Page 18 of Meeting Up with the Mason

Alyssa whispered, “They can’t do anything until Eversource cuts the power.”

She was terrified and wet through, and her restraint was a thread.

She needed to get out, and there was only one way to take her out of the car.

“Let me tell you a story. You know what they had in Ancient Sumer?” I tried to sound perky. “Bevel-rimmed bowls!”

Alyssa said, “What?”

“Bevel-rimmed bowls were the plastic grocery bags of the ancient world.” I paused. “I’m trying to distract you.”

“Distract me. They didn’t have plastic in ancient Mesopotamia.”

“No, they had clay. You find these by the hundreds in the trash dumps. We have beautiful pottery from this era, and then these, over and over again at every site. They’re ugly and porous with no finish. We started calling them BRBs.”

“Be right back,” Alyssa quipped.

“Newsflash,” I said. “The ancients haven’t come right back.”

“BRB—bedorbreakfast?” she said. “What were they for?”

“Our best guess is that’s how workers got paid. One day’s work earned one BRB of barley, enough to feed the worker and their family.”

“So, one day’s food for one day’s labor.” Alyssa took a long breath. Good—she was getting on top of the panic. “That’s like what you said about agriculture, how the survival point is making enough to sustain yourself.”

I said, “The guys making the buildings weren’t raising the food, either.”

Alyssa said, “You’re a builder. If you get me out of this, I’m giving you three bowls of barley.”

I gasped. “Should I be entrusted with such wealth?”

“Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

The firefighters kept walking around, communicating with their radios, but they wouldn’t come close to the fallen tree or the power line.

I said, “That’s life at its most basic—an ugly bowl and a fist-sized portion of grain, working all day to provide for the people who are important to you, and then getting up to do it all over again.”

“Because you love them.” Alyssa’s voice wobbled. “You know what?” Now her voice did break. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to confirm reservations and generate leads. I want to run an art gallery. I want to hold contests and discover talent and discuss symbolism over hors d’oeuvres.” She was full-on sobbing. “I don’t want to die like this. Not as someone’s gopher who lived a whole life with nothing to show for it.”

My voice pitched up. “You’re not going to die. Listen to me. You’re going to step out of that car and email your aunt your resignation.”

She kept sobbing, and what could I do? I couldn’t run to her or hold her or comfort her. I just kept saying, “You’re not going to die. Sweetheart, you’re not going to die. Hang in there. They’re going to get you out.”

“I’m sorry.” Every one of her breaths came with a shudder. “Even if I resign right now, am I giving two weeks’ notice, or twenty-five seconds’ notice? At least you’re going to live your dream.”

I said, “That’s not true. What if you’re my dream? What if I’m giving up the best thing I’ll ever have so I can chase a degree?”

She said, “You love archaeology.”

I punched the dashboard. “Maybe those people in ancient Sumer knew something I haven’t figured out after years of studying—that it’s better to work all day to take care of the people you love than to lock yourself in a library and let all those people drift off to other shores.”

Alyssa cried harder.

“I love you.” My voice broke. “I love you, and you cannot die.”

She rasped out, “I love you, too.”

“Then stay alive. Don’t touch the side of the car, don’t give up, and don’t you dare leave me.”

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