Wreckage (4 page)

“Hey there. What’s up?”

“I needed to hear your voice.” She sighs a little, like hearing me talk gave her relief. “Last night was the worst night of my whole life and I’ve been wishing you were here to help.” Her voice catches in her throat and makes me sit up a little straighter.

“What happened, Beth?”

“I’m so sorry, Dave . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I . . . I started bleeding last night and went to the doctor this morning. He said . . . he said we were losing the embryos.” She shoves the words out like unwanted visitors.

I turn toward the window and whisper, “Wha-what do you mean? How in the world did that happen? They said we wouldn’t know for another week.”

Muffled cries spill out. “I forgot to get my shots.”

“What do you mean ‘forgot’?” She knew how important those shots were. Her body doesn’t make enough hormones to carry our babies. Dr. Hart made that clear.

“I don’t know, I forgot. You weren’t here to remind me and I’ve been so busy with work and the shots make me really tired. I just forgot. I told you not to leave. I told you I needed you here.”

“How could you
forget
Beth? This isn’t like forgetting to feed a dog in the morning, those could have been our babies.”
MY babies
, I want to scream, but I hold the words in before they escape. “How many shots did you miss?”

“Three,” she whispers.

Three. I don’t understand. I’ve only been gone, what, twenty hours? Not two days, and definitely not three. I was home for two of those “forgotten” injections. I asked her how she felt after each shot, I babied her, made sure she still felt okay. Beth
told
me she visited her nurse friend Stacey every day, that she gave her the shots, that they didn’t even hurt. Why did she lie?

I can’t breathe. I’ve never been claustrophobic but this is what it must feel like, like there isn’t enough oxygen in the room, like the walls are closing in. Scratching at the top button of my polo, I yank at it, fighting against the one idea I don’t want to believe—she did this on purpose. I press my forehead against the cool plastic plane window. The hand holding my phone shakes as I try to calm myself enough to talk.

“Dave, honey, are you there? Please don’t be mad at me, please? Come on, baby, talk to me. Please.” Her voice grates on my ears.

The plane jerks forward and yanks me back into the present. The doors quietly closed during my conversation. Theresa stands in the passageway between the cockpit and cabin. There’s that pitying look again. She points to the cell phone, signaling me to turn it off so we can get in the air.

“I have to go, we’re taking off.” I’m surprised at the roughness in my voice.

Beth sniffles loudly. “All right. Call me later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I love you,” she whispers.

I can’t bring myself to say it back.

CHAPTER 5

LILLIAN

Present

“So tell me, Lillian, why did Margaret choose you to go with her?” Genevieve asked, pushing the story forward.

“She said I deserved a break. We’d never been on a trip together just the two of us so she thought it might be fun.” Lillian flipped her hands in conclusion, pretending she’d thought going to Fiji was more important than taking Daniel to his first day of kindergarten.

“The first week in Fiji went off without a hitch?” A well-sculpted eyebrow lifted, inviting detail. Next to the question in Lillian’s pamphlet was a note in parentheses that said:
Be descriptive
. She’d practiced with Jerry, telling him all the details of her trip with his mother. When she finished, his eyes filled with tears. He’d never heard the good stories.

“Yeah, the island was beautiful and the people were amazingly kind and friendly. Carlton had someone from their PR department at our service at all times, making sure our vacation was incredible. That first week we went on a helicopter tour of the island, set sail on a sunset cruise, and took scuba diving lessons—or rather I took them while Margaret swam and sunned herself. But really most of the time we spent eating, lounging, and being lazy.” An actual smile played on Lillian’s face.

“The second week was to be spent where?”

Her smile disappeared and fear and remorse threatened to make her clipped, matter-of-fact voice tremble. “At a private resort in French Polynesia, Adiata something . . . um, Adiata Beach, I think. The company made the arrangements.”

“Could you specify what the arrangements were for getting you and your mother-in-law to this island?” Genevieve leaned forward in her seat. She knew this was the important part, the part that would get viewers to tune in.

Swallowing a lump, Lillian swore she could smell the combination of jet fuel and hot asphalt melting in the sun as she answered. “A private jet was chartered for our use.”

Then the reporter asked the question she was dreading, the one that would start it all. All the lying.

“What happened on that plane, Lillian?”

Lillian knew what the reporter was hoping for when she took this interview—tears, wailing, and, if she was lucky, some spiritual enlightenment. That’s what they all wanted.

“It all started out normal. Margaret took a sleeping pill when we boarded the plane and was sound asleep. Theresa, the flight attendant, took our drink orders, I kept reading, and I think Dave was working. To be honest, it was a quiet trip.”

How that word didn’t choke on the way out, Lillian would never know. “Honest” wasn’t a word that described what Lillian was spinning, but it sounded good. If she was being honest she’d talk about how the three hours confined on that plane suddenly felt like a moment, like a figment of her imagination but also like the last real thing that happened to her. How everything that happened since was like a surreal dream from which she couldn’t wake up.

But then again, she never intended to be honest.

Lillian tried to refocus. It wouldn’t help her keep on script thinking about what really happened. At this point, she wasn’t completely sure herself what the truth was. It was only at night, in the darkness, that she found she couldn’t forget. In the dark it would be impossible to listen to Genevieve Randall ask inane questions about the plane, how long before takeoff, what drink she ordered . . . because Lillian knew what was next. It was easier in the daylight.

“Now tell me, Lillian, what was the first sign of distress?”

The hope that flashed in Genevieve’s eyes annoyed Lillian. She’d seen it in dozens of interviewers. The worst moment of her life became a reporter’s hope for career advancement. The idea smoldered in Lillian’s chest, and she took a moment to smooth an invisible crease in her jeans before continuing.

“We were in our seats, about forty-five minutes from reaching the resort, when a loud bang came from the right side of the plane. It felt like someone bumped into us, but I saw nothing but clouds outside the window.”

“Hmmm, so what happened next?”

“Theresa, the flight attendant, came out of the galley and told us we’d lost an engine but everything would be fine. She advised us to buckle up and hold on tight and said we’d be there in a little bit.”

“That must’ve been scary,” Genevieve said, eyebrows pinched together. If she wasn’t Botoxed to her hair roots, her forehead would’ve wrinkled in faux concern. Each question was more of a wish than a query, and with her head cocked to one side, the reporter looked a bit like a spoiled cocker spaniel begging for a treat.

No treat for you, Pookie
, Lillian thought before answering. “I believed Theresa. I mean, I’d never been on any kind of a private jet before and it was her job, so what else was I supposed to think? I put on my seat belt and tried to not worry too much.”

Lillian’s hand fell into her lap, twitching. It had been months since she’d told the whole elaborate lie, and her brain was working hard to remember all the details in order. The last thing she needed was for Genevieve to notice a discrepancy. The woman was clearly good with details.

“All right then, when did the realization settle in? When did you know you were in real trouble?”

“The plane started to lose altitude and that’s when we flew into the storm instead of above it. The turbulence was unbelievable,” she murmured. “The captain’s voice came over the speaker and told us to brace for impact. I think everything seemed so unreal that I wasn’t sure it was actually happening.”

“What goes through a person’s mind when faced with such a life-threatening situation?”

Lillian stared at her glossy nails, contemplating how much to say, the short dark hair falling over her face making her wish the chestnut strands provided some sort of real protection.

“You think about family, about things left unsaid and undone. Then you think about how to get through it, how to survive.”

An annoying smile spasmed on Genevieve’s lips. She’d found her first sound bite.

“What was everyone else on the plane doing to prepare for impact? What about your mother-in-law, Margaret?”

“Margaret was shocked awake by the turbulence but still a little dazed. There was an aisle between us, and the noise was unbelievably loud, so we couldn’t talk. But until Kent told us to brace for impact I held her hand. I tried to tell her I loved her, I told her we’d be okay. Dave was in front of me. I couldn’t see him.”

“And then Theresa, what was she doing?”

Theresa. Once, almost three months after returning home, Lillian was on a flight to California when she thought she saw her. The flight attendant had glided up and down the aisle taking drink orders, her wheat-colored hair covering the side of her face.

Lillian had been half asleep on the Valium her psychiatrist prescribed for her first plane trip since the crash. It had been hard to leave Jerry and the boys behind, but he couldn’t take off any more time. Jill sat beside her instead.

That’s when she had heard Theresa’s voice.

“Hey there, hon, what can I get’cha?” The knowing Southern drawl was unmistakable.

“Theresa?” her drugged voice rasped. “Is that you?” In that moment, she almost drowned in a flood of hope and confusion, until the smooth face came into focus.

“No, hon, I’m Jen. But you can call me Theresa if you want to.” The flight attendant winked playfully.

“I don’t want anything to drink,” Lillian slurred. Jill apologized and ordered her some apple juice anyway, and Lillian drifted off to sleep, sure she’d just seen Theresa’s ghost.

Lillian shook the hazy memory out of her mind and put on a brave face, preparing for the impending drop on her own personal roller coaster. It was coming, she saw it up ahead, that drop that everyone else seemed to love but her. To Lillian it wasn’t invigorating or exciting. It just felt like falling.

“Uh, Theresa was up in the cockpit with Kent, but after the announcement she came back to get buckled in like the rest of us.”

Genevieve leaned forward, mock concern on her face. “Lillian, I know this is difficult but please tell me how Theresa died.”

CHAPTER 6

LILY-DAY 1

Flight 1261

The flight attendant stands at the front of the plane running through a little spiel about seatbelts and floatation devices but I’m not listening. I’m watching Dave Hall. He leans against the window, staring. I can’t see his face. But once, as Theresa mimes putting on an oxygen mask, he rubs his temple and then his face like he’s wiping away tears.

Concluding her presentation, Theresa sits down in front of me and buckles her seat belt for takeoff. No one speaks. Dave Hall remains frozen, slouching against the window and staring out into the ocean as we ascend into the sky. The force of takeoff pushes me into the seat and I surrender willingly, taking in one last look at Fiji, the glowing white beaches tracing the rich green center like a strand of pearls. Then there’s only water, shimmering sapphire blue.

When we finally level out, I pick up my book again. It’s a romance, not my usual, but I only had ten bucks in my pocket and it was the cheapest one there. I’m in the middle of one of those steamy love scenes. Blushing a little, I flip through the chapter, searching for a page free of throbbing body parts.

All I hear in my head, though, are Dave Hall’s words on repeat:
Those could have been our babies. How could you forget?
Slapping the cover closed, I sigh and run a hand through the tangled strands of my unbrushed hair. This is going to be a long flight.

A sharp ding sounds. The flight attendant unbuckles and faces our seats.

“Y’all can use your electronics again if you want. Just no phones.” She glances at Dave like she wants to say more but instead tiptoes toward the galley.

Time to be distracted, finally. Shoving my backpack out of the way I yank the heavy black laptop bag onto my thighs. Normally I’d never lug a computer with me on a beach vacation but Jerry downloaded some video chat software. I saw the boys on their first day of school and every other day since. It’s not the same as being there, but it’s definitely a step above the phone.

I dump my silver digital camera out of its bag and hook it up to the computer with a long white cord. I’ve been e-mailing pictures and stories from our trip for Jerry to read to the kids. I don’t get to play the part of adventurer very often in my predictable suburban life, which is fine, but it’s also fun to prove to them that I’m more than just a mom.

I think that’s why missing Daniel’s first day of school has been so hard on me. It’s always been this far-off thing, a figurative graduation from my life as a full-time mom. Now that it’s actually here I have some decisions to make. Jerry insists that I don’t
have
to rush back to work but I’d rather not spend the rest of my days folding laundry and polishing the silver. Jill’s been begging me to come back to Stevenson part-time and pick up a few history classes for her, even promising me my old classroom. At least I’d have a better place to put all my Civil War books. But I don’t know if I’m ready to be a teacher again. I’d have to deal with teenagers and, even worse, their parents.