Free Heroic Measures by Jill Ciment Page A

over the rail.
    “Dorothy’s opened her eyes, Alex! She’s taken water!”
    Ruth pours them each a glass of wine in celebration of Dorothy’s turn for the better, while Alex sits down. The kitchen table is already set with silverware and cloth napkins. She arranges the falafel sandwiches on plates, and then throws away the bag, but not before salvaging the paper napkins and pepper. She squirrels those away in a drawer already crammed with enough take-out napkins and free pepper to outlast them both. The television is off. After the hospital called, she didn’t want the news droning in the background.
    “Drinking water must mean she’s fighting,” Alex says, biting into his sandwich.
    Ruth has no appetite. Only now is it dawning on her that she forgot to ask, yet again, how successful, or not, Dorothy’s operation was. Maybe she doesn’t want to know the answer?
    “Dorothy’s telling us she wants to live, Ruth.”
    The phone rings. Alex answers, while Ruth braces for what she’s sure is coming next: the nurse taking back the good news.
    He shakes his head in wonder. “Harold’s Ladies have made an offer,” he tells her.
    “With Pamir still on the loose?” She picks up the cordless extension. “Did they catch him, Lily?”
    “I don’t know any more than you do,” she says.
    “How much?” Alex asks.
    “Eight hundred and fifty thousand.”
    “So low?” Ruth says.
    “They’re gambling on you and Alex panicking and selling while you think you still can. Let’s face it, if Pamir turns out to be a suicide bomber, prices could drop even lower. What should I tell them?”
    Ruth and Alex exchange looks. “It might be our only chance to sell,” she says.
    “Maybe we should take it.”
    “What if Pamir turns out
not to
be a suicide bomber? If we sell now, and everything returns to normal, we’ll have priced ourselves out of the city, let alone an elevator building. I’m scared, Alex. What if he turns out to
be
a suicide bomber? We might not get another offer for months, maybe years.”
    “What would you do?” they ask Lily.
    “Stall. But not for too long.”
    They finish their lunch in front of the television. A press conference is taking place on City Hall’s steps. Behind a thicket of microphones, the mayor solemnly lowers his head and waits for the dozens of reporters to grow pin-drop silent. When he finally looks up, his expression is that of a father about to tell his children there’s no money for Christmas.
    “If it’s bad news,” Ruth says, “maybe we should grab the offer.”
    “If it’s bad news, there might not be an offer.”
    “I just got off the phone with Baltimore’s police chief,”says the mayor. “Twelve minutes ago, an oil tanker truck collided with oncoming traffic and overturned on the Francis Scott Key Bridge. Eight people were killed, three others are in critical condition, including the driver, who remains trapped in the vehicle.”
    “Does the mayor think the two incidents are connected?”
    “Is the driver wearing an explosive device?”
    “Do you think it’s a new pattern of attack? Is the second driver from the Middle East? When can the police question him?”
    “When I have answers, you’ll have answers,” the mayor says.
    The phone rings.
    “What if we waited too long, Alex? What if they’re taking back their offer?”
    “What if it’s the hospital?” he says, reaching for his extension. She picks up hers.
    “We have a bidding war!” Lily tells them. “The Red Parkas just made a counteroffer, eight hundred and seventy-five.”
    “How can that be?” Ruth asks.
    “Are you watching the news?” Alex asks.
    “It’s what we realtors back in the nineties used to call the Mugging Principle. Someone’s mugged on your block and all the neighbors want to sell. Prices drop. But if muggings start happening on every block, regardless of neighborhood, then muggings no longer factor into the market price. If everywhere is equally dangerous, even