The Seat Beside Me (6 page)

“Yeah? Who says?”

Henry studied the man’s eyes. They were hard and determined.
Lord, give me the right words
.

George jabbed a finger into Henry’s arm. “Answer my question. Who says I don’t have a right to talk about dying? About moving on in the ultimate way so I can be with my wife? I’ve had a long life. A good life, though I have to admit there are a few things I’d do differently. Nobody but me has a right to tell me how to live the last of it.”

Henry drew in a breath, hoping wisdom would come with it. “It’s not up to us to choose the time, George. It’s up to God.”

George flipped a hand. “God schmod. He and I aren’t on the same wavelength since He decided to take Irma from me. We weren’t doing anything wrong. We were living a good life. There was no reason for Him to break us up like that. Didn’t He have anything better to do than mess with us?”

“Why do bad things happen to good people?”

“Exactly.” George squinted one eye and wrinkles formed a star burst at the corner. “If you’ve got an answer to that one, Mr. Henry Smith, I’ll forget my plans and marry this husband hunter next to me.”

Henry’s stomach contracted. “Your
plans?
”

George banged the palm of his hand into his own forehead. “Now I’m a dumb fool!” He pointed at Henry. “Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?”

Henry decided it was time for bluntness. “Are you really planning on suicide?”

George blinked once, then lifted his chin as if he were telling Henry he’d just won first place in a contest. “Sure am.”

Henry did his own blinking, trying to blink the knowledge away.
Now what?

Do what you do best. Sell to him. Sell him on life
.

Henry shook his head, wanting the idea to go away. Who was he to sell anyone on life when his own was so up in the air? So unexciting? So unfulfilling?

George slapped his leg and sat back, laughing. “You don’t know what to say, do you? Talk about a conversation killer.”

“Don’t do it.”

“Now
that’s
original.”

Henry’s mind swam, trying to think of something profound. “God wants you alive.”

This earned him a raised eyebrow. “Oh, He does now, does He?”

Hoo boy …
“He does.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you’re alive right now.”

George snickered. “Alive? Barely. Hardly.”

You got me there
. “God said ‘you shall not murder.’ That includes murdering yourself.”

“I hate to tell you, Mr. Henry Smith, because I can tell you’re a believing man, but God’s not in charge of my life. I am.”

“No, you’re not. If you were, your wife would still be alive.”

George opened his mouth to speak, shut it, then opened it again. “I—”

A male voice came over the speaker system. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. As you may have noticed, we’ve had a slight delay in takeoff. It seems we continue to have a weather problem. We’ll keep you informed.”

George clapped his hands together once and glared at Henry, triumph in his eyes. “See? None of us are in control. None of us. Chaos reins.”

Henry looked out the window where snow buffeted the glass. He could barely see the terminal. Maybe George was right. Chaos ruled outside the plane—and inside too. If he was honest with himself, what he really wanted to do was hide in a corner where he didn’t have to deal with bad weather, air travel, suicidal seatmates, or the turmoil in his own heart. In fact.

I have to get out of here! Now
.

Henry unbuckled his seat belt and began to stand.

George tugged at his arm. “Hey. Where you going?”

“I have to leave. I can’t be here. I’m not supposed to be here!” Henry saw the panicked eyes of the widow by the window. He took a step into the aisle and reached for the overhead bin. A flight attendant hurried to his side, her arms waving.

“Sir! You’ll have to sit down.”

He shook his head, an absurd fear welling up inside him. “I have to go. I have to get off this plane. I have to—”

“You have to take your seat and wait like the rest of us. We have delays like this all the time. There’s nothing to worry about. The captain has everything under control and he—”

George raised a finger and interrupted. “You’re wrong there, miss. According to Henry here, God’s the one in control.”

The woman looked at Henry with new understanding in her eyes.
She thinks I’m a religious fanatic
.

Her voice became patronizing, as if he were a deranged sicko who needed talking back from the edge.
Hey, I’m not the one who wants to kill myself; George is
.

She smiled and continued her placating monologue. “Take a seat, and I’ll get you a glass of water. You’ll feel better then. Would you like a pillow? Or a blanket?”

Henry looked around the cabin. All eyes were on him. Some were puzzled as if they, too, wondered if they should be asking to get off; others looked disgusted, as if they resented having to witness a lunatic. A few showed compassion. Perhaps doubt seeped into their sanity too?

He allowed the flight attendant to direct him back into his seat while George pulled him from the side.

The attendant watched until he buckled his seat belt.
That’s it; strap yourself into the straightjacket like a good boy
. “There now. That’s better. I’ll be right back with your water.”

Henry looked at his lap rather than the eyes of those closest to him. He saw George’s wrinkled hand pat his. “There, there now, Henry. It seems that of the two of us, you’re the one needing the help.”

Henry couldn’t argue with him. He folded his arms around his chest, feeling suddenly cold. And with the cold came the feeling God was very far away.

It scared him to death.

Three

Listen to advice and accept instruction, and in the end
you will be wise. Many are the plans in a man’s heart
,
but it is the L
ORD’S
purpose that prevails
.
P
ROVERBS
19:20–21

1:55
P.M.

R
oscoe Moore pointed to the worry line between Sonja’s eyes. “It’s gotten deeper.” She laughed nervously, looking at her watch. It was already forty minutes past their scheduled takeoff time. “Yeah, well, hearing we have a problem with the flight tends to do that.”

Roscoe shrugged. “Let it go.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about things you can’t fix. And you and I certainly can’t fix the plane’s problem or the weather.”

“The question is, can they?”

“The question is, why was Sonja Grafton worried before there was trouble with the flight?”

“You’re not going to let me out of this, are you?”

“Nope.”

Sonja studied him a moment. His looks were handsome but not hunky, his grooming impeccable but not showy, his voice vibrant but not pushy. She had the absurd notion she could tell him anything, and he would understand—and maybe even advise. She could use some advice.

“Do I pass muster?”

She felt herself blush and looked away. “I didn’t mean to stare … I was just—”

“Sizing me up? Determining whether or not you could trust me?”

She laughed. “You’re good.” “Listening is my job.”

“What do you do?”

He shook a finger at her. “Uh-uh. You first, Ms. Grafton.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Tough. Spill it. With the delay, all we’ve got is time.”

The possibility that Roscoe could help made her stomach quiver in anticipation. Maybe it was a good sign. Maybe her trip would be a breeze. She took a cleansing breath and began. “I’m worried because I finagled my way onto this plane, this trip.”

“Finagled?” His right eyebrow raised.

“It’s a good word.”

He smiled. “But not the most precise one?”

She rubbed her forehead, hiding her eyes from his for just a moment.
He
is
good
. She put her hand down. “How about … schemed?”

He rubbed his hands together. “Ooh, the plot thickens.”

Suddenly, Sonja got cold feet. To admit out loud what she’d done.

“You did it to get ahead in your company, right?”

“How did you—?”

He shrugged. “That’s the reason for corporate intrigue, isn’t it? Getting ahead? Leaving others in the dust?”

“I’m not leaving—” She thought of Geraldine back at the office, definitely in the dust. She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong with trying to get ahead?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. But at what cost?”

“It’s not costing me anything.”

He waved a finger at her forehead. “Except some worry lines.”

She ironed them but knew as soon as she removed her finger, they’d spring back. “You’re a man. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m a black man. Believe me, I understand.”

Sonja had never thought of that. “Maybe you do.”

He put a hand on her forearm. “Listen, Ms. Grafton, you don’t need to confess anything to me. I’ve been there. And I’ve probably done that.”

“You’ve—” she smiled—“finagled things to get ahead?”

“I was one of the finest finaglers in Phoenix.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes. Very well.”

She blinked.

“That’s not what you expected me to say, was it?”

“Actually, no.”

“Finagling—scheming—does have its moments.” He shook his head, as though something weighed heavy on him. “But the cost, the cost is high.”

“Oh, so you got caught.”

His eyes were intense. “No, I didn’t. I rose to the top of the company, became its president. Had an office suite right out of a movie. Four cars. A house so big we didn’t have to see each other if we didn’t want to. Vacations whenever I wanted.”

“Sounds good.”

“It was—as the world defines good.”

“What other definition is there?”

He sat silent a moment, and Sonja watched his own worry line etch its way between his eyes. Then it faded and he looked up. “There’s God’s definition.”

She sighed inwardly. She didn’t need a sermon. She thought Roscoe could really help her.

“Don’t turn off the ears because I said the
G
-word, Ms. Grafton.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He pointed at her eyes. “Watching your reaction … it’s like I saw little shades being pulled down in order to keep out the light.”

“I didn’t—”

“But He is the Light. You don’t want to keep Him out.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m not judging you. I can only judge myself. All I know is when I was at the pinnacle of my success, my blinds were the blackout kind. All I wanted to see was what I could get from the world. Gimme gimme more more. It didn’t matter what people said, what warnings I received. I was content on my side of the blind. Not even my wife could get through to me, though God knows she tried.”

“So what happened to change things?”

“Our little boy was killed.”

She drew in a breath, not expecting anything so awful. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

He looked at his lap. “Yeah, me too.”

“What happened?”

Roscoe put a hand to his mouth as if he wanted to cover the words. “I backed over him.”

Sonja couldn’t restrain the shock. “What?”

“I’d stopped home one evening—I did a lot of ‘stopping home’ back then, and I was in a hurry to get back to work. Eddy was playing in the driveway on his tricycle.” Roscoe’s hands jerked toward his ears as if he wanted to cover them. “I can still hear the thud, the crunch. His scream.”

Sonja put a hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine.”

Roscoe closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t want to.” It was an accident.” It was a true statement that sounded incredibly lame. “An accident that could have been prevented if I had my priorities straight, if I had my focus on my family instead of my finances and
fame.” He opened his eyes, and she could sense the effort it took to clear them. “After Eddy died, I looked at everything—I mean,
everything
—in my life and found it wanting. What was I working for if not to make a better life for him and my wife?” He shook his head. “My wife had warned me, but I didn’t listen. You should meet her sometime … quite a woman.
Quite
a woman.” His eyes locked on to Sonja’s. “Listen to me now, Ms. Grafton. Don’t let your focus on getting ahead force you to ignore what is right in front of you.”

“But I don’t have a family. There’s just me. The shortcuts I take now won’t hurt—”

“They’ll hurt
you!
”

Roscoe’s voice had risen. They both looked around to see who heard. A few people glanced in their direction but quickly looked away.

Roscoe took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was normal. “You might gain material, visible success, but what you lose, Ms. Grafton … what you lose is more precious than any of that. ‘A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver or gold.’ ”

Then it hit her.
Good name? Have I ruined my good name? For what? A few days in Phoenix?

Roscoe slapped his hands against his thighs. “Things are different now;
I’m
different.”

“Do you still have the business?”

He shook his head. “Sold it. Now I work with poor kids, helping them stay in school and on track. I help them pinpoint their talents and strengths and find jobs. My wife, Eden, works with me.” He laughed. “We live week to week. We sold the big house, the cars …”

“You gave it all up?”

“I gave up a few things and gained my soul.”

A thought burst through Sonja’s lips. “But since you
had
things,
it was easier for you.” She looked away. “I mean, you got to experience success and wealth. It probably was easier for you to give it up than for someone like me who’s never had any of it. My office is a six-by-six cubicle, and my car is held together by rust and dust.”

“It’s been said, ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.’ ”

“I don’t get it.”

“People who are rich—whether in regard to money, talents, or even intelligence—tend to depend on themselves.”