The Seat Beside Me (33 page)

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll work on it. All I know is that we can’t throw away a gift God’s given us. That would be downright rude.”

“I’ve never heard suicide described as rude.”

He set his chin. “Until now.”

“Until now.”

He pulled a chair close and rested his arms on his knees. “The thing is, there’s another reason you’ve got to go on living.”

“And what’s that?”

“Henry Smith.”

“Who?”

“Henry Smith, the man who saved you.”

“The helicopter man?”

“No, missy. The man in the water—the passenger like us. The man who handed over the lifelines.”

She vaguely remembered the face of a bearded man hanging on to the tail section. Had he given her the line? She mentally saw the motion of his hand extending it toward her. The awful whir of the helicopter overhead, the gnawing cold, the—

“His sacrifice was a thing to behold.”

“Sacrifice?” Merry shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I’m still foggy; I’m not getting this.”

George stood and clasped the side of her bed rail, as if in need of support. “Henry handed off the lines, but it took too long. When the helicopter went back for him, he’d already disappeared under the water. He drowned.”

She put a hand to her mouth. To be told that a fellow passenger had given his life for her?

“Uh-oh,” George said, waving a finger at her face. “There you go again. There will be none of that. And no guilt either.”

“Those men in the helicopter … that Henry … they shouldn’t have—”

“Saved you?” He swallowed with great deliberation. “I suppose you can go through the rest of your life feeling guilty and unworthy, but personally, I think that’s a mighty waste of a hero.” George’s voice broke, and Merry watched his face fold in on itself. “Henry Smith died so you could live. Not so you can kill yourself and not so you can throw yourself some pity party and waste what time you’ve got left in this world.” He threw back his head, pulling in his tears with a breath. “Do you want him to have died for nothing?”

“No, of course not.”

His eyes flashed. “Then snap out of it! I know the doctors probably wouldn’t approve of me sniping at you like this. They’ll want to coddle you and have you talk for hours about why you thought you had to kill yourself. But I’m too ignorant and ornery to abide by such baloney. And when I’m yelling at you, I’m yelling at me. It takes guts to be happy. The two of us wanted to kill ourselves because we were cowards. That’s a fact we can’t deny. But what we also can’t deny is that a man displayed the epitome of bravery for us.” He looked away, then back again. “You know what Henry Smith said to me in the plane before we crashed?”

“No.”

“He said two things I will always remember. One, that God didn’t want me to take my own life. And two, that Henry felt like he’d been given a verse that directed his actions—only at the time he didn’t realize how.” George’s eyes brightened. “He didn’t realize it then, but now … the verse is perfect.”

“What is it?”

“Isaiah something or other. But the words were, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’ ”

“What way?”

George gripped Merry’s arm. “Don’t you see? God told Henry that verse as a kind of challenge. Getting him to think past himself to bigger things. Then the plane crashed, and Henry followed the verse. God showed him a
way
, and he took it—he
walked
in it.”

“Wow.”

George nodded, and when his eyes teared, hers did too. “You bet your bedpan, wow. People don’t know they’re heroes until God gives them the opportunity and they say yes. Heroes are not forced; they
choose
.”

Merry shivered.

George straightened his chin. “So considering all that, knowing what we know, I refuse to let either one of us taint the
choice
Henry Smith made. You hear me, little girl? You get where I’m coming from?”

Merry’s lungs were suddenly empty. She gasped for air, then let out a sob. Everything he said was true.
She
had a choice to make.
This is the way; walk in it
. She reached out a hand. George took it and squeezed. “Help me get out of here, George. Help me get through this.” She let out a breath. “Help me go home.”

Merry’s driveway was occupied so George pulled up front. A woman got out of the car in the drive, eyed them, and then rushed to Merry’s door.

“Baby, where have you been? I’ve been sitting here twenty minutes. I knocked, I called you on the phone. I was getting worried.” For the first time she looked at George. “Who’s this?”

Merry got out of the car. “This is George Davanos, Mom. He’s another one of the survivors. George, this is my mother, Anna Keenan.”

The woman eyed him warily, as if her daughter’s explanation weren’t enough. Merry looked at George nervously, and he could read her mind:
Cover for me, George
.

He chose his words carefully. “I picked Merry up for lunch, Mrs. Keenan.”

The woman’s irritation turned toward her daughter. “You went out to eat the day after your family’s funeral?

Merry headed for the door. “That’s exactly what we did, Mom. I do need to eat, you know.”

Good save, Miss Merry
.

Merry stopped on the front step and turned back to George. “Care to come in?”

After checking the still-disapproving face of Anna Keenan, George knew the prudent thing would be to leave. But he wasn’t in a prudent mood.

“I’d love to.”

Merry waited at the door for him, then took his arm. “You coming, Mom?”

The woman’s look changed from disapproval to the sad-sack face of a child who’s received an invitation to a birthday party that’s already in progress. “No, no thanks. I think I’ll go home. I have things to do. Just so you’re all right …”

“I’m fine. Or at least I feel the possibility that I
could
be fine. Maybe. Someday.”

For the first time since meeting her, George believed it was true.

Sonja hesitated at the edge of the airport metal detectors. She’d gotten this far from a sheer act of will, but suddenly, when faced with entering a gate, she shied like a thoroughbred on the edge of a fence.
What am I doing flying again?

“Ma’am? Either come on through or step aside. You’re blocking traffic.”

Sonja stepped aside, aware of the puzzled looks of the other passengers, as well as the wary scrutiny of the security people who probably thought she was hesitating because she had a gun in her cast, her facial scars the result of a terrorist action gone bad.

This is ridiculous. Millions of people fly every day without incident. The odds of being in a plane crash are astronomical
.

But I crashed
 …

Which means I’m done. Through. It’s statistically impossible for me to experience such a thing again
.

She saw a handsome African-American woman go through the line. The woman matched the mental image Sonja had of Roscoe’s wife. Eden Moore would be waiting for her. The woman wanted her to come. The woman had called Sonja a gift from God.

She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She had to do it. For Roscoe. For Eden.

And for herself.

Anthony’s second day back at work was a little easier. He had a good night’s sleep, fueled by the news that the black box had been recovered from the crash site. Soon they’d know who to blame, and his lawsuit could gain momentum.

Today he even had some surgery scheduled and felt totally up for it. Mrs. Wanda Saperstein was in for a face-lift. He’d worked on her before, and together they were methodically remaking her
body. With his expertise—and multiple thousands of her dollars—she looked fifteen years younger than her chronological age. To be honest, Anthony found it a little creepy when grandmothers attempted to look the same age as their grown children, but who was he to argue? If it weren’t for his patients’ vanity, he wouldn’t be able to pay his bills.

Anthony had just finished with Mrs. Saperstein in his office complex’s private operating room. He had a few minutes until the day’s remaining round of appointments started. He fell onto the couch in his office. The promise of relief was not fulfilled. He moaned. His entire body hurt, and he was exhausted as much from the mental and emotional stress of keeping up the front of invincibility as from any physical residuals from the crash.

He had just closed his eyes when the intercom buzzed. Candy’s voice filled the room, “Dr. Thorgood? Are you there?”

“Can’t you leave me alone for a few minutes? Surely one of the nurses can handle—”

“Sorry, but this can’t wait. A doctor at the hospital has been trying to get ahold of you. She said she’s been paging you. I explained that you’ve been in surgery, but she was insistent you call her immediately. A Dr. Margalis?”

Lovely Andrea
 … “Fine.”

Anthony groaned at the effort to move to his desk. As he dialed the hospital, the smallest twinge of nerves teased his stomach. The only case he’d worked on with the beautiful doctor was the bar fight the day before. Could her call stem from an urgent desire to
see
him? Nah. Even his well-hewn ego couldn’t hold on to that one.

He got through to her immediately. “Dr. Thorgood here. What’s up?”

“We have a problem with the hand patient in ER yesterday. This morning he went to his own doctor, who immediately sent him to another specialist.”

Anthony’s pride surfaced. “Another …? That was pretty unprofessional.”

“Forget your pride a moment, Doctor. Don’t you want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because Patrick Harper is a concert pianist. And when he regained full use of his senses this morning—and felt extreme pain when he tried to move his hand—he and his manager went to his personal doctor to have it looked at. That doctor called here to find out who had worked on him.”

“So when’s he coming back in?”

“He’s not. At that point they purposely went to see another specialist. And that doctor—”

“Who? Who did they go see?”

“Dr. Burrows. Anyway, Dr. Burrows opened up the hand and—”

“He can’t see my patient!”

“He can if the patient insists and if there is cause to believe the original doctor was negligent in stitching up a hand that should have been—”

Anthony’s stomach clawed. “You sent him to Burrows? You went over my head? Do you know how insulting that is?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere. When they asked for another surgeon, I had an obligation to give them a name. And as far as that insulting you, insults are not the issue here. The primary concern must be for the patient, for his well—”

“Don’t give me that. We both know Ed Burrows would sell his mother’s soul to get at my patients. This is totally unethi—”

“Dr. Burrows took care of a desperate patient because of his concern for that patient, not to boost his ego, nor to injure yours.”

“You’re deluded.”

“And you’re arrogant.”

What?
Anthony found himself holding his breath. He let it out. “That was uncalled—”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m too weary to lie.”

So I suppose this means dating is out?

“Go back to your tummy tucks and breast implants, Doctor. Perhaps it’s best you leave the more important situations to real doctors.”

“Andrea!”

“But be warned there may be repercussions.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If Mr. Harper doesn’t regain the full use of his hand because of your misdiagnosis, your impatience not to be bothered past the quick and easy fix—which I warned you against yesterday—then I expect he’ll sue.”

“Why would he do that?”

“His occupation. Didn’t you hear me? He’s a concert pianist.”

“But he got hurt in a bar—”

“Yes, in a bar. Defending himself in a bar fight. One he didn’t start—and wouldn’t dare start considering his profession.”

“This is getting wearisome, Andrea.”

“Your lack of empathy continues to astound me.” Her sigh was heavy. “You’d better pray for a miracle, Dr. Thorgood, or you may lose your profession too.”

The line went dead. Anthony froze.

This isn’t happening
.

Fourteen

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful
.
Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and
peace for those who have been trained by it
.
H
EBREWS
12:11

T
ina drove too fast, fueled by her joy in meeting Vincent Carpelli. She had never had such an uplifting conversation, not even in her Bible study class. She felt like celebrating, and the best way to celebrate was to feed her passion. She needed a bookstore, and she needed it fast.

She saw a Christian bookstore to her right. Perfect.

This was Tina’s favorite place, heaven on earth. The store—Feed the Need Bookstore—was huge and had a coffee bar and a large gift department. Rock music played in the background, the lyrics talking about a different kind of love than most rock songs. There were videos playing for kids. And books … definitely a reader’s paradise. Biographies, picture books, self-help, Bibles, devotionals, and Tina’s favorite: fiction. Shelves and shelves of beautifully presented inspirational fiction.