on commercial airlines in years, and most of what she'd encountered since leaving waitressing had been much more than the mild, fairly standard inconvenience of an airplane not leaving on time. But she thought she'd go out of her mind if she didn't get to her son.

Cabe could have gotten her a plane. She almost regretted not asking. But they were still in the running for the money, they should find out within a week or so, and wasting resources to fly privately when commercial air was available wouldn't look good. It also probably wasn't the best choice anyway. More and more she was becoming conscious about the world she would be leaving for Ralph and Amber. To be honest, she was a little disappointed in herself that money was what was motivating her to care.

What have I become?'

"This seat taken?" Asked a young woman, coming toward Paige with a heavy looking shoulder bag causing her to lean to the left.

"Nope," Paige said. "Guy was sitting here but at this point he's missing his connection, so he's off looking for a direct flight to Fort Lauderdale."

"Good luck with that, what with the hurricane."

"It's still a couple days from Florida, there's hope."

"Truth. Are you just going to Texas?"

"Yes," Paige said. "My son is there."

"Nice. My husband is there. Just out of the military. We got married right before he enlisted, so it's going to be the first time we've really lived together long term, since he's been over there for most of the last four."

"Done now, huh? Did he like it?"

"Killing people? No. His family made him, essentially. He's fourth generation Army now, and the only boy in the family, so there was all this pressure, you know. If we ever have kids we're going to let them pick their own path. How old is your son?"

"He'll be twenty one in December."

"Oh." The woman studied Paige. "You don't look old enough to have a kid that old."

Paige couldn't tell if that was a compliment, insult, or casual observation.

"I hope the hurricane doesn't swing into the Gulf," she continued. "I mean, not that Eric and I have any intentions of leaving the house," she winked at Paige, "but still, rain and wind is just depressing. Oh, man, I'm Misty. Like the beach volleyball player, not the horse."

"Paige," Paige said with a smile, not entirely sure she knew either of the Mistys that were referenced.

"Delay sure blows," Misty said. "You want a coffee? I'm going to go over there and grab one."

"I'm okay, thanks," Paige said. "I'll keep an eye on your stuff."

Just then, a the public address system switched on for the routine reminder to not watch someone else's bags.

"Okay, so don't watch them," Misty said with a laugh. "Watch the people who might take them." She winked again, then headed off toward the Starbucks.

Paige's phone buzzed. It was a text from Walter. Okay. Thanks. For a moment, she got irritated. They'd been fighting before Ralph's phone call – about more stupid stuff. Whether or not Amber's tantrums per month were alarming for her age, and whether or not tracking her "TPM" on a chart was ridiculous. Paige had made some below the belt remarks about his attentiveness to his daughter and comparative lack of attentiveness toward his wife. Walter had countered that maybe he wasn't as focused on their relationship as he could be, but she wasn't either if she saved mild annoyances until they could build up and be used to throw into his face. "How come," he'd asked, "we both suck at communicating, but it's always my fault when something breaks down?" Then, Paige recalled with a sick feeling in her stomach, he'd asked why her being a 'normal' gave her a free pass to do the same stuff he did, when he was actually trying to be better.

Then the call had come in. Well, it had come in about thirty seconds earlier, but Paige ignored it. When the ringing sounded again, she took the call. Maybe it had been a need for a distraction, a break, a pause button on an argument she had thought might end her marriage. Maybe it had been motherly intuition.

But mere moments after tapping the green button that accepted Ralph's call, she and Walter were back to doing what they did best – evaluating a disaster that went beyond their own.


Ralph had lacerations on his hands, the smell of metal, blood, and smoke in his nose. The texture of the bandages the nurse had wrapped around his wounds felt like nails on a chalkboard.

Patty's voice still rang in his head. Daze! Daze!

They'd run around the mess – as most of the other fled the scene, sprinting for their cars. The on – duty first aid tent workers and a handful of others had run to what was left of the stage. Patty had looked to him. She'd asked him what to do, how to help.

He was ashamed to have failed her, only equipped with his I.Q. He didn't have Walter, or his mother, or Happy or Toby or Sylvester or Florence. None of them could save the world on their own. They were all pieces of a whole that needed to be at least mostly together in order to work.

Centipede, and Scorpion 2.0, had been proof of that.

So even after advice from Walter and Paige, he and Patty had done nothing spectacular, just help anyone they saw trying to escape free themselves from the wreckage, until the first responders arrived, EMTs and fire fighters and police, and made them back away.

Now they waited, with hundreds of others, crammed into the lobby of the hospital. Waiting on word. Word of those who had leapt from the stage. Word of those who had been pulled out. Word on, even, several people who were trampled in the stampede of fleeing event – goers.

Rumors were flying. People who still had their phones were searching Facebook and Twitter for updates. From what Ralph and Patty, sitting on the floor in the corner with their hands clasped together could gather, there were over one hundred estimated injuries and fatalities. What wasn't yet determined was how many went into each category.

"My mom's flight was delayed again," Ralph said.

"I know," Patty replied. "You told me an hour ago."

Ralph remembered that. "I'm sorry."

"No worries." She shifted her weight. He knew she wanted to be looking for Daisy. Her girlfriend's phone was likely destroyed. It was too crowded to go searching, and the hospital didn't even know the identities of everyone they had.

Neither, of course, did the morgue.

Patty scooted closer, putting her head on Ralph's shoulder. He thought back to what she'd said to him recently, after Daisy had gotten the part and would be going states away. I'll still have my best buddy.

Right now, still having Ralph was all Patty was guaranteed.

Ralph's eyes hurt. He closed them. The nurse at the field had been able to bandage his hands, but he knew he could have damage to his eyes from all the smoke and debris. It might be days before anyone was able to see to that. He felt guilty for even worrying about his sight, although, as he tried to remind himself, one could worry about multiple things.

His phone went off. It was Paige. "Ralph," she said. "We are boarded. Have you heard anything about Daisy?"

"No," he said. "No, we haven't."

"Someone uploaded a lot of photos of people being taken out of the wreckage on Facebook."

"What a sicko."

"I know. But there's a couple that…I mean, I don't know Daisy like you do. But…I'm going to send you a link, okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't show Patty, okay? Not unless it's good news."

"Okay."

"Who is a sicko?" Patty asked when Ralph hung up.

"Guy next to my mom on the plane," Ralph lied. "He stuck his gum under the seat."

Patty wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

Ralph shifted his weight, so he could open the link from Paige without alerting Patty.

God. The photos appeared to have been taken by a drone – one that had gone unnoticed by those present. Ralph saw himself in a couple of those photos, helping a set dresser hobble away from the site. At least one of the photos showed an individual who very clearly was not alive. Ralph felt like he was going to vomit. His stomach turned. His eyes hurt.

His nose began to bleed.

Ralph let go of Patty's hand, raising his arm up so his sleeve could catch the blood. With his other hand, he continued to scroll the photos. Through them, he learned that Colt Wheeler was alive but in critical condition. He learned that Layla Barajas was in surgery. He learned that her Light My Candle duet partner hadn't made it.

He swiped over to the next photo and stopped. His eyes hurt. His vision wasn't the best. But...he dropped his arm from his face, using two fingers to zoom in.

A young woman sat on a gurney, with a paramedic putting her arm in a splint. Her hair was in her face, and there was blood on her clothing. The photo was far from HD.

But Ralph knew that costume.

"Pat," he said, nudging his friend. She looked over at him warily, and he handed her his phone. "Daisy's alive."