Skid

by Rene Gutteridge

  Danny glanced at James, whose expression screamed, Bermuda Triangle! Please! If what James said was true, he’d be an idiot to bring it up. But then, James was an idiot, so one could only wait and see.

  “I’m really going to miss this windshield.” The captain reached out and touched it.

  Danny cleared his throat. “Ma’am? Miss it?”

  “This is my last flight.”

  “You’re…”

  “Retiring?” James finished.

  “Only because I have to.”

  A twinge of panic shot through Danny. Where were the balloons and the cake? When a pilot retired, it was a huge deal, especially for their last flight. The retiring pilot got to choose the trip and the crew. And the pilot’s spouse and family could come along in first class, reserved seats. There was some sort of big dessert onboard. Signs, posters, banners. At the overnight hotel there would be champagne and more cake. And weather permitting, at home port the pilot would make a low pass before landing.

  But there had been no fanfare at the airport, nothing indicating a celebration was planned. Nobody mentioned any of the captain’s family or relatives being onboard.

  Danny glanced at the ACI for his reaction. Smilt stared at his pencil like it might jump into the conversation at any moment.

  “We, uh, didn’t know,” Danny said, more meekly than intended.

  The captain’s fingers left the windshield. She glanced at one of her sticky notes and said, “So, Bubba, what’s your story?”

  “My story?”

  “He’s disengaged,” James said with a wry smile. He laughed. “That’s funny. ‘Disengaged.’ Maybe there’s a double meaning there, huh, Danny? Engagement didn’t work out because you were disengaged? I’m only kidding. Don’t freak out.”

  Danny clenched his jaw. “I’m not freaking out.”

  “You look like you’re about to, man. Sorry. Maybe I’m reading body language wrong, but your knuckles are white and your jaw muscles are protruding.”

  Danny bit his lip and tried not to glare.

  “I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out,” the captain said.

  This was getting awkward. Danny didn’t want pity, but he didn’t want an obnoxious disregard for his pain either. He felt a warm blush crawl up his neck, and when the long silence kicked in, he did what he knew he shouldn’t. “Her name was Maya. We dated for six years, three of those engaged.”

  “I guess her name still is Maya, isn’t it? She’s gone but not dead, Danny. Although, if it’s easier to think of her as dead, maybe that’s the route you should take to get over her,” James said. “Corpses are definitely less hot.”

  “I’m over her,” Danny hustled into the conversation. Nobody had to know they’d just broken up—if he could keep his stupid mouth shut. “She wasn’t the right one. I mean, isn’t the right one.”

  “It took six years to figure that out?” James groaned and patted his belly like he’d just eaten a twenty-ounce steak. “You’re more of a man than I am, Danny. I couldn’t wait that long, you know what I mean? A man has needs.” James’s eyes widened as he turned to face Danny. “Unless, of course, you broke the sixth commandment.”

  “Boy,” the captain said. “The sixth commandment is thou shall not kill.”

  “I didn’t break, I mean…look, it’s none of your business—”

  “Don’t go all sixth commandment on the messenger,” James said, holding up his hands. “I’m not the one who etched it into a stone tablet.” James jabbed a thumb toward the sky. “The Big Man upstairs is the one who said no funny business before marriage. Let me put it in a way you can understand, okay? Song of Solomon, right? The book’s all about sex. Those two were clearly hitched. It says his dove was all locked up before he got there.”

  “I have no idea what a dove has to do with this, but I loved Maya and—”

  “Let me make it simple. You’re the apple tree, Danny, and you need to keep your apples to yourself, okay? Clear enough? You disregard His rules, but then you want His blessings? God’s not some pie-in-the-sky, cosmic vending machine of blessings, Danny. He doesn’t hand out free quarters to sinners”—James grinned—“but the good news is that you have a long life in front of you. You’ve got plenty of time to make it up to God.”

  That didn’t sound like good news. It sounded like failure waiting to happen.

  Danny stared at the ACI. He could almost read his thoughts. Come on. Get aggressive. Would love to write you up for a temper problem. Maybe God was thinking the same thing.

  Any defense he made would sound pathetic. How do you explain that a six-year relationship went up in smoke over the lack of a six-figure income? And how could he admit to anyone that he’d suspected all along that Maya was more in love with the idea of marrying a pilot than the pilot himself?

  They’d met not long after 9/11. Things looked unstable for the entire aviation industry, which in a life filled with an abundance of bad timing, meant that he was, of course, going to meet the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  About three years after 9/11, things stabilized, but would never be the same. He was making half of what he would have had 9/11 never happened, but he had to either accept it or find a new occupation. Even with Maya’s income, they were barely able to afford their condo. Living apart seemed impractical and even more costly.

  Every conversation they had seemed to revolve around money. One night he said to her, “Maya, who cares where we live? Who cares if we don’t have the fancy house and the expensive cars? We’ve got each other. That’s all that matters.”

  She got up and left, slamming the door behind her.

  That was the first in a very long line of red flags.

  “If you get lucky,” James said, “maybe God’ll give you a second chance.”

  The ACI stared. Danny gripped the bottom of his seat to keep from trembling. He didn’t want to talk about Maya or his sin or anything else about himself. He wanted to crawl over the back of James’s seat and knock him unconscious. But what ended up coming out of his mouth was more mortifying than either of those things.

  “Captain, what about your crash into the Bermuda?”

  Lucy groaned, leaning forward and resting her forehead on the back of the seat in front of her. “What would you do if it were you, Hank? What if you thought you had an ex-girlfriend onboard?”

  “I’ve never, um, dated anyone.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “I’m kind of shy.”

  “You don’t seem shy to me.”

  “You’re easy to talk to.”

  Lucy felt the tension melt off her body. “That is very sweet of you to say.” She leaned toward him. “You know what? I don’t have to know, do I?”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. Who cares if he’s on this airplane? I’m a complete person without him. I’m happy without him.” She grabbed a SkyMall catalog and began flipping through it. “They have the coolest things in here.”

  “I can go back and check if you want.”

  Lucy slapped the magazine closed. “Would you?”

  “Sure. I think you’ll feel much better knowing either way.”

  “It’s ridiculous for me to think he’s onboard. I’m certain it’s a figment of my imagination. Besides, even if he is onboard, I’m completely over him.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “I’ve got a picture of him right here,” Lucy said, reaching into her wallet. She pulled it out and handed it over without looking at it. It was a photo taken at a party they’d attended a few months back. Jeff slouched on a couch, a cheesy party grin on his face, while Lucy hugged his neck, their cheeks pressed together. It was one of her favorite photos.

  Hank studied the picture. “What’s his name?”

  “Jeff.”

  “All right. Let me go see if Jeff is onboard.”

  “Not that it matters,” she said as Hank unbuckled his seat belt.

  “Are you certain you’re going to be all right if he
is?”

  “Absolutely.” Unless he’s with a blonde.

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  Hank turned and walked toward the back of the airplane. The man to Lucy’s left seemed to be trying not to eavesdrop. Closing her eyes, Lucy focused and centered herself. She allowed only positive thoughts into her head, which at the moment were hard to come by, so she focused on Hank, a kind stranger she was fortunate enough to sit next to on a long airplane ride.

  She tried not to count the seconds, but it seemed he was taking a long time, which was probably a good sign. Most likely, he hadn’t spotted Jeff and was looking one more time.

  And then, from the back of the plane, came a bloodcurdling scream.

  Chapter 14

  GiGi whipped around, nearly dropping the coffee urn. “Did someone just scream?”

  Kim nodded, and they filed out of the galley and into the main cabin. It wasn’t hard to spot the commotion. The elderly woman who’d made such a stink about the pig was standing and waving her hands. A few other people stood around her.

  “What is it now? The pig’s making a pass at her?” GiGi stormed down the aisle, glancing toward Miss Piggy, but no unusual activity came from that portion of the plane.

  Call buttons started going off just as GiGi reached the huddle of people. “Sit down. Please, everyone, sit down.” The passengers complied, except the elderly woman who stepped right in front of GiGi.

  “It’s my mother!” she gasped. “My mother!”

  GiGi looked down at the elder of the two women.

  “I can’t wake her up!”

  GiGi turned to Kim. “Make an announcement asking if there is a doctor onboard. Then alert the cockpit.” She focused on the old woman, who at first glance looked asleep. Or dead. An icy chill raced up GiGi’s spine.

  “Attention, if there is a doctor or nurse onboard, please push your Call button. Thank you.”

  GiGi knelt beside the unconscious woman, taking her hand and patting it lightly while discreetly placing two fingers under her wrist and checking for a pulse. “Ma’am? Ma am?”

  “She’s not responding!” cried the old woman.

  “I don’t think we have a doctor onboard. The captain’s coming,” Kim whispered to GiGi.

  “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” GiGi moved her fingers a few centimeters, still trying to find a pulse.

  Kim tried to calm the unconscious woman’s daughter, but she yanked her arm away. GiGi knew her next move would cause a lot of distress, but she had no choice but to confirm her suspicions by attempting to find a pulse in the woman’s neck. Sandy brought the paddles.

  Someone tapped on her shoulder.

  “I can help,” the man said. She recognized him as the passenger seated next to the stomach-clenching kid.

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No. I’m an airship pilot. But before that I was a lifeguard. I have EMT training. I can do CPR.”

  “A lifeguard.” GiGi found it hard to imagine, but maybe he meant in his younger years.

  “Step aside, people. Give her room to breathe,” said the man.

  GiGi and Kim exchanged glances. That was probably not necessary.

  He squatted, his backside bumping into the seat across the aisle, and pushed up the sleeves of his sweater. He took the probably-dead woman’s hand. “Ma’am?”

  “We already tried that,” GiGi said.

  He checked her pulse, put his head to her chest, and did a few odd things with her elbow before he finally stood and pronounced, “I’m going to start CPR.”

  “You can’t,” said her daughter. She wiped her eyes. “She has these.” She pulled folded papers from her purse. “Do Not Resuscitate papers. She’s wanted to die since she turned eighty-eight. She specifically states in these to not revive her by any means.”

  “She’s definitely dead,” said the lifeguard guy. “In these cases, we just do CPR to make everyone feel better.”

  GiGi glared at the man, wondering why he hadn’t been more tactful. They were never supposed to pronounce anyone officially dead while onboard. It meant a lot of hassle, often even taking the plane out of service.

  “What’s going on?” The captain stood behind GiGi.

  “What’s going on,” the old woman screeched, “is that my mother is dead, and it’s because of that pig!”

  In a low voice, GiGi said, “We can’t find a pulse.”

  The captain, along with everyone else, looked down at the woman, who still, despite the lack of pulse or color in her cheeks, looked peaceful. Peacefully dead. The captain put her fingers on the woman’s neck, checking both sides, and then the wrist. She turned to the daughter. “How long has she been like this?”

  The elderly woman wailed, covering her mouth and shaking her head. GiGi slipped the captain the papers, knowing she’d ask in order to determine whether or not they had any reason to attempt resuscitation.

  “I thought she was asleep,” the daughter said. “Maybe…a couple of…hours.”

  “Cause of death unknown,” said the lifeguard guy.

  “Would you shut up?” GiGi whispered. “It’s rather obvious why she died.”

  The captain asked the passenger across the aisle to temporarily move to an empty seat and then helped the woman sit down. “Let’s get her some water.”

  GiGi nodded at Kim, who rushed away.

  “I just can’t believe this,” the woman said. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “Ma’am,” GiGi said, “obviously your mother had a very long life. I know this is sad, but perhaps not unexpected?”

  “To let that beast onboard! This is an elderly woman. How is she supposed to react to conditions like that!”

  As far as GiGi could tell, the woman was so old it was possible she wasn’t even aware she was on an airplane, much less an airplane with a pig.

  “I am going to sue!”

  “All right, ma’am,” the captain said, “you need to calm down and take a few deep breaths. We’re here to help you.”

  The in-another-life guard said, “Captain, from one pilot to another, my suggestion would be to—”

  “Return to your seat.”

  With an audible huff, the man stomped away.

  Another tirade was about to burst from the red-faced daughter when a man approached from the other direction, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. She almost ripped her hand away, but then she looked at the young man’s face. They all did. Plump tears balanced on the rims of his eyes.

  “I lost my mom too.”

  The elderly woman glanced around, but seemed drawn back to him as he handed her a handkerchief.

  “What was your mom’s name?” the blond man asked.

  The woman hesitated, looked across the aisle at her mother, and said, “Henrietta. Everyone called her Hetty. She hated to be called Mrs. anything.”

  “Hetty.” The man smiled, and GiGi recognized him as the guy keeping the flight attendants busy with his requests. Her first impulse was to order him back to his seat, but the old lady was responding to him, so she took a “wait and see” attitude.

  “I’m Hank. What’s your name?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him and said, “Well, to you, young man, I am Mrs. Kilpatrick.”

  Hank smiled and put his other hand on top of hers. “Mrs. Kilpatrick, I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but I do know what it’s like to lose a parent unexpectedly.”

  Mrs. Kilpatrick’s gaze drifted to her mother again. “The doctor said she was in good health. I was taking her back to her birthplace. My father is buried there. He died thirty years ago. She was longing to see her homeland again. I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted.”

  “Mrs. Kilpatrick, if it wouldn’t embarrass you too much, I’d like to pray for you right now.”

  Her gloomy eyes brightened. “Are you a pastor?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Just your run-of-the-mill Christian.”

  “Then why in the world would I want you to pr
ay for me!” her voice boomed. “Get out of my face. All of you. Let me alone.” She slumped in the seat across the aisle from her mother and wept.

  The man looked shocked but not angry. “Of course.” He backed away, and GiGi felt a twinge of sadness for him. But if he asked for softer tissues, she’d smack him.

  “Mrs. Kilpatrick, I’m going to have Kim stay with you for a moment while I confer with my pilots,” the captain said.

  “While you’re up there, get in touch with your airline’s attorney,” Mrs. Kilpatrick said.

  The captain nodded. “GiGi, accompany me?”

  GiGi followed the captain up the aisle and past grumbling and worried passengers, all trying to get a glimpse of the tragedy.

  What she wouldn’t give for your run-of-the-mill, sick, cranky passenger right now.

  Jake settled into his seat. A scream and some commotion caught his attention before he sat down, but a flight attendant instructed everyone to stay in their seats. Thankfully, he’d relocated away from Eddie before that announcement.

  However, he couldn’t help feeling a sting of paranoia. It wasn’t often one heard a scream on an airplane, and he’d assumed if he did hear one, it would be his own. It was silly, he knew. Also silly was taking the inflight movie The Italian Job as a secret sign that his life was going to end in a dramatically bloody, Hollywood sort of way.

  He’d chosen the very last seat, the one nobody wanted by the restrooms and the galley, where the pungent smell of filtered sewage water created discomfort matched only by the frightening sound of a sucking toilet. If you ever fell in while flushing, you’d probably lose a limb.

  A variety of passengers shared the back of the airplane with him, including a man with dreadlocks who nodded off every few seconds and a teenager reading Playboy like he was the only one on the aircraft. On his other side sat a stern-looking woman next to an older man. Jake wondered if they were together, as they spoke to each other once in a while. Maybe father and daughter, except one sounded Dutch.

  Dutch. As frightening as this all was, meeting his Dutch grandmother seemed equally as terrifying as losing his life by diamond couriering or a limb by airplane lavatory. He knew what she looked like, which was half the problem. In every picture he’d ever seen of her, she stared at the camera like it had personally insulted her.