The Seat Beside Me (41 page)

“You took the lifeline of your seatmate?” Sonja’s tone portrayed this fact as unthinkable.

“Actually, she was a most annoying woman. She hated doctors, and I thought she was way off base.”

“But was she?” Dora asked.

He glared at her.

She felt herself blush. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “She was very opinionated and thought she had me figured out.”

“How so?” Sonja asked.

Anthony fidgeted in his chair, and Dora had the notion that it wasn’t something he did often. Whoever Belinda had been, whatever she said, she obviously had struck a nerve.

“She said I was afraid of taking chances, afraid of losing everything.”

“And?”

“What?”

“Is it true?” George asked.

He looked past them into air. “I … I suppose … in a way.” He glanced at Dora. “I suppose it’s possible I’ve been so busy holding on to what I had, that I forgot about what I am—a good doctor.”

Tina applauded. “Bravo.”

Anthony shrugged as if it was nothing, but Dora noticed his blush and felt good for him. At least the guy was trying.

Tina turned to Merry. “You’re last. Who was the person in the seat beside you?”

Merry’s eyes filled. “They were my husband and little boy.”

Tina gasped. “Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry.”

Merry sniffed and a tear escaped. She took a moment to collect herself, retrieving a tissue from her purse. “Actually, they weren’t supposed to be on the trip. Lou surprised me by showing up. I was
heading down to Phoenix to party with a single girlfriend from college.” She shook her head. “I thought Teresa had it all when
I
was the one who had everything. And lost everything.”

“Not everything,” George said.

Merry sighed deeply. “I’m afraid the jury’s still out on that.”

She and George exchanged a look, and his face flashed with panic. Merry looked away.

Suddenly George’s daughter, Suzy, stepped into the circle. “I know I’m the only outsider here, and I find all this fascinating, how your seatmates and the crash have affected your lives and changed you for the better. But there’s one person in this room I’m worried about; someone who hasn’t figured out his life.” She looked to her father.

George took an awkward step toward her. “Hey, Suze, there’s no need to go into any of that.” He looked worried, as if he was afraid she was going to divulge a family secret.

But then Ellen stood, in a slow smooth movement, as if a puppeteer had raised her out of her seat by pulling a string. “I have something I’d like you to do for
me
, George. For Henry.”

He seemed relieved by her diversion. “Anything.” He sat down with Suzy beside him.

Her eyes filled with tears, and Dora could see the strength she was tapping into in order to keep them contained. “I miss my Henry with an ache I can’t imagine ever lessening, but after talking with all of you, I know his death was not in vain. His death was at the essence of this
way
he’d been searching for, and I thank God he was the kind of man who could walk in it. Henry hadn’t told me about the verse, but I’m not surprised God brought it to his attention. Henry had an open heart. It was one of the things I loved about him.” She met every set of eyes. “The thing is, Henry could have told God no. Do you realize that? Three times God handed him the lifelines and said, ‘Henry? You know what I’d like you to do. Will you do it?’ And three times my Henry set himself aside
and said yes.” She pointed to Sonja, to Merry, to Anthony, and to Tina. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

They all were crying. Even Anthony’s eyes were glistening. But Ellen wasn’t finished.

“You know what I want people to understand about my Henry? I want them to realize he was just an ordinary man who was given an extraordinary chance to touch perfection. To touch the face of God. Did he know to what extent that ability was in him beforehand?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Yet that makes it all the more hopeful for the rest of us. Maybe if we don’t have an inkling we can do great things, then there’s the chance that we
can
do them. If given the chance, if given the heart, if given the courage to say yes. The key is being ready for that moment. Henry was ready to say yes. Are we?”

“Oh, Ellen, that’s beautiful,” Merry said.

“It’s more than beautiful,” Sonja said, “it’s something everyone needs to hear.”

“Exactly,” Ellen said. “Which leads me to my—”

George stood and Dora realized what he was about to do. It was show time. He went to Ellen and put an arm around her shoulder. “Excuse me for interrupting, Ellen. Your words have moved us greatly, but I think now is the perfect time for all of you to hear something that Dora has written about Henry—and the rest of us. That’s what brought her over here today. She wanted me to read it. And now I want her to read it to all of you. Dora?”

As George and Ellen sat down, Dora retrieved the pages from her purse and stood at her chair. “I just want to say that all of you have inspired me very much, and—”

George interrupted. “Just read it, Dora.”

She nodded and began. “It’s called ‘Ordinary Heroes.’ ” She cleared her throat and read. “No one plans to be a hero. It’s not on anyone’s list of long-term goals, nor on anyone’s to-do list for the day. And if asked, most people would say they aren’t hero material at all.

“But that’s not true. We are all hero material, or rather, we have that God-given spark within us. But as with all life options, being a hero is a choice. God doesn’t shove us into it—though He may hurl us into a situation that requires us to choose. As He did with Henry Smith and the crash of Flight 1382.”

Dora looked up and was relieved to see that she still had their attention. She returned to her reading. “I never met Henry Smith, nor do I know any of the specifics of his life. At first this bothered me, and I put off writing this essay because I thought it was necessary to know about him, to meet his wife, to talk to his friends. But then I realized that’s exactly what is so special about heroes like Henry. There is little about their pre-hero life that hints of their fate—of their opportunity to touch greatness. There is no such thing as hero training. No education prerequisites and no previous experience required. Family background, ethnic origin, age, and gender are irrelevant; heroism is truly equal opportunity employment. You don’t even have to be a deeply religious person for God to use you in such a way. But that doesn’t mean God isn’t involved. He is
very
involved. For He is the One who breathes on that spark within us and fans it into a flame of willing self-sacrifice in a divine slice of time that makes a person stop thinking of himself and begin thinking only of others.

“But perhaps that last statement isn’t totally true. For I believe Henry Smith
did
think about his own life as he shivered in the water; I believe his thoughts were consumed with his own life in that last hour. But the difference is that the hero thinks of
giving up
his or her own life, not saving it.

“The survival instinct is strong and can be illustrated in the simple act of putting a protective hand in front of our face when something comes too close. But heroism is born when the survival instinct collides with empathy, when me comes face-to-face with we and the latter is chosen over the former.

“
Former
is an interesting term meaning
bygone
or
old
or
past
. The
hero, in his or her choice, makes our normal preoccupation with me, myself, and I fall away into our pasts, into our former nature. The hero shoves such ordinary, understandable considerations aside and thinks in an entirely different way: beyond himself. And the key is that the hero is given the opportunity of saying yes or no.

“Henry Smith said yes. As I watched tapes of the rescue and saw him hand over the lifeline for the first time, my mind accepted his actions as standing on the edge of ordinary. Just being polite. Women and children first. But then, there had to be a moment when he was shivering in that water, his body going numb, his injuries causing pain, that he made a conscious decision to continue his course of action—no matter the cost.”

Dora’s throat constricted, and she forced a swallow. She took a deep breath to calm her shaking voice. “When Henry saw the helicopter move away from him time after time, he had to realize that by giving up the line, he was choosing death.”

The tears came, and Dora let them fall. “And when everyone else was gone, and he saw that helicopter fade into the distance and felt his body shut down, I cannot imagine his loneliness. And yet I have to believe that God gave him comfort in his last moments. Somehow God gave Henry Smith the most intense feeling of satisfaction a person can feel. ‘Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.’ For that’s the key element of a hero. Love. Though heroes may not know how to show it well in their daily lives, when given the chance by God, they say yes. They
choose
to love.

“And so, Henry Smith, I say thank you for your act of love. And for showing us and challenging us, that maybe we, too, have a hero in us if we only say yes.”

Dora lowered the pages. She looked at the faces surrounding her. All were crying now, even Anthony. And then Ellen Smith got out of her chair and came to her, hugged her tightly, and whispered thank you in her ear.

George began the applause. “Bravo!”

Dora shook her head and sat down. She didn’t want applause. In fact, what she truly wanted to do was to run into the bathroom and cry.

Sonja came to her side. “When is that going to be in the paper?”

Dora looked down at the pages. “Probably never.”

“What do you mean never?”

“My boss will never go for it. Quoting Bible verses is not his thing. Not the
Chronicle’s
thing.”

“But it has to be printed,” Tina said.

Dora shook her head. “It had to be written. I had to write it. I’m just glad all of you could hear it—and approve. That’s payment enough.”

George handed her a tissue. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of your articles about us. You interviewed us, but you didn’t write—”

“Oh, I wrote them in here,” Dora said, touching her head. “But I couldn’t actually write them—not for publication.”

“Why not?” Tina asked.

Dora looked at Anthony. “Various reasons. But basically, most of what I would have written was too spiritual for the
Chronicle
.”

“You never did ask us about facts,” Sonja said. “Why is that?”

Dora took a deep breath, giving her time to think of an answer. “Probably for the same reason as tonight. None of you has obsessed about why the crash happened. Perhaps the normal journalistic who-what-where questions weren’t as important as how the five of you responded to the crash. How it changed your lives.” She looked down at the pages. “I shared this with some of you. I was supposed to go on that flight to be with my mother for an operation—an operation that was miraculously canceled. So Flight 1382 changed my life too.”

“You were supposed—?” George asked.

Tina waved this subject away. “Hold off just a second. Let’s get back to your writing. You’re a good writer,” she said. “I’d love you to write my story. I’d love—” She stopped in midsentence, her eyes darting around the room as if trying to snap up stray thoughts. “Hey … why
don’t
you write about us? Write a book about all of us and our experiences before, during, and after the crash.”

“A book?”

Sonja nodded enthusiastically. “Sure.
I
trust you. I gave you all sorts of delicate information about myself that I asked you not to use, and you didn’t. And actually, you helped me work through a few things.” She looked around the room, gathering support. “What do the rest of you think?”

“I’m all for it,” George said. He took Merry’s hand. “What about you? It would be a way for Lou and Justin to be honored.”

She bit her lip. “I’m not sure.” She looked at Dora. “You never interviewed me. Why didn’t you interview me?”

Dora couldn’t tell if Merry felt hurt or just left out. “I couldn’t imagine your grief. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“But maybe it would have helped. You helped Sonja …”

Dora moved to Merry’s side. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have asked you and let you make the decision to talk or not talk.”

She nodded, then shrugged.

George spoke softly to Merry. “Would you be willing to talk to Dora for a book?”

A breath. In. Out. “I think so. Eventually.”

“And I’ll talk,” Ellen said. “I’d love to have a book honoring Henry’s sacrifice.”

Everyone was for the book. Except.

All eyes turned to Anthony.

He pinched a piece of lint from his trousers. “Dora. Ms. Roberts. I seem to remember that you said you wouldn’t write an article about me because I was an arrogant, egotistical man with a skewed opinion of himself and his position in the world.”

George laughed. “You said that?”

Dora covered her face with a hand. “I said that.”

“Unfortunately,” Anthony said, “her opinion was quite true.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then laughter. “Way to peg it, Anthony!” George said. “I assume this means you’d be open to Dora’s book?”

“It’s doable.”

“And that you no longer hold those character traits?” Tina said. Her smile was sly.

“I’m working on it.”

George spread his arms. “I think that’s where we all are. Working on it. Learning to live with being one of the living. Learning to say yes.”

Ellen stood. “Speaking of saying yes, before I even heard Dora’s reading, but now, spurred forward by it.” She took a breath and stood tall in her five-foot-two frame. “I had decided to tell people about Henry’s sacrifice and obedience to God—and inspire them toward their own selfless acts by starting a foundation: The Henry Smith Foundation. Its motto will be ‘Finding the Hero in All of Us. Providing Lifelines to People in Need.’ ”

“I like it,” Merry said.

“I will be Henry’s voice.” She turned to George. “And you, George, I want you to speak with me, give your testimony as one of the five.”