He couldn’t hold it in any longer or he might explode. He turned to her. “Captain, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to mention your Bermuda incident. It just sort of came out. I didn’t want to talk about Maya, and I just…I’m sorry. I don’t want to lose this job. I love flying. I’ve invested a lot of years.” Was he talking about Maya or his job now? Maybe both. Though the apology didn’t seem close to enough, he was certain he wore the most desperate expression capable of a human.
The captain did not so much as glance in his direction. Her countenance did not change. Instead, she continued in a calm, nearly inaudible voice. “I thought you wanted to hear about Bermuda.”
She was talking about Bermuda? Or was this another discombobulated metaphor?
Danny figured he had no choice but to lay his cards on his table. What did he have to lose, really?
Well, his job. But he’d already broached the subject with her, and contrary to James’s claims, smoke did not shoot out of her ears.
“Ma’am, I’d heard you don’t like to talk about that.”
“Where’d you hear that?” She paused. “The blog?”
“Yes. I mean, no. No! I don’t read that. I don’t even know about it. I mean, I didn’t, until today when James told me.” Danny bit his lip, trying to get all his words lined up in proper order so he didn’t sound like a raging liar. “You know about it?”
“Well, it is on the World Wide Web.”
“Look, that’s just an awful thing to do. People like that, who don’t have anything better to do with their time, they’re just stupid. Don’t pay attention to them.”
“Hmm.”
Hmm? Danny wanted to say more, but what more was there? The captain’s body language was like a broken traffic signal with all three lights glowing at once. He didn’t know whether to go, stop, or slow down.
“It was a typical day. Bright, blue skies. A moderate pax load. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, not that it should. It was just an ordinary day. But that’s how all days start out. Something makes them extraordinary, but an event has to happen, you understand? Without the event, it will always be ordinary.”
“Right.” Just roll with it, Danny.
“We lost power in both engines and started dropping. I managed to regain partial power in one engine, but it wouldn’t get us back to land. I knew I would have to land in the ocean, so I landed in the ocean, just like we’re trained to do.”
Danny wanted to ask more. How could she sum up an event like that with a few sentences? Wasn’t there more to tell? How did it feel? What went through her mind? Did people remember to use their seats as flotation devices?
“Nobody died. That’s amazing.”
“It’s because I was flying the MD-80. The engines are on top of the wing. If I’d been flying this 767, it might’ve been a different story. We came in hard, and had those engines been on the bottom of the wing, it could’ve ripped the entire plane apart.”
“Why didn’t you talk about it? I mean, I completely respect that decision, but most people would want to talk about it, share their experience, give the details.”
“I called every passenger aboard the plane that day and apologized.”
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m the captain. I’m responsible for them.” For the first time, Danny noticed her demeanor change. She turned to face him. “What I’m trying to say is that James is partly right. You’re responsible for Maya.”
Maya? Now they were on Maya?
“You were responsible for her emotional well-being, for keeping her pure until you could commit to be with her for the rest of your life. Instead, you took her out for a test drive. But you forgot you were on a test drive and decided you wanted to keep the car.”
“But she left me.”
“At the end of the day, you’re the captain. God put you in charge of caring for her. It doesn’t matter whose fault it was.”
Danny looked away. That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. And how’d they get from the Bermuda Triangle to Maya and now to God? The captain didn’t strike him as particularly religious.
“Bubba, James has the wrong idea about God.”
James had the wrong idea about everything, but that was another topic. Apparently Danny had the wrong idea about the captain.
“You would’ve done anything to get Maya back?”
Danny was having a hard time following the conversation, but his career probably depended on it, so he decided to take it one sentence at a time. “Yes. Of course.”
“God feels the same way about you.”
Danny folded his arms. What next? A speech on how big a sinner he was?
She continued. “You’re right. It was someone else’s fault that the plane went down. An engineer. A mechanic. A designer. A good person to be sure, but someone made a mistake.”
Back to the airplane.
“And it doesn’t matter that for twelve, fifteen, twenty years they never made a mistake,” she said. “This one mistake, it would’ve cost them everything.”
“Would’ve?” Danny unfolded his arms. “Had you not taken the blame.” A long pause stretched between them. “It cost you a lot.” Ridicule. Speculation. A blog full of gossip about her.
“It cost God a lot more to repair the damage done by our mistakes.” She smiled, causing Danny to smile back, but it was more like following the lead of a dance partner than being overtaken by happiness. It was the first smile he’d seen on her. “So I get blogged about. I think it’s funny, to tell you the truth. I mean, the things they come up with.”
“So they’re not true? That something bad happens to you once a year?”
“I guess it depends on your definition of ‘bad.’”
“Um…what’s your definition of ‘bad’?”
“A crash water landing. After that, everything’s a piece of cake.”
Danny smiled. “I see what you mean.”
“Every time I hear the wheels touch down on the runway… when I hear that skidding sound they make, I thank God. Danny, Maya’s a skid mark. Not big, ugly, and tar black. Probably really pretty. But either way, one indicating you were coming in too fast in the first place. Just thank God your wheels are touching the runway.”
He wanted to remind her that he didn’t leave Maya, she left him, and it wasn’t about commitment but money, but though nothing she said really made sense, it had meaning in a way he couldn’t explain. In a way that made him feel he didn’t need to defend himself. And that maybe God handed out second chances like free quarters to a vending machine.
“Ahhh!”
Danny jolted nearly out of his seat. The captain flinched. They turned to find the ACI’s arms flailing and his eyes darting wildly around the cockpit. Then, like he’d just been caught naked, he froze, laughed sheepishly, and slowly released the briefcase he was clutching. “Sorry. I suffer from night terrors.”
“If you’re tired,” the captain said, “you’re welcome to rest in the cabin.”
“No, I’m fine. It was just a moment of, uh…hiccups are exhausting. I’m fine.” He rearranged the papers on his clipboard.
A knock rattled the door. The ACI got up, peered out, and opened the door for James, who popped in with a wide grin. “I feel like a million bucks. I swear, I slept as hard as the dead woman in the back of the plane.”
Danny sighed. If Maya was a skid mark, James was that horrible burnt-rubber smell that came with it.
Chapter 17
After an attempt at a short nap, GiGi decided to start preparing breakfast. She had nothing else to do, and this way she wouldn’t have to rush. She poured herself a cup of coffee and got busy.
Strangely, she wondered why the guy in seat 20E hadn’t rung his Call button. She’d waited for him to. Wanted him to. Before he was nothing more than an exaggerated annoyance she’d nicknamed Milk and Cookies. She’d met her share of challenging passengers before, but none quite as high maintenance as this man.
Yet after
watching him with Hetty, she found herself drawn to him, and not because he was young and polite, parted his hair like her grandfather, and had perfectly dreamy blue eyes. Three times she’d been tricked into thinking beautiful eyes translated into a decent heart. Three divorces later, eyes rarely fooled her anymore.
So what, exactly, drew her to him? Sure, he was polite and pleasant, even when asking for his third glass of ice-cold water in an hour, but there was something more. Something about how he treated the dead woman.
Maybe he knew how he treated the dead was going to affect all those still alive.
It had. His words had a calming effect on GiGi, like rocky road ice cream or a bad highlighting job on a prettier woman.
She decided to check on him. Why not? Maybe he was suffering silently, traumatized by the events. She made her way up the aisle, pretending to check on all the passengers. Most were beginning to wake to the early morning sounds in the cabin.
Finally, she came to 20E. He was writing something on a notepad. When he noticed her, he smiled.
She hadn’t been nice to him. Why was he smiling at her?
“Hi, GiGi.”
And calling her by name?
Her smile came easy. “Hey. I just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Perplexing. He needed everything under the sun until it was offered. She tried not to dwell on it.
“You’re sure? Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
“We’re fine.” The woman sitting next to Hank leaned into the conversation, placed her hand on his knee, and spoke in a voice loud enough for a crowded subway station.
“You two are traveling together?” GiGi asked.
“I’m sorry,” said the woman, glancing behind her, “could you repeat the question, a little louder?”
GiGi cleared her throat and focused back on Hank, who for the first time looked uncomfortable. “I just wanted to thank you for your help earlier.”
“It’s no problem.”
She knelt next to him. “I also wanted to apologize. I was rude to you, and it was uncalled for. It’s just been a long life—flight, I mean. A long flight. I did London and Scotland last week, and I’m exhausted. But I shouldn’t have taken out my frustrations on you.”
“It’s okay. I realize it’s been a difficult flight.”
Emotionally challenged woman. Pig. Prisoner. Bleeding ulcer. Irate woman with dead mother. If they only knew.
“How is Mrs. Kilpatrick doing?” Hank asked.
“She’s calm. So is the pig. That’s all I can ask for at this point. I think the rest of the flight is going to be pretty uneventful.”
“Please tell the captain I think you’re all doing a terrific job handling these situations.”
“I will. Thank you.” GiGi rose just as Kim approached.
“I need you,” Kim whispered.
GiGi turned to follow her. “What’s going on?”
“Leendert is upset.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. The agent is trying to handle it, but I thought I’d better alert you.”
“All right. Finish getting breakfast ready.” Kim went to the galley, and GiGi approached Agent Tasler and Leendert. “Everything okay?”
Agent Tasler’s hot glare sliced into GiGi. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”
Leendert didn’t look fine, though. Beads of sweat lined his brows; his ruddy complexion had turned pasty. His winsome eyes appeared unfocused, agitated. He clawed the side of his face with trembling fingers.
“Are you sure?”
“We’re fine, aren’t we, Leendert?”
Leendert nodded slightly, then his eyes grew round and he shook his head, almost in spite of himself.
“What is wrong with him?” GiGi whispered, though there was nobody nearby except Hetty, Mrs. Kilpatrick, and on the other side of the plane, the guy with the stomach condition.
“He’s being a weenie.” Agent Tasler sighed. “Apparently he has a thing with dead bodies.”
“Her toes.” Leendert shuddered.
“Or the toes attached to the dead body.” Agent Tasler cast a forlorn look in Leendert’s direction.
GiGi glanced behind her. The blanket was nearly long enough, but it didn’t quite cover her toes. She’d checked. There weren’t any other blankets left.
“He doesn’t like dead bodies. So we can rest assured he’s not a mass murderer?” GiGi smiled.
Agent Tasler smirked. “Exactly. And he can rest assured that if he doesn’t get it together, he’s going to be dealing with me in a far less generous mood.”
“Can not you move me?” Leendert asked, gasping for his breath in short spurts.
“He does look a little…”
“A little nothing. He’s perfectly fine,” said the agent. “We’re not going anywhere.”
He didn’t seem to be faking it.
“Breakfast will be served soon,” GiGi said to Leendert. “Maybe that will make you feel better? Toast does wonders.”
“Toes? Did she just say toes?” Leendert’s voice quavered.
“Toast. Toast,” the agent stressed in a firm voice. She sighed and looked up at GiGi. “All this for Amsterdam.”
“Pardon me?”
“I took this assignment because I thought it would be fun to see Amsterdam. Agents like to volunteer for these kinds of transports when they’re going somewhere cool. My buddy had to transfer a guy back to Hawaii.” She sighed. “I’m not certain this will be worth it.”
“Amsterdam is really interesting. The canals are amazing. Don’t miss Anne Frank and Van Gogh.”
The agent smiled. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
“Sure.” GiGi turned, deciding she better check on Ulcer, who ironically seemed the least likely to give her one.
Sleep deprivation was doing a number on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall asleep. Instead, Jake closed his eyes for short, intermittent periods and tried to decide whether he was a schmuck or a good person.
A schmuck would’ve taken all the diamonds, changed his name, and fled the country, leaving his elderly grandmother—whom he’d never met and didn’t really want to—high and dry.
He wasn’t a schmuck, because by definition he’d actually have to carry out those plans instead of just think about them.
He wasn’t a good person either, though, because a good person would insist on returning all of the diamonds and not taking any for himself. He would stand by his convictions that he didn’t need more than he had.
So he was somewhere between a schmuck and good person. A schmerson. He could live with that.
That took a total of ten minutes to ponder. He needed something else to fill his mind.
He stared at the dead body for a while. Well, the toes of the dead body. It didn’t repulse him. It didn’t even make him glad he was alive. It made him hope he never lived to be old enough not to care about footwear.
Another ten minutes.
He needed something to dwell on, not just think about. Dwell. Dwell. Dwell.
Okay, Idya. Why not?
The truth was, if he could admit it to himself, he wanted to meet her. She seemed gruff, but maybe that was because she had a deep voice and spoke in a guttural language. He got defensive at the thought of going by “Jaap,” but what twenty-something guy wouldn’t? “Jaap” sounded like a pure-bred, long-haired miniature dog that liked to bite. Maybe he could win her over to the name Jake. Maybe once they met, she’d see him as Jake.
He wanted to know more about her. She’d told him she acquired the diamonds after her husband, Jake’s grandfather, died, and it had something to do with World War II, but that’s all he knew. He wanted to understand the dynamic between his parents and Idya…what kind of misunderstanding kept them an ocean apart? He wanted to know more about his grandfather too, who died when his father was little.
All of this, of course, would be far les
s complicated if he could be assured he’d arrive at her doorstep alive.
“You doing okay?”
Jake’s eyes flew open, and he sat up straight. “Me?”
“Are you feeling okay?” The flight attendant stood above him again.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Better.”
Her nose lifted into the air. “It feels warm back here.”
“Um…I don’t know. I mean, it feels fine to me.”
“You’re not sweaty?”
Well, he couldn’t say that. “Now that you mention it, it does feel stuffy.”
“I’ll be back.” She stormed up the aisle.
Jake settled back into his seat. Thanks to the flight delay, his iPod battery died a few hours back, and he’d already watched The Italian Job twice. He tuned in to the cartoon channel and clipped the earphones on.
As he glanced across the aisle beyond the dead woman, he noticed the old guy looking at him. Staring at him. A full-blown stare, the kind that normally caused Jake to ask, “What are you looking at?” Or, if it happened to be a woman, break into a wide, charming, borderline goofy grin. At least that’s how his friends described it. Jake stared back for a moment, hoping to make the old guy look away, but he didn’t. Jake balked.
Forget about it, he told himself. He was just an old guy, probably senile or nearsighted or something.
Jake slid down in his seat, only to have to slide back up as the flight attendant returned.
“Somebody turned the thermostat back up to sixty-eight!” She flung her hands toward the ceiling. “Why warm the breakfasts? We might as well be in a microwave oven! It’ll cool down in a moment, okay?”
Sure. Whatever, lady. Just beat it.
Jake sighed. He really missed hanging out with his band.
Lucy sat still, enduring the small lecture on self-esteem from Hank. She fought back tears while simultaneously fighting off an enormous influx of negative energy. The cabin doors were sealed, so whatever negative energy happened to be floating inside the airplane had nothing to do but roam around like a bloodsucking tick, looking for someone to attach itself to.
Skid Page 14
