It sounded like a long roll of thunder.
“What the hell was that?” I jumped up off the sofa to steady the wobbly lamp on the end table.
“I don’t know,” Casey said. “Are they doing construction? Is it storming?”
I looked outside. No workers in hard helmets, not a cloud in the sky.
“No… Nothing at all.”
This was weird.
Casey turned the tv on and flipped quickly to the news channel.
The woman on the tv spoke quickly, almost as if she were rushing to get it all out.
”...suicide attack. Flights 11 and 175 have been hijacked. Flight 11 was flown into the north tower of the World Trade Center, and 175 into the southern tower. No survivors have been found at the time…”
Casey looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh god, no…”
“What?”
“Jamison was on flight 11.”