Free 96 Hours by Georgia Beers Page A

strangers in your house?” Brian asked.
    Tim shrugged. “Yep.” He winked. “Come on, love. We’ve got to get moving.” With a little wave and a “toodle-oo” from Corinne, they went on their way.
    “Unbelievable,” Brian said.
    “I think they’re the nicest people I’ve ever met,” said Abby.
    “I think they’re insane,” Erica countered. Michael snorted a laugh.
    “Why?” Abby asked, her face an expression of almost-hurt. “Because they’re too nice?”
    “Yeah. Something like that.” While Erica certainly appreciated the generosity of the MacDougals, she couldn’t see herself offering her house, her things, and all her private space to four complete unknowns. It would never happen.
    “Well, I find it refreshing.”
    “I’m not surprised.” Erica took a plate from her hands, scraped it, handed it to Michael.
    “Not everybody hates people, Erica.”
    “That’s true.” Erica purposely avoided taking the bait, sensing she was getting under Abby’s skin and enjoying the role reversal for a change.
    “Hey.” Brian stood in the doorway, unsmiling. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m totally down with what Tim said.” He held up a bottle of tequila in one hand and a stack of shot glasses in the other. “Did I see some lemons in a dish someplace?”
    Not taking her eyes off Erica, Abby nodded. “I’m in.” Then she grabbed a lemon out of Corinne’s fruit bowl on the counter and proceeded to slice it, bartender perfect, into small sections.
    “Me, too.” Michael tossed the dish towel onto the counter and headed toward the doorway.
    It was the only time in her life when Erica recalled a shot of tequila sounding like anything but dangerous. She wasn’t somebody who drank often; she didn’t like feeling out of control. But this was different somehow. She scooped up the salt shaker and followed the trio into the dining room.
    Like the kitchen, nothing in the dining room was obviously expensive, but it was all nice, neat, and coordinated. A hutch sat along the back wall and displayed a set of china with a subtle daylily design on it. The table was small, but they’d added a leaf and Tim had pulled extra chairs from someplace upstairs so there’d be room for all of them at dinner. They took the same seats they’d had then and looked at one another.
    None of them really wanted to talk about the towers, about the hijackings, about the loss of life and the blow to the confidence and safety of all Americans, but those were the elephants in the room and once addressed, the foursome couldn’t stop. And the more they talked, the angrier they became. And the angrier they became, the more they drank. By the third round of shots, Abby and Brian were both in tears. Erica was staring into her glass, wishing she were someplace else talking about anything else. Michael was just as horrified as the rest of them.
    “I fly to Texas for my job six, sometimes seven times a year. America is my home away from home. I cannot fathom somebody doing this. I just can’t. It’s appalling. Abhorrent. It makes me physically ill.”
    “Okay.” Brian took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ve had enough. Can we talk about something else? What about you guys? Tell me about all of you.” He looked around the table, his green eyes boring into each of them. “You’re the people I’m with at this moment. This is our JFK moment, you know? It’s like how everybody who was around in the ’60s can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard that Kennedy was shot. This is our version of that. I will always remember where I was and what I was doing—and you. I will always remember you guys and I want to know more.” His words trailed off, frayed by alcohol and emotion.
    “I know! Hold that thought.” Abby jumped up and left the room abruptly.
    “I have no idea,” Erica said with a shrug when both men looked expectantly at her.
    They sat quietly, each lost in thought, looking