by Jane Heller
“Absolutely,” I said. “Put her on.” I smiled as I imagined Bree in settings other than Heartland General—going to school with other kids, making new friends, getting crushes on boys, all of it. Everything was possible for her now.
“Ann?” she said when she came on the line. Her voice was weak, but I could practically hear the grin on her face. “Isn’t it great?”
“So great,” I said. “I wish I could be there to see you leave that place. I couldn’t be happier for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, then hesitated before continuing. “Um, I was wondering if I could be part of your new company, even though I won’t be in the hospital anymore.”
“Part of my—Oh, you mean have a celebrity visit you at home?” I’d tried and failed to put her together with a star, ever since the day I’d launched Code Gold. She was the first patient I’d wanted to help, given my personal connection with her, but she’d been too sick to have visitors over the past few months, too prone to infection.
“No. I mean have me and my parents come to Hollywood,” she said. “Remember how we talked about that?”
“Of course I do,” I said, flashing back to Malcolm. The night I’d told him about Bree and the horrible ordeal she’d been through, he’d promised to fly her and her family to L.A. and foot the bill for their entire trip. What good was that promise now? He was out of my life. Bree’s too. Well, it was his loss, as Shelley pointed out. “You concentrate on getting your strength back and I’ll surprise you with the most star-filled vacation you could ever imagine. How does that sound, Bree?”
“Awesome,” she said with a giggle.
It sounded awesome to me too. All I had to do was make it happen.
Chapter Thirty-three
The following week, during a scheduled appearance on KNBC-TV’s Six O’Clock News, I promoted Code Gold and talked about Bree. “This is about more than just a hospital visit by a celebrity,” I told the reporter and the viewing audience. “This is about reaching out to a young Missouri girl whose dream of coming to Hollywood sustained her through her long battle with liver disease. Her parents are saddled with her medical bills and can’t afford to finance her trip, so my mission is to find a celebrity who will fly all three of them out here and fulfill her dream.”
The next morning my phone rang at nine o’clock sharp. When I heard Peggy Merchant’s voice on the other end, my heart did a little dance. Yes, I’d given up on Malcolm, but hearing her voice still triggered a reaction.
It’s probably about Pierce Brosnan, I reminded myself. Not that I wasn’t touched by the generosity he’d shown since I’d started the company. He’d been one of my best clients, offering to visit countless patients in countless hospitals, and I was extremely grateful to him. It was just that I—
“Malcolm saw you on the news last night,” she said. “He remembered about the little girl in your hometown.”
So this was about Malcolm? I was so startled that I had to ask her to repeat what she’d just said.
“He told me he’d made you a promise about her,” she added. “He has his faults, as we all do, but when he makes somebody a promise, he keeps it.”
So he did remember, I thought, my spirits buoyed by this new development, this new hope. If he remembered his promise about Bree, he had to remember his feelings for me, didn’t he? They were bundled together in my mind, his promise and his feelings, part of the same place and time. It suddenly seemed more than possible that he did love me in spite of our estrangement and that this call from Peggy was his way of letting me know. Maybe he’d been trying to figure out how to approach me, how to say he was sorry for holding on to his anger for so long, and that it was his pride that had kept him from actually doing it. Maybe this was the excuse he’d needed—and the opening I’d been praying for.
“So Malcolm is offering to fly Bree and her parents to L.A.?” I asked, the crack in my voice betraying how much her answer mattered to me.
“Yes,” she said. “They’ll have full use of the Gulfstream to bring them here and take them back. It seats up to fourteen people and is quite luxurious. And he’ll have it outfitted with any medical equipment the little girl may need.”
I was so thrilled I could hardly speak. Malcolm had reached out, not only to Bree but to me. It was a miracle on both counts.
“Ann? Are you there?” asked Peggy.
“Yes, sorry,” I said. “I’m just very moved by Malcolm’s desire to get involved.”
“He’s glad to do it,” she said. “Just give us the date of departure, and the plane will be fueled and stocked and ready to leave from the Santa Monica airport.” She paused. “I’m assuming you will show up for the flight this time around? I mean, you do want to be there to accompany the girl, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said. I would show up this time. I had more than enough incentive. Not only would I be able to personally escort Bree to Hollywood in grand style, but I would be able to do it with the man I loved by my side. Sure, I’d be nervous about taking my first flight in a while. But I’d get over it. I’d have plenty to distract me.
“And did I mention that Malcolm will pay for the girl and her parents to spend a week at the Four Seasons?”
“A week? Wow. That’s wonderful, Peggy.” I couldn’t wait to thank him, couldn’t wait for us to be together again, couldn’t wait to hold him and kiss him and—
“As I said, he’s glad to do it. The only thing you’ll have to do is set up their itinerary while they’re here. If she wants to meet celebrities, you’ll have to arrange it.”
I laughed. “Malcolm doesn’t count as a celebrity? I think flying halfway across the country with him will go a long way toward satisfying Bree’s expectations.”
“Oh, my,” said Peggy, sounding suddenly as if she’d just been told of a death in the family. “I see our wires are crossed.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Malcolm won’t be flying with you, Ann, nor will he be meeting the girl and her parents.”
“Why not?” I said, feeling my shoulders sag.
“He said he promised you he would sponsor her trip. He’s leaving the rest of it to you.”
Her words were so painful that I winced. “Sponsoring it?”
“Taking care of the bills, yes,” she said. “He suggested that with all your contacts, you’ll be more than capable of finding other performers for the girl to meet.”
Other performers. I was finally getting it now. Malcolm hadn’t forgiven me after all. He was merely fulfilling an obligation. A financial obligation. He couldn’t even bring himself to hold his nose and spend a few measly hours with me.
Well, I wasn’t going to throw myself off a cliff over it. No way. Maybe I’d earned his scorn and maybe I hadn’t, but my overriding concern at that moment was Bree Wiley. Malcolm had offered her his private plane? We’d take it. He’d offered her the Four Seasons? We’d take that too. He didn’t want to be a part of the celebration of her new life? His loss.
“Tell Malcolm I’m very grateful for his participation in Code Gold,” I said crisply. “I’ll get back to you with the dates.”
ON THE MORNING of my flight to Kansas City to pick up the Wileys, Tuscany and James tried yet again to load me up with pills. This time I poppedx a Xanax. If it would take the edge off my anxiety without impairing my ability to function, why not? I’m telling you, I was so much braver than I used to be. For the most part.
When I arrived at the airport, I parked the Honda in the very same lot where I’d parked it the day I’d been too paralyzed to board the Cessna, and walked toward the pilots’ lounge as per Peggy’s instructions. Once inside the lounge, I was greeted by a broad-shouldered, craggy-faced man in a navy blue uniform. After a little salute, he introduced himself as Captain Jim Johnson, Mr. Goddard’s pilot. He xwas pleasant and professional and made me feel as relaxed as a person with aviophobia on one tablet of Xanax can feel.
“Ready to board?” he asked as we headed out t
o the runway where a shiny silver jet was waiting for us.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said. “I’m not wild about flying, to be honest.”
He smiled. “Nothing to worry about. We’ll take good care of you.”
“We? So there’s a copilot?”
“Plus a flight attendant. There’ll be four of us on the outbound leg and seven on the return, with your passengers.”
“Great,” I said, forcing myself to look adventurous. But as he stepped into the cockpit and I stepped into the cabin, it dawned on me that I was actually about to do the one thing I still feared: spend hours on an airplane. This was happening. This was not a computer-simulated exercise at some virtual reality clinic. Once Captain Johnson hit the ignition, I’d be helpless.
Back came the what-ifs, the catastrophizing, and the stirrings of outright panic. With my heart beginning to pound, I glanced furtively at the cockpit, which was now sealed off, and considered making my escape out the cabin door, which was still open.
You are not skipping out on this! I scolded myself. You’re staying right where you are! Bree and her parents are waiting for you in Kansas City, you’ve planned a wonderful week for them in L.A., and if she can fight through a life-threatening illness, then you can fight through your fear!
I inhaled deeply then exhaled, mopped my sweaty brow with a tissue, and continued on through the cabin, where a pretty blond flight attendant in a honey-colored skirt and blazer that matched the plane’s interior welcomed me.
“I’m Nell,” she said. “Feel free to sit anywhere. May I bring you something to drink?”
I was dying for a Bloody Mary—for six Bloody Marys—but asked Nell for bottled water. I figured I shouldn’t mix the Xanax with alcohol. I also figured I shouldn’t show up in Kansas City with booze breath and a headache.
I sat in one of the four plush leather chairs inside the cabin. They were as big and swivelly as Barcaloungers. At least I’ll die in the lap of luxury, I thought as I buckled myself in and surveyed my surroundings.
Malcolm certainly hadn’t scrimped. In addition to the comfy chairs, there was stunning, wall-to-wall carpeting decorated with a golden sun motif, a brightly upholstered sofa, an office-type work space, and an entertainment center that included Bose speakers and a plasma TV.
“Here’s your water,” said Nell. Even the glass was fancy; it was heavy crystal—a far cry from the plastic I associated with air travel. “Is there anything else I can do before we take off? Captain Johnson tells me we’re good to go.”
Good to go. An oxymoron when it came to me and flying. “No, thanks. I’ll just clutch this glass with my white knuckles and hope we make it to Missouri in one piece.”
She laughed. “I have a feeling this will be the best flight you’ve ever had.”
“Right.”
I watched Nell depart for wherever flight attendants hang out when they aren’t serving up platitudes, placed my glass in its slot on the nearby table, and lowered my head so that it was practically wedged between my knees. I was in crash mode. As Captain Johnson revved the engines and we started to taxi along the runway, I whispered to myself, “You can do this. You can do this.”
“You are doing this,” said a male voice.
I glanced up, petrified that the pilot—or maybe it was the copilot?—had somehow forgotten that he was supposed to be taking charge in the cockpit as opposed to chewing the fat with me in the cabin, and gasped. Really. I kind of made this noise that people make when they can’t believe what they’re seeing. Was my panic causing hallucinations as well as palpitations?
“Malcolm?”
He looked so handsome in his black leather jacket and jeans—larger than life but as familiar to me as a member of my family. I couldn’t be conjuring him up, could I?
He sat down and buckled himself into the seat next to mine. “You can do this because you know from volunteering at the hospital that we’re all vulnerable. Every one of us. Down on the ground. Up in the air. Doesn’t matter. There’s no such thing as ‘safe.’ All we can do is count our blessings.”
So he’d shown up to give me a pep talk? Why? Since when did he care? He’d left it to his publicist to fulfill his so-called promise to Bree. “I don’t understand…Peggy said you weren’t—”
He pressed his forefinger to my lips. “But I did come. I had to. I need you to forgive me for staying away, Ann.”
I was as astonished by his declaration as I was by his appearance on that plane. He wanted me to forgive him? Now? After so long?
“Why did you stay away?” I asked, the lump in my throat returning.
“I thought you sold me out, just like everybody else who was important to me,” he said, gently brushing aside the tear that had trailed down my cheek. “I thought you were like the others.”
“What changed your mind?” I managed, trying to rein in my emotions, in case he really was an illusion.
“The story you wrote about me.” He swallowed hard. He seemed to be choking out his words. “I never could bring myself to read it, because the idea of it hurt so damn much. But then I saw you at that party and I couldn’t get you out of my mind and I forced myself to read it.” A tear trailed down his own cheek then. “It was beautiful, and it totally knocked me out. Nobody ever got me the way you did.”
I smiled ruefully. I’d been able to “get” him, to capture the positive side of the Hollywood bad boy, because I’d made the effort. And I’d made the effort, not because it would ensure me a second chance at Famous, but because I loved him. I knew that now.
“I was wrong to doubt your feelings for me,” he went on, “but I couldn’t find a way to tell you I was sorry. Sorry about what happened the last time we were at this airport. Sorry about what happened the last day I was in Middletown. Sorry about what happened over the past few months.” He lowered his head, humbled by his mistakes. “You may be the one with the panic attacks, but I’m the one who didn’t have the nerve to apologize to you—until today.” He looked back up at me. “Will you forgive me, Ann?”
Just then, the plane’s engines roared in earnest and we started speeding down the runway at two hundred miles an hour.
Instinctively, I grabbed Malcolm’s hand and squeezed it hard enough to cut off his circulation. I was both ecstatic and unstrung, pumped with enough adrenaline to lift the plane in the air myself. He loved me. He wanted us to be together. My life was going to have a happy ending after all, except for one tiny detail: I was about to die in a plane crash!
“I’ll forgive you under one condition,” I said.
“Name it.”
“Promise me your pilot didn’t get his license from one of those schools that advertise on matchbook covers.”
He leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. The kiss was wet and hot and instantly erased all those months of yearning, of fantasizing.
“Jim used to fly for Delta,” he said. “Forgive me now?”
“What about Rebecca?” I asked.
“She doesn’t have a pilot’s license.”
“I meant, what about you and Rebecca?”
“We were just each other’s arm candy,” he said. “Forgive me now?”
“Yes, but I should tell you I have a No Actor’s rule when it comes to romance.”
“Can’t you waive it?”
“Maybe, but how do I know you’re good in bed?”
He laughed and kissed me again. We held the kiss as the nose of the plane reared up to meet the hazy white sky over Santa Monica.
“Oh God,” I said, because I was both deliriously happy and absolutely terrified.
“Hey, I’ve got you,” he said, holding me tightly in his arms. “I’ve got you.”
Malcolm Goddard had me. It’s true that there’s no such thing as “safe,” but suddenly I felt safe. Well, as safe as I was ever going to feel in an airplane. It was as if his statement, the pure simplicity of it, had flipped my fear switch to the off position. To my great relief, I stopped
catastrophizing. I embraced the idea that it was more than likely that everything would turn out all right. I focused on the positive probable that he and I would get married someday, preferably sooner rather than later. I even relaxed my head against his shoulder as we ascended and I exhaled a sigh of pleasure.
“Here we go,” he said.
Sure enough, up, up, up we went, bouncing and shimmying through the wispy clouds, over the ocean, above the mountains, into the great unknown.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Amy Schiffman, my agent at the Gersh Agency in Los Angeles, whose throwaway quip inspired this novel. Thanks to Carrie Feron, my editor at William Morrow, whose insights helped me write a much stronger book than I would have if left to my own devices. Thanks as always to Ellen Levine, Trident Media’s agent extraordinaire, for never letting me down, personally or professionally. To say that I’m grateful to have her in my life is an understatement. Thanks to Drs. Dan Eisenberg, Ivan Strausz, Henry Spector, and Brenda K. Wiederhold for lending me their time and expertise regarding medical matters. Thanks to Catherine Bergstrom-Katz for sharing stories of growing up in the Midwest; to Ciji Ware for furnishing me with information about phobias and providing much needed moral support; and to Laurie Burrows Grad for either knowing the answer to every question I asked or directing me to others who did. Thanks to Bruce Gelfand, who never ceases to amaze me with his creativity and generosity. Thanks to Kristen Powers for keeping me up and running in cyberspace. And thanks to my husband, Michael Forester, for being my partner in life as well as my volunteering buddy.
About the Author
Jane Heller promoted dozens of bestselling authors before becoming one herself. She is the author of thirteen books including An Ex to Grind, Infernal Affairs, Name Dropping, Female Intelligence, and Lucky Stars. She lives in Santa Barbara, California, where she is at work on her next book.
www.janeheller.com
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