“Sweet!” Jenny slapped Veronica on the arm with the back of her hand.
The second the plane’s wheels touched the ground, the passengers erupted into wild cheers and clapping as if the pilot had performed a miracle, which maybe he had. Veronica quickly unbuckled herself and grabbed her purse. “What time is it?”
“It’s fucking Miller Time!” Jenny pounded the armrest and slapped her other seatmate’s khaki-clad knee.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Technically I’m not in rehab, so what are they going to do?” Jenny bounced in her seat.
Veronica chuckled at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Can you please, for the love of god, chill out for just a second and tell me what time it is?”
Jenny sighed dramatically and retrieved the phone from her backpack. “Three twenty-one in the AM. You got a date or something?”
“Yeah. Something along those lines.” She gazed out the small window into the dark desert night.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to Clovis, New Mexico. I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we have landed safely. The bad news is that we are going to be parked here until they are able to repair the generator, which could take a while. So, sit back, relax and enjoy a complimentary beverage. You are now free to move about the cabin.”
“Shit.”
“What’s the big deal? It’s the middle of the night. How important is it? Even I know that. Chill.”
Veronica removed her seatbelt, sank back into the seat and turned towards Jenny.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Do you like being nineteen?”
“No. Why?”
“No reason.” Veronica drummed the armrest with her fingers as if that would send a message to the ground crew and speed up the repairs.
When a flight attendant passed by, Veronica bolted upright. “Ma’am! I really need to stretch my legs.”
The attendant stared blankly back at Veronica.
“What I meant to say was, can we get off the plane? I’m feeling sort of claustrophobic just sitting here.”
“You’re welcome to walk up and down the aisle, but we can’t exit the air craft. We’re at a military base.”
“So, how long do they anticipate this generator thing taking?” She tried to keep her tone light and conversational.
“We don’t have all the details yet, but it could be several hours. Can I get you something to drink?”
Yes, warm and red and preferably free from methamphetamine. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“I’ll have a Bloody Mary with a side of Stoli,” Jenny said and pushed in her ear buds. The attendant made her the drink, handed it to her without checking her ID and pushed the cart on down the aisle. “You’re gonna pass up a free drink?” Jenny opened the tiny bottle and guzzled it. “You must be in AA, huh? That’s cool.”
As the booze kicked in, Jenny reclined the seat and closed her tired eyes. The man on the aisle clicked open his laptop. Veronica glared down at the armed military men milling around outside the plane. One stupid move and they’d probably shoot her. She closed the shade and attempted to control her breath. While everyone around her slept or busied themselves with electronic devices, she tried to accept the fact that she was powerless over her circumstances and that her life had become increasingly unmanageable. In the air or not, circumstances were going to get really real for the passengers of Flight 1297.
8
The plane remained motionless at six a.m., while the flight attendants busied themselves with the delivery of pillows, blankets and “It’s five o’clock somewhere” cocktails. Veronica had filled the previous agonizing hours by penning a long letter to Frank. She hoped Jenny would drop it in the mail on her way to rehab. She also hoped that whatever happened in the next hour wouldn’t hurt, but from her years spent working in hospice, she knew that that was not always the case. She’d witnessed gentle last breaths that looked like deep slumber, but she’d also witnessed folks who struggled against that white light with panic and fear in their eyes.
The sound of Bobby Lee’s breathy cackle echoed in her head, filling her squirrel-cage mind with resentment and regret. If she hadn’t fucked up, she could be home spooning Frank. Instead, she was forced to consume forkfuls of humble pie. With a trembling hand, she lifted the window shade. Still dark. It was not her choice to die on a flight to San Francisco surrounded by strangers, but she’d surrendered to the idea of sunlight and whatever that might bring. If anything, death would be like a good night’s sleep, something she hadn’t experienced in years. She shook Jenny’s arm.
“Mom?” Jenny slurred and opened her raccoon eyes.
“It’s Veronica. I need you to listen to me for just a minute. We don’t have much time.” Veronica looked towards Khaki Pants. He was fast asleep, his mouth gaping open.
Jenny sat up in her seat, exhaled into her cupped hands and winced. “My breath smells like ass. Got any gum?”
“No.” Veronica handed her the letter. “I need you to mail this for me. I’ve written the address down on the first page. Here’s ten bucks to buy some envelopes and a stamp. Will you do that?”
“What, you can’t mail it?”
“No.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Something really weird is probably going to happen in the next thirty minutes.”
“I think something really weird is happening right now. What else?” Jenny lifted her backpack onto her lap.
“Listen, I don’t know the specifics of what is going to happen, but it will be weird. Even for a girl like you.” Veronica stood and squeezed her body towards the aisle. “That letter is an amends to my husband. Please don’t read it. Okay?”
Jenny rolled her eyes and placed the letter in the outside pocket of her pack. “You have my word, but I’m an addict not a postal worker, so whatever.”
“Thank you.” Veronica trudged slowly towards the back of the plane as if her feet were shackled. She stepped inside the vacant bathroom for a quick peek, locking the door behind her. Like the closet where she spent her days, it was cramped and windowless. For a moment she entertained the thought of barricading herself inside till sundown. But people would inevitably complain, and the crew would be forced to pry the door open. It depressed her that her final resting place would be a bathroom. Even if she went out in a theatrical blaze of glory, there would be no dignity in dying on the toilet. She glanced briefly at the mirrored surface above the sink. For a split second, she thought she saw herself reflected, but she knew too well that the mind plays tricks when death is near.
She opened the door to find Khaki Pants picking his nose. “This is the flight from hell,” he yawned, edging closer to the door like a dog marking its territory.
You have no idea. She smiled, nodded and entered the empty galley. There was a tiny window on the escape door. The sky was lightening. She wasn’t sure if she needed direct contact with the sun or if peripheral exposure would do the trick. The last thing she wanted was to injure anyone or inflict emotional trauma during her demise, so she sat on the floor, brought her knees to her chest, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t think of an appropriate prayer for the moment, so she recited the Lord’s Prayer in a low voice.
“Our father, who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespassed against us. And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory. Forever and ever, Amen.”
In a singsong voice, a male’s voice added, “Keep coming back—it works if you work it.”
She opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, but could you please make your way back to your seat?”
Veronica looked up at the young steward with perfectly gelled hair and pleaded with her best puppy dog eyes. “I don’t think I can. My legs. It’s probab
ly a blood clot. Can I please just stay back here and exercise them until we take off?” Veronica rolled to her side and performed animated leg lifts. “I promise I won’t bother anyone. I’m a nurse.”
Probably exhausted and fed up with all the complaints he’d endured, he spoke down at her like she was a naughty child. “Okay, but don’t call attention to yourself. I don’t want this area to turn into an aerobics class.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He turned his attention to the small window. “Wow. Look at that. I guess that’s the reason they call New Mexico the land of enchantment.”
“What do you mean?”
“The sunrise. It’s enchanting.”
Veronica inhaled deeply and braced herself for impact as streams of warm morning light touched the skin of her face. The attendant looked down at her with a furrowed brow.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just crampy. Do I look okay?’
“You look fine. I mean, despite the fact that you’re lying on this nasty floor.” He loaded a variety of sodas onto his cart. “You were smart to stay out of the sun. My mom’s face looks like an old Coach purse.”
“So, I’m not changing?”
“Um, do you mean like the change of life, changing? I’m confused.”
She nodded, and he stooped down to inspect her face. “Well, your upper lip is kind of sweaty. I hear those hot flashes can be a bitch. Do you want something cold to drink?”
Confused and vaguely agitated, Veronica pressed her face to the cold window, daring the sun to take the first swing.
“I’m ready, God,” she murmured into the plexiglass, her breath steaming up the window, waiting through a ten-second eternity for…
…nothing. No bursting into flames, no crumbling into dust, no spewing of blood—nothing. Nothing but a god-damned glorious southwestern sunrise. In a huff, Veronica stood, dusted off her black pants and stared at the skin on her arms as if she were hallucinating.
The attendant pushed his cart into the aisle as if this kind of passenger behavior was par for the Dallas/San Francisco course.
“What. The. Fuck?” She exhaled and shuffled back to her seat. She touched her face in random places to make sure it was still there. As it said in fancy cross-stitch on the wall of her Al-Anon meeting, “An Expectation is a premeditated Resentment.” Fucking-A it is.
Khaki Pants was MIA. Jenny flipped through the pages of the in-flight shopping catalogue and was now sipping from a can of Miller Lite.
“Move,” Veronica said, and crawled over Jenny’s extended legs.
“So, did the really weird thing happen yet?”
“No. False alarm. How do I look?” Veronica turned her head from side to side.
“Um, is this a trick question?”
“No, it’s not a trick question. How do I look?”
Jenny sized her up. “You look like a middle-aged woman who doesn’t try very hard.”
Veronica lifted her brows. “Really?”
“Well you don’t! If you put a little makeup on, did something with your hair and lost that muffin top, you could be a total cougar. You should see my mom. I don’t think my dad has ever seen her without her face on. Last month she got that Botox shit all over her forehead and now she can’t lift her eyebrows. Given the choice between looking old or weird, I’d take old.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Makeup, bitch. What do you want to know?”
“Oh, never mind. You know, you could use a little less makeup. That foundation makes you look like an Oompa-Loompa.”
“I’m not wearing foundation.” Jenny leaned forward and pulled off her hoody to reveal a black Ramones t-shirt. Her arms were as orange as her face and covered in track marks.
“Don’t tell me you shoot meth?”
“No fucking way. Do I look that crazy?”
Veronica stared at the small orange girl covered in cat hair and nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, you do.”
“Well, I’m not. I have a blood condition.” Jenny leaned back into her chair and swallowed the rest of her beer in one gulp. Crushing the can with one hand, she drew out a long, dramatic burp and leered at Veronica. “So, put that in your sanctimonious pipe and smoke it.”
“A blood condition?” Veronica’s eyes widened, and she moved closer to Jenny’s face, hoping to catch a whiff. “Hemochromatosis? Is that it? Is that your blood condition?”
“Yeah. Take a chill pill, psycho.” Jenny leaned away from her. “How did you know?”
“I’m a nurse.” Veronica wasn’t particularly hungry, but the mere thought of Jenny’s medical condition took her mind off the sun. Some of her fondest meals were from hemochromatosis patients. Compared to the regular old skim milk of the general population, their iron-rich blood tasted like fresh, heavy cream.
Khaki Pants sat down and buckled his seat belt. “I suggest you ladies buckle up. We’re going to be taking off any minute.”
For the rest of the flight, they remained silent. Veronica closed her eyes and let the sun spill onto the exposed flesh of her arms and face, fantasizing about iron-rich blood, tanned skin and the possibility of sleeveless shirts.
9
The passengers of flight 1297 clapped half-heartedly as the wheels of the airliner touched the runway. The fear of death was quickly replaced by the minutiae of missed flights, dead batteries and morning hunger. Everyone was exhausted. The pilot’s announcement that it was fifty-eight degrees and foggy outside didn’t help.
“Can I use your phone?” Veronica tapped Jenny on the back as they waited to deplane.
“Sure.” Jenny handed her the cracked iPhone from her back pocket.
Veronica stared at a crumpled piece of paper while pressing Ingrid’s number onto the greasy screen. “Hey, Ingrid. We just landed. The sun is out and I’m still here. Anyway, I hope the plan is still the same. I’m a little worried you’re not picking up.” Veronica looked at the phone to make sure it was still connected. “As we discussed, I’ll meet you at the baggage claim. In case you didn’t know it, the sun thing is a lie. Okay, then. Bye.”
Veronica handed the phone back to Jenny. “That’s my daughter. She probably didn’t pick up since she didn’t recognize the number.”
“Or she didn’t pick up because she hates you and has no intention of picking you up at the airport.”
“Are you always this negative?”
“Yes.” Jenny slung her backpack over her shoulder and soldiered down the aisle. As she entered the terminal, Veronica tapped her on the arm again.
“I just wanted to wish you good luck with treatment. I don’t know you very well, Jenny, but I do know that you can do it. One day at a time, okay?”
Jenny rolled her eyes and attempted to fist bump Veronica. “Later.”
Veronica embraced her in a quick, awkward hug. She reeked of sweat and methamphetamine. “Take care of yourself.”
Veronica was slammed by guilt as she walked away from this mess of a girl. If it were up to her and her codependent ways, she would accompany Jenny to her connecting flight and make damned sure that she checked into rehab within an hour of landing in Santa Barbara. But Jenny’s recovery was none of her business. Jenny had to want sobriety, and Veronica wasn’t convinced that she did.
Veronica scanned the crowd of people at baggage claim for Ingrid’s red hair and fair skin. She wasn’t there. She probably hadn’t bothered to check that the flight was delayed. As an eternal teenager, there would inevitably be a million excuses.
To kill time until her daughter’s arrival, Veronica crept out of the building through the automatic doors like a jittery cat. Feeling like an animal that had been caged for years, she wanted nothing more than to roll around on the grass in the sun. But with those first tenuous steps, doubt crept in. Maybe the sun wasn’t strong enough in the plane or in the grey clouds that hovered above San Francisco. Maybe it would take an Arizona scorcher to burst her into flames. She didn’t know if she’d been livi
ng a lie set forth by those before her, or if it was remotely possible that all the cancer drugs and narcotics she’d ingested had finally pickled her body into immunity. A fine mist settled on her skin as she reveled in the uncertainty of the moment.
“Taxi!” Jenny hollered into the street.
Bewildered, Veronica sprinted towards her. “What are you doing? What about your flight to Santa Barbara?”
“What? Are you my mom now?”
“No, but I could be.”
“The next flight to Santa Barbara doesn’t leave for another six hours and I’m not staying in this shithole airport for standby. Where are the fucking taxis?” She stomped her black, thick-soled boots on the pavement.
“There’s a taxi stand over there. You see where all those people are lined up?”
“Oh.” Jenny’s phone jingled, and she peered down at the screen. “I think it’s your daughter. Pizza slut,” she answered with an impish grin, then stuttered. “Wait, wait, wait a second! You have the right number. She’s right here. Here.” She tossed the phone to Veronica like a hot plate she hadn’t ordered.
“Where are you? Oh. Super Shuttle? Hold on a second. Let me get a pen.” Veronica snapped her fingers at Jenny.
Jenny dug in the bowels of her tattered backpack and managed to produce a pen and a crinkled-up receipt.
“Three seven seven Sycamore Street. Like the tree? Okay. See you in a bit.” Veronica handed the phone back to Jenny.
“Want to go to Western Blood Center with me? My daughter’s a phlebotomist. She’s working. That’s why she isn’t here.”
Jenny looked at her as if she were crazy.
“Listen, I know it’s not the most exciting of plans, but maybe you could make a donation and it would help with your coloring. After that, we’ll get you something to eat and then back to the airport for your flight. What do you say?”
Jenny thought about it for a minute, then wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Sure. Why not? It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
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