The Color of a Promise (The Color of Heaven Series Book 11)

by Julianne MacLean

  “But you thought you were. You gave me the fright of my life, and there was nothing I could do because you were halfway across the country, in a remote location on a mountain.”

  I picked up my bag and started walking toward Jack’s car. “I know, I’m sorry, but I’m fine now, and I had a sandwich today, so you can relax. And I’m leaving the crash site now and heading to the hotel.” I paused, for effect. “With Jack Peterson, if you must know. In his car with his own personal driver. I’ve been with him for most of the day.”

  There was a shocked silence on the other end of the line. “The Jack Peterson?”

  “Yeah. Have you been watching CNN?”

  “Of course,” Wayne replied. “Who hasn’t? Are you going to be on TV?”

  I glanced toward the parking lot, where Jack was also talking on his cell phone, strolling around in small circles. “I don’t think so. He hasn’t been filming me. He just wants to learn so that he’ll have good information for his show tonight.”

  Wayne was quiet for a few seconds. “So what’s he like in real life?”

  I continued to watch Jack from a distance as I walked. “He’s very nice. Surprisingly down-to-earth. Very intelligent and genuine.” I chose not to mention the fact that he was also incredibly attractive and a terrible distraction.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Wayne said. “I’d be disappointed if it was all an act.”

  “It’s not,” I assured him. “So how are you doing in the wake of all this? Are you flying today?”

  “Yeah. Pretty soon, actually, and we were just told that we’ll be shuttling some of the family members to New York for a connection to Portland. They didn’t want to fly with Jaeger-Woodrow Airways.”

  I looked down at my feet. “I can’t blame them. Be safe, okay?”

  “Always,” Wayne replied. “And don’t worry about me, sis. You know what they say.”

  “Safer than driving.” I stepped onto the pavement and approached Jack’s car. “I gotta go now. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I met Jack’s gaze. He quickly finished his own call and slipped his phone into his pocket.

  “Ready?” he asked as I reached him.

  “Ready as ever.” He opened the car door for me, and I slid into the back seat where he joined me.

  “Thanks for waiting,” I said, as we buckled our seatbelts.

  “No problem. Was that the brother you mentioned was a pilot?”

  “Yes. His name is Wayne. He was just calling to make sure I was doing okay.”

  The driver started up the car and pulled out of the lot.

  “I take it you and he are close?” Jack asked.

  “Very. I can’t imagine life without him. Although he does give me a hard time, occasionally.”

  “About what?” Jack asked with interest.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have felt so comfortable with a CNN reporter, but all my filters seemed to fall away whenever he asked me a question.

  “Oh,” I said dismissively, “he just thinks I work too hard. But he’s probably right. I do. He’s always after me to take time off and get away from it all.”

  Again, Jack simply watched my face, seeming fascinated by every word I spoke. I couldn’t help but start to ramble again.

  “I guess I am a bit of a workaholic. But it’s not just work to me. It’s my passion.” I turned slightly on the seat to face him more directly. “You must work a lot too. Especially when you’re on location, covering something like this.”

  “For sure,” he said with a nod. “Sometimes I think the same thing—that I’m a workaholic—because I rarely feel the need to take a vacation. It makes me think of that saying…if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.”

  I thought about that. “Hmm. I believe that’s true for most people, but for me… I can’t really say that I love what I do. Of course, I’m very passionate about it and driven to get the job done—and done well—but it’s hard to love the hours you spend in a place where people have died. And it’s not fun to explain to families the details about why their loved ones aren’t with them anymore. It’s stressful and painful, and sometimes I wish my passion were something different, because there’s a price to pay.”

  “What price?”

  I shrugged. “Besides the stress and anxiety on a crash site, which can be overwhelming sometimes, I don’t have a normal life. I’m too busy. I can’t imagine how I could ever be a mother in this line of work, because it’s all-consuming. Which is kind of disappointing, in a way, now that I think about it. I always imagined I’d get married someday and have kids. Now suddenly, I’m thirty. How did that happen? But God, I don’t have time to date anyone.”

  “I thought you said you were still with your boyfriend from college. What was his name?”

  “Malcolm,” I quickly replied. “And yes, I’m with him, but it’s not a new relationship, so it doesn’t require that we date. Not after nine years. You know how that is… It’s just…easy and comfortable.”

  I gazed out the window at the trees as we increased speed on the main road to Portland, and realized my life must sound kind of pathetic. I kept saying how passionate I was about my work, but personally? I was describing my boyfriend like he was an old shoe. And I kept saying the word “date” like it was something I was allergic to.

  I turned my attention back to Jack, who was still watching me.

  “My brother’s always after me to find balance,” I added. “He tells me to go to a movie or take a dance class. He’s right, or course. I do need to get out and do other things, because the way I live… It just isn’t healthy.”

  I stopped talking, and Jack and I simply stared at each other. He was nodding his head.

  I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. “I can’t believe I just said all that to you. I’m so sorry.”

  Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “Don’t apologize. I get it, totally. I’m the same way. I can be obsessed with my job, too. Although I do take vacations, and I was very insistent about getting seven weeks a year written into my most recent contract.”

  “Seven weeks. Wow, that’s great. What do you do with all that time?”

  He smiled at me, and I felt a rush of warmth spread through my body. “I travel, I come here and spend time with my parents. I lie on beaches, go skiing, sailing, hiking, sightseeing. With no cameras or interviews required.”

  I smiled, and realized it was the first time I had smiled since my arrival in Maine. “I should take notes.”

  “Yes, young lady, you definitely should,” he said. “I can put it in an email for you later, if you like.”

  I chuckled. “No, I think I got it. So who do you go on all these adventure vacations with? Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Seriously, Meg? Filters!

  I pressed my open hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry again. That’s none of my business.”

  The corner of Jack’s lips curled into a small grin which I found incredibly sexy. It was exciting and invigorating, and all the little hairs on my arms and neck started to rise and tingle.

  Be careful, Meg. You’re not here for this.

  But what was this, exactly? What was happening here?

  Clearly, Jack found me entertaining. “It’s fine,” he said with a small chuckle. “And no, I don’t have a girlfriend, but not for lack of trying.”

  I gave him a look. “Oh, please. You’re Jack Peterson. You must have beautiful women propositioning you all the time.”

  His expression was friendly and open as he shrugged slightly. “I’ve never been terribly interested in the kinds of women who proposition me. Not these days. Or maybe I’ve just given up on romance. Too many disappointments.”

  “I hear you on that count. I’ve never had much luck in the romance department either.”

  “Says the woman who’s been in a relationship for nine years.”

  I bit my lower lip and regarded him with a hint of chagrin. “That was an odd thing for me to say, wasn’t it?”

  He shrug
ged again. “I’m not judging.”

  I realized in that moment that I still hadn’t talked to Malcolm since I’d left the message on his phone the night before, and he hadn’t called me either. Of course, he knew how busy I would be today, and he always respected the space I needed in order to do my job. He was probably just waiting for me to call him when I had a free moment. Or maybe he was in the OR.

  Jack and I drove on in silence for a while as I pondered my relationship with Malcolm. Had it really been nine years? It was hard to believe.

  I turned to Jack again. “How long will you stay in Maine for all this? Or will you head back to New York right away?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he replied. “We’ll be taking it day by day, but I suspect I’ll be here the whole week. What about you?”

  “It’s really hard to say. It depends what we find in the next few days. If we end up having to reconstruct the plane, it could be a long time.”

  He considered that. “Well, if you need some downtime this week, give me a call. We could get a drink or something.”

  Was Jack Peterson asking me out?

  No…he knew I was in a relationship. He probably just wanted to stay informed about the crash.

  “That would be nice,” I replied. “But I always work until pretty late.”

  “So do I. Here. Take my number. Text me at any hour. I might be up.”

  “Okay.” I pulled out my cell phone and he told me his number. I added it to my list of contacts, which felt very surreal, to have Jack Peterson’s personal cell phone number in my phone.

  I gave him my number as well.

  His driver slowed at the entrance to the hotel parking lot where dozens of satellite news trucks—including one from CNN—were parked along the road. By now, news teams had arrived from all over the world—France, Germany, Australia, and other places. Crowds of photographers with cameras stood behind a barricade, and cops and paddy wagons with flashing lights created a very intense atmosphere.

  “Looks like it’s going to be a packed house,” Jack said.

  He lowered the window to speak to a police officer in a bright yellow vest who stood on the street, directing traffic. Jack held up his press badge. “I’m here for the debriefing, and this lady is with the National Transportation Safety Board. She’s staying in the hotel.”

  The cop bent at the waist to peer in at me. “How do you do, ma’am. Everything looks good here, Mr. Peterson. Go on in.”

  We pulled into the lot, and the driver dropped us off under the overhang at the main entrance.

  “Are you coming inside now?” I asked Jack as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

  “No, I’ll head over to the news truck and find Joe,” he said. “We still have a few hours before the press conference starts. Good luck in there, okay?”

  “You, too. Thanks for the drive.”

  “Anytime.”

  I got out with my heavy gear bag, shut the car door behind me, and walked into the hotel.

  What a day it had been.

  And it wasn’t over yet. The really difficult part was only just beginning.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Jack

  As I watched Meg Andrews disappear through the sliding glass doors of the hotel, I marveled at the fact that I might be entertaining a bit of a crush. It was a rare and unexpected thing, especially in circumstances like these, where I was focused on covering a major global disaster.

  Last night, a commercial airliner had narrowly missed crashing into my parents’ house—by a mere few hundred yards. We were all lucky to be alive, and today, not a moment had passed where I didn’t think about that.

  Or the poor dead child and the battered teddy bear I had seen in the darkness late last night.

  The memory caused a knot in my stomach and a heaviness in my chest. No doubt, the images would be burned into my consciousness for the rest of my life, and beyond.

  For that reason, I, like everyone else in the world, wanted answers about why this tragedy occurred, and I wanted assurances that it would never happen again. Maybe that was an impossible dream, but I wanted it, all the same.

  So did Meg Andrews. She struck me as an exceedingly competent professional who was deeply and passionately motivated to determine the cause of an accident, and make recommendations for improvements to safety and security. With people like her at work on the investigation, I believed we were in good hands.

  But there was something else about her that caused a curious spark of interest in me—something outside the fact that I found her mind-bogglingly attractive, even in those unflattering black trousers, black work boots and bulky NTSB jacket.

  Meg wore no makeup. Her blond hair was tied back in an untidy ponytail, but that worked for me, because I had never been into the glamorous types. I’d lost interest in women like that at a very young age.

  Consequently, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off Meg for most of the afternoon. There was something about her that struck a chord in me the instant she got out of the car and walked toward me, across the parking lot. I’d felt it even before we spoke a word to each other.

  Some people might call it love at first sight, but I knew it wasn’t as simple or romantic as that. It was a deeper, more longstanding recognition. Though I had no idea who Meg might have been to me in another life and time, I knew she was someone. And this was significant, because I’d never felt this way about anyone in my current life except for Katelyn, which was why I had once believed she was the only one for me.

  It turned out that she wasn’t. She had been the one for my brother.

  All that aside, this feeling I had about Meg was not the same. With Katelyn, I had conscious, vivid memories of our past together, even before I met her. With Meg, there was only an intuitive sense of familiarity and connection. I wondered if I would ever know who she was, with certainty.

  “Let’s get going,” I said to Curtis, my driver. He took me out of the hotel parking lot to where Joe waited for me in the news truck, half a block away.

  My cell phone rang just then, and I checked the call display. What a coincidence.

  “Katelyn,” I said, answering the call. I checked my wristwatch. “You must be getting ready to go on the air.”

  “Yes,” she said, “in about ten minutes. I just wanted to check in with you. I’m assuming you’ll be at the press conference tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’m here at the hotel right now. I’ll attend the briefing, then I’ll do my show immediately afterwards. We’ll do it live from the Portland Head Light.”

  “That’s a good spot,” she said. “I’ll be at the briefing as well, as soon as I finish up here, so I’ll probably see you there.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for you,” I replied.

  “Okay. See you later.”

  I ended the call and got out of the car.

  o0o

  Not surprisingly, the press conference was intense.

  I sat in the front row, listening to the local authorities describe the crash and rescue effort. All the while, I was aware of Meg, who sat at the end of a long table of experts with Gary and Carol. She looked pasty white, almost green, and she kept her gaze lowered as the navy explained that they would not yet call off the search for survivors in the water, even though no one had yet been found alive. The subtext was, of course, that we should all prepare ourselves for a very high death toll and no survivors.

  Other reports were equally grim. We learned that a local community center had been converted into a temporary morgue for the bodies that had been recovered so far. The medical examiner was as delicate and tactful as he could possibly be, as he described the extent of the casualties.

  There was a mad flurry of questions when the FBI spokesperson delivered his report. Unfortunately, none of the authorities had any concrete or new information about whether or not it had been an act of terrorism, or some sort of mechanical failure on the plane.

  He was unable to relay any information about the black box, which had not ye
t been found, and the weather was turning. They expected rain and high winds that night.

  One thing was certain. There had been a massive explosion in the air. Witnesses on the ground had described it as a sudden fireball, accompanied by a thunderous noise that was heard all over Cape Elizabeth and as far as Portland and even Augusta.

  Based on what the authorities now knew about the crash and the wreckage on land and in the water, it was clear that the explosion had occurred toward the center of the aircraft, causing it to break in half. Most of the front half landed near my home, while the rear of the plane had been blown to bits. This was what made the recovery so difficult in the water off Cape Elizabeth. It was a debris field full of small pieces, long-sunk or floating with the current.

  Lastly, a representative from the airline stood up to offer his regrets and condolences to the families. He promised to fully support the investigation, help in every possible way, and provide any and all information that the authorities required.

  A few family members stood up to shout at him and ask angry questions about airline security. The press conference had to be cut short.

  As soon as they shut down the briefing, I noticed Meg—who had not been required to speak—get up from her chair and hurry out the back door of the ballroom.

  Though I was expected back at the news truck to go live on the air in thirty minutes, I pushed through the noisy crowd to follow her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “I’m embarrassed that you’re seeing me like this,” Meg said, bending over with her hands braced on her knees. She had just vomited into a trash can.

  I handed her my bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip, then wiped her watery eyes with the back of her hand.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I’ve done hundreds of briefings over the past decade, and I’ve seen and heard a lot of stuff, but I’ve never reacted like this. Maybe it was something I ate.”