Chapter Thirty-Two
Willowbrook, Illinois, February 3
"Valerie, be reasonable!"
Beth's nostrils flared in that comical way Valerie remembered from their childhood. Back then this would have been the point where she got the giggles. Soon Beth would join in and before long the two sisters would be laughing in each other's arms, the argument forgotten.
But Valerie knew there would be no such ending this time. She fingered a tassel on the sofa cushion in Beth's elegantly appointed living room. "I don't know how to convince you, Beth. I really do think this is what God wants me to do. Surely you can understand that?"
Her sister sat beside her, stony and silent.
Valerie reached to put a hand on Beth's arm. She cracked a smile. "I seem to remember you feeling the same way about your decision to marry a certain Dean Windham." It was her trump card and she felt a little guilty playing it.
"That was different, Val, and you know it."
"Why was it different? It changed your life every bit as much as going to Haiti will change mine."
"It just is." Beth actually stamped her foot, though the plush carpet muffled the impact. "It wasn't dangerous to marry Dean."
"Remember what Grandpa used to say?"
Beth stared at her blankly.
She quoted their Grandpa Austin. "Any step you take outside of God's will is far more treacherous than a step within His will in the most dangerous place."
"But how do you know this is in God's will? You can't be sure."
"How did you know it was God's will for you to marry Dean?" she fired back.
"I...I just did," Beth sputtered. "And I think time has proven that I was right."
Valerie softened her voice. "I know you were right, Beth. I don't doubt that for a minute. You and Dean have a marriage--a family--that anyone would envy. But don't you see? God hasn't given me that. And there has to be a reason. Maybe this is it. Maybe that's why things didn't work out with Will...And besides, I can't just ignore what happened that day during chapel."
Beth sighed. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again, Val. This time it could be a lot more than a broken heart. You could die over there!" Emotion fractured her words and she sniffed back the tears.
"Oh, Beth." She closed the space between them on the sofa and gave her sister a hug. "I'm glad you care about what happens to me. I'll miss you so much. You're one of the biggest reasons I'd consider not going. But I don't think I have a choice."
Beth shook her head, but Valerie felt her relax a little, and sensed resignation in her posture.
She released her sister from her embrace and drew back. "I haven't decided for sure. And I promise I won't do anything until I'm positive I'm not just running off on my own."
Beth remained stone-faced.
Valerie decided it was time to change the subject. "Hey, you know that doctor I met in Haiti? Dr. Jordan?"
Beth perked up. "Dr. Botox? Hey, I meant to tell you...There was something on the news last week about him being on that plane that almost crashed. Did you hear about that?"
Valerie stiffened, her blood running cold. "What plane? What happened?"
"There was something wrong with the cabin pressure or something. They had to shut down the airport and make an emergency landing. I saw some of the tail end of the video on Channel 7, and then the paper said that Dr. Jordan was on the flight. At least his picture was in there. I haven't heard anything else about it, but it scared me when it came on the news because I knew you'd be flying back from Haiti soon, too."
Valerie put her hands to her mouth, her mind reeling. "Is he okay? Is Max okay?"
"Valerie?" Beth's eyes widened. "Are you all right? You're white as a sheet."
What had Beth said? The papers said Max was on the flight? But there must have been dozens of Chicagoans on that flight. Why would they single out one passenger? Unless he'd been hurt. Or killed. Valerie started to tremble. "Beth, was anyone killed in that crash? Was Max hurt?"
"Max?" Beth reared back and studied her. "Whoa! Just how well did you know this guy."
"Be serious, Beth. Is he okay? Is he? You've got to remember."
Beth gave her a funny look. "Valerie, what's wrong? You're shaking like a leaf. Are you feeling okay?"
"Just tell me, Beth! What happened?"
Beth shifted on the sofa and eyed her, looking confused. "I don't think anyone was killed. I really don't remember. We can do a search online for the news story. Maybe it will tell us."
Suddenly Valerie remembered her cell phone. She jumped off the sofa and ran to the kitchen for her purse. She heard Beth behind her muttering questions.
She dug her phone out and turned it on. She'd only used it once since Max had given it to her--to call Beth from the airport just last night. Now she'd never been so glad to have anything in her life.
She searched the keypad, trying to figure out how the memory feature worked. The phone lit up and within seconds her fumbling attempts produced Max's name and phone number on the LCD readout. She punched Send.
The phone rang four times, an eternity passing between each burr.
"Good morning. Jordan Center for Aesthetic Surgery. How may I help you?"
He'd given her his office number. "Um...Is Max Jordan--Dr. Jordan--available?"
There was a moment's hesitation on the other end--a moment in which Valerie imagined the worst.
"May I ask who's calling please?"
"This is Valerie Austin." Her heart thundered in her chest, and she mentally braced herself, dreading what she might hear.
"Perhaps I can help you," the calm, feminine voice said.
"Are you a patient of Dr. Jordan?"
"No, no, I'm...a friend. Is...is he okay? I heard he was in a plane crash."
"I'm sorry..." The friendly voice turned cautious. "What did you say your name was?"
Her pulse raced. "Valerie Austin. I met Max in Haiti...Could I speak with him? Please?"
"Just a moment, please."
Strains of Mozart filled her ear as she was put on hold. She watched the clock on Beth's kitchen wall tick off four minutes. Four of the longest minutes of her life.
The music cut off abruptly.
A deep, sweetly familiar voice came over the line. "Valerie?"
She crumpled into the nearest chair, every muscle suddenly turned to pudding.
It was Max.
Chapter Thirty-Three
"Valerie? Is that you?" Max rose from his desk. With the phone still to his ear, he quietly closed the door to his office before plopping back down in the high-backed leather chair.
"Max? Hi. Oh, I'm so happy to hear your voice!"
He swiveled to face the expansive window. The sky was gloomy outside his seventeenth-floor office, but suddenly it seemed as if the sun had split open the bank of gray clouds.
"Valerie? Where are you?"
"I'm here. In Chicago. At my sister's. Beth heard you were in a plane crash! Is that true? Are you okay? What happened?" Her litany of questions gathered steam.
Max had the odd impression that she was on the verge of tears.
"Oh, I was so worried! I hope it's okay that I called you at work, but that's the number you gave me and--"
"Whoa! Whoa! It's okay...slow down." He laughed, but he was touched by the concern in her voice. And equally relieved to hear that she was safe on American soil. He'd watched the news of ongoing violence in Port-au-Prince with alarm, knowing she would be trying to fly out of the capital.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," he assured her. "The plane didn't actually crash, but we had to make an emergency landing. There were a few tense moments." That was the understatement of the year. He sobered, thinking of the sheer terror he'd felt that morning hanging over the fathomless sea. Oh, he had so much to tell her.
"What happened?"
"Could I tell you all about it over dinner some night? How long are you in the city for?"
She faltered for a split second, but before he had time to wonder at
the reason for her hesitance, she answered eagerly.
"I'd love to see you, Max. But I'm driving back to Kansas City on Wednesday. Do you have a free night before then?"
He felt elated hearing her voice again. He'd remembered it exactly--that buoyant, chipper tone that matched the proverbial rose-colored glasses through which she always seemed to view life.
He didn't have to look at his calendar to know that there was nothing on it that couldn't be changed. No one would think twice if he didn't show up for a dull meeting of the bank board he served on, or a gala fund-raiser for the arts council.
Suddenly he couldn't wait to see her. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Tonight? Oh my."
"Would that work? Dinner? Maybe seven o'clock?"
"Well...I don't think Beth has anything planned. Let me check. Just a minute."
He heard the effusive murmur of women's voices and in a minute she came back on the line. "Tonight would be perfect."
She gave him her sister's address in Willowbrook. He swiveled his chair around to jot the information on a pharmaceutical company's notepad.
"I'll try to get us in at this new Italian bistro that opened up in Winnetka," he told her. "Nothing too fancy, but I think you'll like it."
Silence.
"Valerie?"
"I'm so glad you're okay," she said again, her voice almost a whisper.
Oh, if she only knew the half of it.
"What am I going to wear, Beth?" It crossed Valerie's mind that it would be fun to see the look on Max's face if she wore the gingham skirt he'd seen her in a dozen times in Brizjanti. But she'd left it behind at the orphanage, not caring if she never saw it again.
"You can borrow something of mine," Beth said. "Come on...let's go see what we can find before Dean and the kids get home." Her sister started down the hall to the bedroom, then stopped in the middle of the hallway and spun to face Valerie.
"Oh my goodness. I still cannot believe my sister is going out with Dr. Botox himself! This is incredible!" she squealed.
"Stop it, Beth. He's just an ordinary man. And besides, we're not 'going out.'" She chalked quotation marks in the air to emphasize her point. "I'm just having dinner with him. I'll probably never see the man again after tonight."
Beth merely squealed louder, grabbed Valerie's hand and dragged her into the large walk-in closet in the master bedroom.
An hour later, Valerie emerged from the guest room to study her reflection in the long hall mirror. Beth's pale olive-green pantsuit was a perfect fit. The silk jacket was embossed in a deeper shade of green and she wore a sleeveless sweater underneath. It felt strange to be putting on sweaters and jackets after three weeks in Brizjanti's tropical heat, but she liked the feel of the cashmere and silk against her skin.
She'd brushed her hair into a smooth chignon, pulling a few wavy tendrils out to frame her face. And she'd put on a little makeup for the first time in a month. She felt feminine and pretty, and excited to see Max. It seemed much longer than a week since they'd said goodbye in front of the gate at Hope House.
She nervously twisted the silver earrings Beth had loaned her and checked her watch. Max would be here in a few minutes. She went out to the kitchen where Beth was stirring something on the stove and Dean was sorting through a stack of mail.
Her brother-in-law looked up and gave an appreciative wolf whistle.
"Oh, stop." She felt her cheeks warm, but she turned a pirouette in the middle of the floor.
"You look gorgeous, Val." Beth wiped her hands on a dish towel and came to fuss with the back of Valerie's hair.
Valerie's teenage nephews clumped up from the basement family room.
Nick skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs.
"Whoa, Aunt Val! You're lookin' phat."
"Yeah, extremely phat," Jake echoed.
She feigned a scowl. "You guys better mean that the way I think you mean it."
Beth laughed. "Don't worry, sis, it's a compliment."
"Yeah, I know. Will's junior-high kids at church speak the same weird language. I'm getting pretty good at interpreting."
An unsettling image of Will's roguish, laughing face evaporated at the chime of the doorbell. Valerie's hands grew clammy and her heart skipped a beat. Max was here.
"Now you boys behave," Beth warned.
The entire Windham family paraded behind Valerie into the foyer.
She opened the door to a gust of wintry air. Max stood on the porch grinning. "Hi," he said.
"Max. Hi." She couldn't stop smiling. She wanted to rush and wrap her arms around him, but instead, she invited him in and introduced her sister's family.
The boys--and Beth--managed to behave, and ten minutes later, she and Max were in Max's Maserati on I-294 headed for Winnetka.
Max reached to turn down the CD player. "So how have you been?"
"I'm fine," she said. "It's you who needs to answer that question." She adjusted her seat belt and shifted in her seat to face him. "What happened with the plane?"
He shook his head and blew out a breath, as if the memory was disturbing. "We had some kind of mechanical problems...something with the pressurization system. We had to make an emergency landing in Miami."
"In Miami?"
He nodded.
"Oh, I must have misunderstood Beth. I thought it happened in Chicago. But Beth said your picture was in the Tribune."
He grunted. "It was."
"Why? Were you hurt?" He looked the picture of health sitting beside her.
"Valerie..." He paused, as if composing his words carefully.
"Pretty much anything I do gets my picture in the paper in this town. It's not something I've sought, but I have a lot of people with clout for patients, so publicity isn't hard to come by. And...I have money. Lots of it. You might as well know that."
As if the Maserati wasn't a dead giveaway. But she gave him a teasing smile. "You say that like you're confessing a grievous sin."
"Well, when I'm with you, it feels like a grievous sin."
She flinched. "Why would you say that?" His remark stung and she couldn't keep the hurt from her voice.
He reached over and touched her arm. "I didn't mean anything against you," he said. "It's just that...your values are so different. Honorable. And altruistic. You make me feel like a greedy slouch by comparison."
"Oh, Max. Stop. I know you better than that."
"No. You don't." He trained his eyes on the road. "Can we change the subject?"
"Sure." She smiled. "What do you want to talk about?" Chicago hadn't changed their way with each other, that was for sure.
"I have something to tell you," he said, brightening. "I think it'll make you very happy."
She looked at him askance, questioning. "What is it?"
He pointed to the exit ahead. "We're almost at the restaurant. Why don't we wait?"
She was boiling over with curiosity now.
Max took the Dempster Street exit and a few minutes later pulled into the parking lot of a quaint-looking building with candles glowing in every window. Outside, twinkling lights traced the tree branches.
"Ooh, this looks wonderful," she said.
"I think you'll like it." Max got out and came around to open her door.
She was glad she'd left the red gingham skirt in Haiti.
Inside the restaurant, the hostess greeted Max by name. "Dr. Jordan. Welcome." She included Valerie with a nod, inspecting her a moment longer than necessary. "Your table is ready," the woman said. "Follow me please."
The hostess led them to a cozy booth in the back. Quiet music--what Valerie thought of as "elevator music"--played in the background, barely audible. The table was set with red votive candles and a flask of olive oil. Their server, a teenage boy, brought a crusty loaf of bread and a plate of roasted garlic and herbs that he poured the oil over.
She watched Max, sophisticated and self-assured. Different than he'd been in Haiti, yet familiar, too. He tore the loaf of bread in two, then
quartered it and offered her a hunk.
She dipped it in the savory oil, and took a bite. She waited while he did the same, anticipation building for what he was going to tell her.
A familiar sound made her start. Beside them, a busboy cleared off a cluttered table, two brown beer bottles grasped in his left hand while he wiped the table with his right. The brown bottles clattered against each other with a pleasant resonance. "Listen, Max. It's the pop-bottle song."
He wrinkled his brow. "The what?"
"The pop-bottle song. Remember how the boys in the market rattled a bottle opener against the soda bottles trying to get someone to buy? In Brizjanti...?"
But the busboy set the bottles in a plastic tub, stilling their melody. They were back in Max's world now.
Nodding politely, he pulled off a bite of bread and chewed slowly. He wiped his mouth and smiled across the table at her.
Later, when the server brought their drinks, Max looked over his menu at her. "Do you mind if I order for you?"
"Please. I'd like that."
When the boy left with their orders, Max took a sip from his glass, then leaned toward her. "I want to tell you about the airplane, Valerie...the emergency landing."
There was something in his voice that made her hold her breath in anticipation.
"I thought I was a goner." He swallowed hard. "I mean I truly thought we were going down."
"Oh, Max. I had no idea."
He told her how the smoke alarms had gone off and the lights had dimmed in the cabin. "Then the oxygen masks dropped down and people started to panic. There was a point where the captain and the flight attendants were preparing us for an emergency landing. I...I looked at that girl's face--the flight attendant--and I knew she fully expected that we were going down. Into the sea--"
He stopped speaking abruptly and Valerie realized he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. She waited, feeling close to tears herself.
"I'm supposedly a powerful physician, and at that point, there wasn't a--a blessed thing I could do for anybody. So you know what I did?"
She shook her head slowly, entranced with his story.
"I started thinking about all the things you told me when we talked in Brizjanti. How you said that believing in God wasn't what was important--that it was a relationship with God that I needed." He cocked his head and smiled.
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