Wreckage (5 page)

Jerry thinks I should go back to college and get the master’s I put on the back burner when he started law school, but becoming a student again scares me almost as much as cliff diving. Then again I totally owned that sixty-foot jump on Taveuni Island. What’s a little time in grad school compared to that?

Once the pictures start to zip from one electronic device to another, I risk a glance at Dave Hall. He also has a computer on his lap, but he doesn’t seem to be watching the glowing blue screen. He’s staring at an insignificant spot on the wall in front of him. Why does he look so—broken?

Oh no, I’m feeling the urge to help. I could sit in Theresa’s seat. I’d only talk to him for a minute or two. Okay, it probably wouldn’t change his life or end world hunger, but if it took that withered-flower look away for even a moment, it would be worth it. Jerry can’t stand it when I’m aggressively helpful like this but I can’t help it. I was born a fixer and I’ll probably die a fixer.

After an extra-long glance at snoozing Margaret, I tiptoe down the aisle toward Theresa’s empty seat. My thigh bumps the armrest as I crash into the seat. I muffle a squeal, and when I click the seat belt, Dave Hall glances at me. The surprise on his face says that he expected to find Theresa. Not knowing what else to do, I reach out my hand.

“Hi. My name’s Lillian.”

He stares at my hand like he’s never seen one before. This is a mistake. Before I can fold my hand away, Dave Hall clicks shut his laptop and tucks it under the seat. Then, like he’s finally awake after a long night’s sleep, he grasps my dangling fingers with a crushing grip. I lean forward, because I’d like to keep my arm in my socket if possible.

“Hi, Mrs. Linden, I’m David Hall.” He rushes through the words so fast they begin to slur. “Please call me Dave. I’m here to help your trip be a dream. Anything you need, please feel free to ask.” He points his thumb at his chest and actually says, “I’m your man.”

“Well, Dave”—I say the name slowly—“I’ll be sure to put you on speed-dial in case of emergencies. I just wanted to come up and say hello. I’ll let you get back to your work.” I would run, but he’s still holding my hand.

His face falls and his grip goes limp. “That was kinda cheesy, wasn’t it?” Desperation drips from his eyes, into his voice. “I’m very sorry, maybe I should start again.”

Apparently I’ve found a way to make Mr. Hall feel worse. Awesome. I’m
so
not good at this helping people thing.

“Listen,” I say, yanking my hand away. “I’ll head back to my seat. It was very nice to meet you, Dave.”

“Mrs. Linden, please don’t go,” he calls, putting out a hand to beckon me toward him again. “I’m usually much better at my job.” A gold wedding band distracts me, flashing in the light.

It’s a lot like Jerry’s, the kind you could get at any Sears jewelry department for fifty bucks. Just like Jerry’s the years of constant wear faded the previously shiny exterior to a dull finish. I remember when I bought the ring the saleslady said Jerry could bring it in whenever he wanted and have it polished, free of charge. But, as time went by and our marriage was numbered in years instead of days, I came to like the lackluster finish. Every scratch, every ding is another day, another memory of our life together and there’s no way I’d ever want that polished away. Why did I have to see that ring? Now I can’t run away.

“No, no, please don’t feel bad on my account,” I say, trying a little bit too hard to make him feel better. “I’ll find a spectacular way to embarrass myself before this week’s over, and then we’ll be even.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, smiling. “You know, that should’ve been listed in your file. It would’ve been a helpful warning.”

“My file?” At least he’s joking around. “Are you saying you’ve been spying on me, Mr. PR Guy?”

“No, I’m saying
Carlton Yogurt
has been spying on you. I, on the other hand, am just reading what they gave me. Innocent bystander.”

He puts his hands up as if fending off an attack. When he smiles it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. He’s probably about as tall as Jerry, pretty average, but seems taller because his nearly black hair curls into a halo on the top of his head, adding an inch or two. His seemingly natural olive complexion is smooth, and dark lashes frame his deep blue eyes.

He’s not perfect, though. His nose leans to one side when he smiles and he’s definitely carrying a few extra pounds. But he’s attractive enough to make me feel a little weird about sneaking up here.

“Innocent bystander my eye.” I laugh, swallowing that uneasy feeling. “If you have the pull to be on this trip every year I don’t think you’re some worker bee.” Dave raises a dark eyebrow. “Yeah that’s right, I spoke to Janice and she gave me a little file on
you
.”

He folds his arms on his armrest, mirroring my pose and making fine sinewy muscles stand out under tan skin. Smirking, he studies me in a way that makes it hard to look at him.

“Well, Lillian,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

All the sound sucks out of the room leaving my ears ringing. Is he flirting with me? It’s been so long since a man other than my husband showed some kind of interest in me, I don’t remember what it’s like and I definitely don’t know how to respond. Oh my God, does he think I’m flirting with
him
?

No, no, no! I twist the stone on my wedding ring around my finger three times, working on a way to brush it off, make it a joke. Or do I tell him he’s making me uncomfortable, that I’m a married woman? I’m going to be on an island with this man for seven days, so no matter what I do, it’s going to end up being awkward.

Then, before I say anything, Dave’s face turns red. “I’m sorry, that came out
really
wrong. I didn’t mean . . . I mean . . . it sounded like . . . uh . . .” He swipes a hand over his mouth, stunned. “I think I should stop talking now.”

I laugh, giddy with relief. “It
did
sound like . . .”

Dave starts to laugh. “For the record, I was
not
hitting on you.”

Suddenly the idea seems ridiculous and I can’t stop laughing, which escalates quickly until Theresa sticks her head into the cabin, eyebrows raised suspiciously. Our laughs fade into muffled sighs.

“Sorry,” I gasp, still out of breath. “I’m in your seat.” Tugging at the belt, I let my hair cover my flushed face, embarrassed by the insinuations in her raised eyebrows.

“That’s all right, hon, you two seem to be enjoying yourselves,” she says with enough innuendo to make me want to shrink and hide in the overhead compartment. “Either of you want a drink?”

I jump at the chance to change the subject. “I’ll have anything cold with caffeine in it.”

“And you, hon?” She points at Dave, a new sparkle in her eye. “Want a beer?”

“Just water, thanks,” Dave says. His troubles have returned, hanging heavily on his slumped shoulders. I’m sure he could use something a lot stronger than water.

Theresa retrieves our drinks at light speed while we pretend not to look at each other. Once we both have plastic cups in our hands, Dave lifts his in my direction.

“To private islands in the middle of paradise,” he toasts.

“Cheers,” I add, raising my cup to meet his with a light tap.

Dave downs his in one massive gulp and then fiddles with the empty cup. I sip mine slowly, noticing his nails are trimmed short and shiny enough to scream “manicure.” This guy is definitely not from Missouri.

“Mrs. Linden,” he starts. I study the soda in my cup, hoping he didn’t catch me staring.

“Please, call me Lillian. It might get a little confusing with two Mrs. Lindens around.” I wait for him to continue but he stares at his cup as if it could speak. “Dave, are you okay?” I whisper.

“Yeah, I’ll survive. Seriously, I’m sorry about before, when I was on the phone. I know everyone heard. My wife and I have been trying to . . .”

I put up a palm to stop him. “Dave, you don’t have to tell me anything. I didn’t come up here to be nosy. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His mouth closes. Tiny wrinkles ripple through his cheeks in a half smile. “Thank you, Lillian.” He glances down at the cup in his hands and I imagine him filling it with the words I stopped him from saying. “I appreciate it. I mean, I should’ve known. Your file did say something about being a good, helpful person.”

Poking his shoulder, I snicker. “You
are
going to show me that file before this week is over.” His baritone laugh mingles with mine.

Then we talk as if we’ve known each other for years. It’s not hard to avoid serious topics. I talk about home, Jerry, and the boys and eventually show him every single picture in my wallet. He, in turn, tells me a hilarious story about the ’05 Dream Trip winner getting so drunk she tried to seduce him. She also happened to be eighty-two years old. Our conversation flows seamlessly and before I know it the sky is darkening as the sun starts to set, throwing a pink haze on the clouds below us.

“Wow, now
that’s
pretty.” Dave gazes out his window at the chameleon clouds shifting color and shape down below. Before I can finish admiring the view, there’s a loud bang, and the plane lurches to one side. I instinctively duck for cover.

“What in the world was that?”

Lifting my head I see Dave is frozen, peering out of the window. “I . . . I see smoke. I think . . . I think the plane is . . . on fire.”

“Dave,” I put on my mom voice, “I’m sure everything’s fine. Has anyone you’ve known
ever
been in an airplane crash? No, right? We’re going to be okay, I’m sure of it.” I sound a little like a preschool teacher explaining to her frightened student that a bumblebee is more afraid of you than you are of it.

But, I’m not sure. Glancing behind me, I check on Margaret. Her head tips toward the aisle, her chest rising and falling regularly. So she can sleep through that crazy bang and turbulence but has to sleep in the master bedroom when she visits ’cause the basement is too noisy? I’m too worried to roll my eyes. Thank God she’s wearing her seat belt.

Theresa rushes into the cabin. “I need to tell y’all that we’re having a little mechanical problem but luckily we’re forty-five minutes away from our destination. Kent thinks everything should be fine. Make sure you all have a seat belt on, and he says we should be peachy.” She stops and tips her head to one side. “Hey, is that your laptop, hon?”

She’s talking to me. I forgot all about my computer, still sitting on the seat behind me.

“Yeah, it’s off, though. I swear I didn’t try to use the Internet,” I say, suddenly concerned that I somehow caused this.

Theresa laughs. “You did nothing wrong. Just put it under the seat when you get a chance, okay? We might be headed into some . . . turbulence. Nothing serious.”

She’s almost too calm. Everything doesn’t seem anywhere close to “peachy.” Something caused an engine to billow smoke and make a noise that shook the whole plane and made my ears ring. What if we don’t make it to the airport at all? What if it
is
serious?

Dave doesn’t seem satisfied either. “Theresa, what
kind
of mechanical problem are we talking about here?” I can tell he’s trying to act calm and collected but the tremor in his voice gives him away.

She shifts from one foot to the other when the plane lurches sideways with a vicious crack.

Theresa smacks into the lavatory door, falling hard on the floor. The lights go black. The plane creaks and groans. There’s no way it can take much more of this before it rips into a million pieces.

Just when I’ve convinced myself we’re diving nose-first into the ocean, the plane evens out and lights flicker on. In the stale yellowy light, everything seems eerily normal. Dave’s hair is a little disheveled. Theresa is okay, pulling herself to standing.

“I don’t care what Kent said, y’all have a right to know,” she pants. Balancing expertly on her heels, she places her hands on either side of the fuselage. “We lost one of our engines. We should be able to make it there on one but it’ll be hard to keep altitude, so instead of flying above the clouds we’ll most likely be in them, or below them.” She takes a big breath. “We’re flyin’ through a storm.”

A flash of lightning floods through the windows and the lights flicker. The plane jumps again, pulling my seat belt at my hips, digging the denim waistband of my shorts into my skin. Dave grasps at his armrests till his nails blanch.

Theresa staggers with each lurch. “Theresa, get in your seat.” I fumble with the seat belt.

Theresa shakes her head, shouting over the vibrating rolls of turbulence. “Do
not
take off that belt. It’s too dangerous!”

Then, gravity is gone. We fly upward, straining against our belts and another flash of lightning streaks through the cabin. When we level out Theresa is lying on the floor, knocked down like before. Hair covers her face, but through it she stares at me, unblinking, her right arm turned sickeningly behind her, so askew, like a twisted marionette. Her head is pushed too far toward her shoulder almost dipping past it to her shoulder blade. She lies there, shockingly still, as if cut from the puppeteer’s strings.

“Theresa!” I try to reach her without unbuckling my belt. The plane dips again and groans angrily, refusing to give in to physics.

“Dave!” I shout, hoping he has a plan, or a parachute or superpowers, but his eyes are closed tight, like he’s praying. Maybe I should be praying.

“Dave, DAVE!”

Suddenly he snaps to attention, staring at the lifeless body in front of him. “What happened?” Dave asks, dazed.

“Theresa is dead,” I shout. “I think she broke her neck.”

“Oh my God, oh my God!” Dave yells. “What’s going on? How did this happen?”

As if he’s been listening, Kent’s voice crackles over the speaker. It’s a professional, calm voice, like he’s reading a script. He wouldn’t be so calm if he knew about Theresa lying broken on the floor a few feet away.

“Unfortunately, due to some mechanical problems, we’re preparing for an emergency water landing. Please keep your seat belt latched, seat in an upright position, and put on the flotation device located under your seat. Don’t try to inflate them until after the water landing. After you’ve put on the flotation device, please follow Theresa’s instructions on assuming the brace position and finding emergency exits.” The speakers click off.