The Widow's Walk

by Carole Ann Moleti

  Her phone vibrated–again. She listened to the three new voicemails.

  Mike, edgy, sad. “I love you, honey. Please call me so we can work this out. I want to help.”

  Jay, frustrated–as usual. “Mom, for God’s sake, call me. I’m trying to help, but no one will tell me anything.”

  Marianne, totally pissed. “Liz, Mike says you’re headed to London via New York City. Please, call me first. There’s a complaint filed, and you’re scheduled to go before the judge Monday morning to answer Bill’s allegations that you sneaked into his apartment and threatened him. You’ve got to be there or they will issue a warrant. I can’t help if you don’t cooperate.”

  So, everyone wanted to help. So, Bill Jeffers was a scumbag. So, Mike had figured out where she was headed and tipped everyone off. So, the police might be here any minute. So, why did she listen to the damn messages? Her heart beat like a bird trying to escape from its cage.

  “Attention passengers, we’re about to begin boarding British Airways Flight 750, with nonstop service to London, Heathrow. At this time, we’d like to invite our first class passengers, those traveling with young children, and anyone needing assistance to board the aircraft through Gate 15.”

  Liz grabbed Eddie and stuffed him into the stroller. He fought the harness.

  “Time for the plane.” She draped the carry-ons over the handles, heaved up the car seat up one more time, and headed for the jetway.

  The crowd parted like the Red Sea to allow the bag lady with the squalling baby through.

  “Passport and boarding passes, please.” Were all Brits so cheery?

  The woman examined them with far greater detail than she had the passengers getting on before her. She studied the photos, then read some more. Had Marianne asked them to intercept her?

  “Very good. Put this tag on the stroller and leave it at the end of the jetway. Have a great flight.” She reached down and picked up Eddie, who eyed her suspiciously but stopped crying.

  Liz would have run if the brace hadn’t slipped and started digging into her calf. Her hands shook. The gods must be on her side, or was it the ghosts?

  “Well would you look at this big boy?” The flight attendant in first class fussed over Eddie and handed Liz a bag. “Some crayons for the tyke. Let me carry that for you.”

  She led the way to the bulkhead area and fastened Eddie’s seat. “Lots of space for him to move about. Not much for storage. Will you need the laptop or should I stow it there for you?” She pointed to an overhead compartment on the other side.

  “I can get it later, if need be.” Liz buckled Eddie in and gratefully allowed her to take the bags. “The diaper bag is right in front, the computer tucked in so it won’t rattle about. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cocktail, and milk for the baby?”

  “Later for the cocktail, but I will take some milk when you have a chance.” She needed a strong drink but not until they were airborne and she could relax her vigilance.

  The woman quickly set to helping other passengers streaming aboard. Eddie fought the seat, and Liz wished for the milk to help settle him. She dug the iPod out of her purse and put on his music.

  “Da.” He ripped the plugs out of his ears.

  “I wish Da was here, too.” Liz stroked Eddie’s face to try and calm him.

  Soon you’ll meet your real father. Elisabeth’s focus remained sharp.

  Liz fought back and held her phone up to the baby’s ear to replay Mike’s last message. The baby smiled, settled in with Lori Berkner again.

  Wait, a text now won’t be an issue. She addressed the transcript of the voice to text of her and Bill’s interchange to Marianne. On my way to London. Already on board, doors about to close. The doorman announced me. Bill asked him to allow me up. He was drunk. Nothing happened, as attached demonstrates. Will advise you when I return to the US. She saved it to drafts.

  “Here, Eddie, talk to Da.” Eddie looked at Mike’s picture on the phone and gurgled something. Liz prepared a message for him, through Mae. “We’re fine. Please, don’t worry. All I seem to be able to say these days is sorry.”

  The attendant passed by with a box of milk. Eddie gladly accepted it and sucked greedily. Every passenger looked at her as they passed.

  A man in a dark suit stopped next to her. “Excuse me.”

  Liz’s stomach lurched. “Yes?”

  “I’m by the window.”

  She stood to let the businessman pass, noting his look of distaste. Sitting next to a baby on a long flight wasn’t for everyone.

  The flight attendants closed the doors and took their positions. The routine robotic instructions. The plane backed up. Liz sent the messages to Marianne and Mike, then turned off the phone for the duration of her actual and metaphorical flight.

  The plane stopped on the runway and taxied off.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re being held while they clear up a backlog due to some cross winds and runway closures. This is Kennedy Airport, after all. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

  There didn’t seem to be any wind or any other planes around. They had to be coming for her. She shouldn’t have sent those messages. Why had she broken her rule? Liz craned her neck to check if anything was happening outside but couldn’t see past the man at the window seat. He looked at her askance. Yeah, I am crazy, mister. But you’re stuck with me until they pull me off kicking and screaming.

  Eddie stared at the now dark iPod. His face scrunched as he readied a howl.

  “Music in a minute.” Liz fiddled with the headset, but there was no kid’s channel.

  The baby’s patience evaporated, and he started to scream. Just come for me. Put me out of my misery.

  Papa sent a constable to retrieve me from the train, but I had my marriage certificate and Edward’s letter summoning me to come to America–and the tickets. Earl or no Earl, the law was the law.

  Liz tried to placate Eddie. He hurled the headset across the aisle. She took him out of his seat and tried to comfort him. Out of habit, he nuzzled her breast. Nursing would help, even though she had no milk. Whatever it takes.

  The businessman had moved as far away from the two of them as possible, and stared out the window. She pulled up her blouse, then pulled it down quickly as the first class attendant popped into the main cabin. “Come quickly, ma’am.”

  “Why?” Liz squeaked it out.

  “I’ve got a surprise.” She bent down to the caterwauling baby. “Ah, come now, it’s not so awful young man.”

  Liz unbuckled her belt. “My things . . .”

  “I’ll get everything. Quick, we’re about to take off.”

  After they take me off. Liz followed her into first class.

  The woman directed her to a double seat. “This will be better for everyone.”

  “You’re putting us in first class?” Liz almost cried with relief, disbelief.

  “We try to keep all the passengers comfy, and the seats are empty. Here settle in. How about that drink?”

  “Gin and tonic with a lime, please.” That would knock her out.

  “Very good.”

  She retrieved their carry ons, and put Liz’s cocktail in a real glass, inside the recess in the armrest.

  “We’ve been cleared for takeoff. Flight attendants, please be seated.”

  The plane taxied down the runway. Eddie sucked on the straw. Liz took a swig of gin.

  Chapter 31

  Eddie passed the time eating snacks and entertaining the very nice lady across the aisle who played peek-a-boo until she finally dropped off to sleep. He scribbled with the crayons on beverage napkins for a while, then snuggled to sleep against Liz’s chest.

  The cabin lights dimmed, even though the rising sun of an uncertain tomorrow peeked through the partially
closed shade. Liz, full of the first class filet mignon with mushroom garni, and wine on top of the gin, flew as high as the plane. Not trusting herself to carry Eddie to the restroom, she changed his diaper tucked and buckled him into his seat.

  Ah, for a hot bath, a warm bed. The clutch in her stomach returned. She had no hotel reservation, damn, she didn’t even have pounds and pence. Where would she be this time tomorrow?

  Flight attendants strolled the aisles, whispering responses to whispered requests. Slow, steady breaths, some snores, disturbed the peace. Exhaustion pulled her eyelids closed. Liz shook it off and collected her toiletries, covered Eddie with a blanket, and hurried to the vacant restroom. Nothing first class about it; she emptied her bladder and brushed her teeth.

  Who was the woman looking back at her? The one with the mussy hair, sad eyes, surrounded by circles so dark they appeared black and blue in the fuzzy, fluorescent light. Elisabeth was swimming through her alcohol sodden body. And she could care less.

  Liz splashed cold water on her face. Two pumps of the complimentary chamomile lotion soothed her cracked nails, ragged cuticles. She took another to smooth over Eddie’s chapped cheeks.

  The plane pitched as she walked the aisle, and Liz grabbed the back of a seat to keep from falling onto a sleeping gentleman’s lap. Eddie didn’t stir as she traced lotion over his face, his pudgy hands. The soft scent perfumed the air around them.

  Liz fastened her seatbelt and let the motion of the plane take her into desperately needed sleep as it sped across the Atlantic at a speed that Elisabeth could never have imagined traveling, into a tomorrow of unknowns, a new world of uncertainties.

  The cabin lights flashed on, but Eddie had already pounded on his mother’s arm to wake her. The aroma of toasted bread and coffee wafted through the airplane.

  Heather, an angel in a blue uniform, lowered Eddie’s tray and draped a tablecloth over it. She set out a cup and saucer, a plate of scones, some butter and jam. “Coffee or tea?”

  “Tea with milk and sugar.”

  She retrieved it from the galley, along with a cup of milk, cover and straw in place, for Eddie.

  They ate and drank like it was their last meal. The plane dipped.

  “We’ll be on the ground in about an hour. More scones?”

  “Please, they’re so good.” Liz didn’t want to appear greedy, but she’d offered.

  Heather brought four biscuits and a small plastic bag. “Carry them with you. It will be a while before you clear customs and get on your way. Fill this out.” She handed Liz a declaration form with a pencil.

  Customs. Another opportunity to be intercepted. Hopefully, her note to Marianne had placated things. The form was deceptively simple. Nothing to declare. Business. No need to elaborate.

  Andrew’s card slipped out of her travel folder. A diplomatic envoy? On the back he’d scrawled a number and the name Iman. Liz had no idea how to even use a phone here. She’d take her chances with a public cab.

  Pain blossomed between her eyes. The grunge of unchanged clothes, the sticky residue of sleep clawed at her. The day was far from over, that hot bath a long, long way off.

  Elisabeth chaffed. The memory of her departure, watching the shore fade away, the realization she’d never return to England, lowered a pall of sadness, loss, grief at choices made, consequences endured. Regret transcended it all, mixed up between the past and present: Edward and Gerry, dead. Jared and Mike, wounded. And the collateral damage: Elisabeth never saw her mother again, Katherine was separated from her sister. So much pain, all tied up in one ball of yarn that was now unraveling, releasing demons long confined to the recesses of memory.

  The seat belt sign flashed. Heather went by and tugged Eddie’s seat to be sure it was secure. She helped Liz raise a sticky seat back, then retreated to her jump seat and slipped into the harness. She braced for the landing, but the plane touched down like a whisper and glided to a stop.

  Heather stared directly at Liz as she spoke. “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to London, Heathrow. The local time is 3 p.m. The weather is cloudy, 0 degrees centigrade, with snow flurries predicted.”

  Liz blew her a kiss. There was no way to thank the woman for her kindness, save writing the company president, which was probably meaningless. She collected her belongings as the plane taxied to the gate. The bells chimed, the seat belt sign flashed off.

  Passengers crowded the aisles. Liz, loathe to leave, stayed put the warm leather seat to rush into the cold, bustling terminal, customs, another country, another currency, and a host of unknowns, not the least of which was where she was going. But soon the parade of passengers dwindled and she retrieved her bags, unbuckled the entire seat with Eddie in it and eased out into the aisle.

  “Bye, love!” Heather was far too busy to help this time, only pausing to tickle Eddie and stroke Liz’s arm.

  The laptop whacked her on the ass, the diaper bag snagged on every seat, jerking her neck into spasm, one vertebrae at a time. And she wasn’t even off the jetway.

  Again, she balanced everything on the stroller waiting outside the cabin door and emerged into the terminal, following the horde to baggage claim. She stopped at a kiosk and exchanged dollars, dividing the cash into bundles to make it easier to keep track of spending. But she still had no change for a cart and had to go back to the kiosk to get some coins.

  By the time she maneuvered to the carousel, her two light green floral suitcases were making the rounds by themselves. Grateful for a compact way to haul everything, Liz loaded the cart, collapsed the stroller and transferred Eddie into the front carrier. Hands free, she headed for Customs.

  The line snaked around four, maybe five times. A cacophony of languages chirped around her–American and British English, French, Italian, German. Eddie turned toward a couple with an Irish brogue, frowning when it turned out not to be Mae and Kevin.

  What were they, and Mike, doing right now? Anxiety built once again as the minutes clicked by, as each person passed the yellow line and was summoned to the window. Muzak played. Every muscle hurt, every bone ached. Liz’s head throbbed.

  “Next!”

  Liz trundled the cart through the narrow aisle, bumping the walls on either side.

  Nonplussed, the agent waited until she reached the window and pushed the passports through. “What is the nature of your business in the UK?”

  The accent never ceased to soothe. “I’m an author, doing research for a book on Victorian textiles and architecture.”

  “And how long will you be visiting? You’ve left the return flight line blank.”

  Liz’s tongue thickened. “About two weeks, perhaps less.”

  He frowned. Could he tell she was lying? For all she knew she’d never be going home.

  “At what hotel are you staying?”

  Liz produced Andrew’s card. “I’ve the name of a driver who is to take me to one.”

  Superb move. His eyebrows rose when he saw Andrew’s name and title.

  “Have a pleasant stay, madam.” He scanned and returned the passports.

  She was in! She’d just had breakfast, but it would be easier to eat in the airport at a food stand. There was probably a desk with hotel listings. She could find a cheap room in London, then plan how to get to Camberley.

  Edward and I spent our wedding night at the Kensington.

  Strange coincidence that was Sandra’s last name. Likely no longer there, or too expensive.

  Liz passed out into the main terminal. A line of drivers stood waiting for clients, holding signs with names. Her eyes lighted on the one that read Elizabeth Keeny. She blinked to be sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

  The Middle Eastern man looked right at her and smiled. “Mrs. Keeny? This must be Master Edward.” He tugged Eddie’s dangling foot. “I am Iman. Andrew Richardson asked me to pick you
up and see you to acceptable lodging. Come this way.” He reached for the cart.

  How could she afford a driver? “I don’t know where I’m staying yet.”

  “Mr. Richardson alerted me that you were traveling alone with a baby and needed assistance. He’s paid for everything, ma’am.”

  “I—I can’t accept . . .”

  “Already done. He’s a very generous man.” Iman tried to take the cart.

  Liz didn’t move. “I . . . need to research hotels, get something to eat.”