Flight 19

by Grant Finnegan

  There it was again. This was not a guy who wiped the floor with people just because he was super-rich and could get away with it. He spoke to the barman with respect.

  The barman nodded and confirmed with both men how they wanted their steaks cooked and what they wanted on the side. As he punched the details into his nearest register, he looked back at them both. “You’re the guys from that flight, right?” He stepped closer and smiled. “The one that came back after five years.”

  We both nodded. Henry put our drinks in front of us and said, “What happened to you all was terrible. I’m sorry.”

  Darcy acknowledged his words, and I just nodded. The young barman then leaned forward and said kindly, “That round is on me.”

  We sipped our drinks in silence for a few moments before Darcy spoke.

  “This may surprise you, Ross,” Darcy said, turning to look at me, “but I’m starting to believe what happened to me was a good thing.”

  This comment surprised me, but I took it in my stride. Three bourbons on the trot without any food in my stomach made me feel relaxed somewhat.

  And Darcy had just signaled Henry for another round.

  Thank God dinner is coming, I thought. I was well on the way to getting drunk. Darcy then said, matter-of-factly, “you think I’m a fucking idiot, right?”

  I looked straight ahead and studied the perfectly arranged bottles of alcohol at the rear of the bar. It was a work of art.

  I turned back to Darcy and smiled. “Not quite,” I said, reaching for my glass and emptying it a second later. “But I want to know if you believe in karma, first and foremost.” I thought for a second and then added, “And then tell me why you don’t regret being on the plane.”

  Dinner came and went, along with another round of drinks. I felt much better after eating, and ready to tackle the ex-billionaire’s complex mind.

  Darcy seemed to be in a more relaxed mood after the meal, and as his drink count headed for double figures, the armor of his sobriety began to melt away.

  “I’ve done some ruthless things in my life,” he said, beginning the post-dinner conversation without any preamble.

  Michael looked over to me, deep in reflection. “But I never, ever—” He closed his eyes for a moment and then spoke without opening them, “did it with the sole purpose of hurting anyone.”

  He took another drink, and then pulled a napkin from the dispenser, wiping both his eyes.

  I started to feel uneasy, as if at the same moment a cold breeze had blown across the pool and straight down the back of my neck. Michael stole another glance at the other patrons at the bar before turning back to me.

  “One of my companies, back in the early ’90s, bought this large agricultural business based in a cute little place called Piedmont, a couple of hours south of St. Louis.” Darcy began to realize he was now getting a little drunk, and continued the story without meeting my eyes.

  “I was only interested in the IP. I didn’t care about anything else, especially—the people. Back then, I was so focused on the money, the few times I thought about the staff—” He turned to me as if looking for absolution. “I just reckoned they would find work somewhere else. It wasn’t my problem.”

  Darcy put his right elbow on the bar, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand. I thought that whatever came next, it wasn’t going to be a happy ending.

  “At their next payday, the next Friday, we made 160 people redundant. Nearly all but a few were locals, simple folk—and I don’t mean to be an asshole when I say that.”

  Darcy seemed to wince before continuing. “I think about him every single day, and since Flight 19, I can’t seem to escape the pain of what I started there in Piedmont.”

  He turned to me and cursed, in apparent annoyance at himself, “They say that every action has a consequence, right?” I nodded and took a deep breath.

  Michael seemed to pick up on my apprehension and shrank back a little. “One of the workers, a young guy,” Darcy seemed to stumble on his words, “got home and put a piece of rope to a branch on a big tree in his yard.”

  Almost a full minute of silence had passed, and I started to feel uncomfortable. Maybe it was time to call it a night.

  I reached over and put my hand lightly on Darcy’s shoulder. Leaning forward, I said, “Michael, you weren’t to know this guy would take his own life.” I looked out towards the pool before continuing. “You can’t take responsibility for that.”

  Michael reached for the napkin, wiping his nose and eyes. I could see the story had deeply affected him.

  Michael then whispered something I thought I heard incorrectly.

  “What did you say?” I whispered.

  Darcy leaned back, wiping his eyes one more time before meeting my gaze.

  This time, the hurt in the businessman’s dull eyes was replaced with something on a whole new level.

  “Yes. The guy hung himself in the backyard.”

  He closed his eyes for a long moment before looking at me again.

  “As his house burned to the ground.”

  Darcy looked up at the ceiling as if waiting for God to strike him down.

  Then he looked at me again. With his bottom lip quivering, he said, “With his 25-year-old wife, and four daughters, aged from one to five, tied up inside.”

  Michael leaned forward and rested his head on the bar.

  Without moving, he said, “So, now do you now think I believe in karma?”

  I turned and looked out across the pool. The surrounding lights bobbed in the dark reflection of the water. I wished I’d not heard the story.

  We both sat in silence for what seemed like several minutes.

  I’d already been tipsy; now I felt drunk and leaden. But I wanted to wash the story from my mind. Henry was back at the bar now, and I motioned to him for another drink.

  Once the next round was in front of us, Michael said, “I’d have given anything to be able to go back and stop him.”

  I nodded. This was no lie.

  “I have daughters, too, you know,” he said. “I haven’t gone a day without thinking of that family.”

  I was about to suggest we call it a night, but then my new drinking buddy threw me a curveball from nowhere.

  “That plane,” he said.

  I had already finished my bourbon, without realizing it. I needed to stop. Time to sleep it off. And more than that, I dreaded to find out what was next. But I had to ask.

  “What about it?” I said.

  “What if it’s a time machine? You know what I mean?”

  To my bourbon-addled ears, Darcy’s last words sounded like his voice itself had become an old-fashioned: rounded, honeyed, and ice-numbed. He was finally starting sound drunk. About time.

  “Well, there are plenty of people, especially around some parts of California who are starting to think it was the plane that caused all this.” My own words prompted me to look out over the city lights.

  The ex-billionaire nodded and finished his drink. I looked at Henry (over his head) and nodded from left to right surreptitiously. Henry got the gesture easily. No more drinks for either of us.

  Michael also understood he’d drunk far more than his quota. He looked satisfied. But he had more to say.

  “That’s why Pacific International will never commercially fly the plane again, right?”

  I raised my eyebrows. There seemed to me very little chance that Pacific International would put the A380 back in active service, but I thought that had more to do with it being a ghost ship than a time machine.

  “I think it’s more that no one sane would ever want to fly on it,” I said.

  He looked me over, sizing me up.

  “You’re an okay drinker, but you’re a better listener,” he said. “Have another steak with me sometime?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I could use some more friends in this town.”

  He nearly rose from his seat, then sat back down as though he’d reconsidered. He was drunk; his guard
was down.

  “No, no; I don’t think you understand,” he said. “I’m going to buy that plane—” He caught himself as though he were saying something he shouldn’t, and looked around to make sure Henry wasn’t within earshot.

  “—and I want you to fly it for me.”

  He grinned at me as he got up with an effort, as only a drunk ex-billionaire back from the dead with nothing to lose (other than a few hundred million stashed in a secret bank account) could.

  “We might even find our way back home,” he said.

  Even with nine drinks under my belt, I knew what he meant.

  Back in time.

  “Who knows?” I said.

  Where were Doc Brown and the DeLorean when you needed them?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Even though it had been many years since Emily lost her mother, she had yet to see her father show any interest in another woman. She knew that for the few years after her mother’s death, he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of moving on.

  They had been childhood sweethearts, and both seemed to be proud of their lifelong union.

  So it didn’t surprise Emily at all when she’d asked him if he met anyone while she was missing. The answer, of course, was no.

  Since leaving Vandenberg, Emily felt she had a different perspective on life. She felt it was time for her dad to finally move on. Life was too short to spend it alone.

  Todd had grown quite fond of Emily since they’d met on the ill-fated flight, and had even mentioned the word love to his mother, which naturally pleased her. Emily was the right fit for him, and she’d grown fond of the girl herself, extending her motherly instincts to her. Kylie found herself instinctively wrapping her loving arms around Emily, knowing her son’s girlfriend no longer had a mother.

  Dave now heard about Kylie Roberts often when Emily was at home, and found happiness in knowing Todd’s mother treated Emily as if one of her own. Dave knew Emily missed her mother just as much as he did.

  He was also quite happy Todd had come into her life. That he held a secure, responsible job on the highway patrol helped him feel at ease, as though there were finally someone else looking out for his daughter once more.

  Todd and Emily agreed, during a walk along Santa Monica State Beach one night, that they wanted their parents to meet.

  They weren’t trying to set them up or anything, though they acknowledged there was always a chance. As they both knew, now more than ever, you never could tell what life had ready for you around the corner.

  “You look a little nervous, Pop.”

  Emily couldn’t help herself; she loved nothing more than an opportunity to wind her father up. She also knew calling him Pop was one sure-fire way to cast a line and get a bite.

  Emily and Dave were cruising down the Vista Del Mar en route to Kylie Roberts’ home in Santa Monica.

  It would take them almost 30 minutes longer driving up the coast, but Dave was in no mood for the stress of the San Diego Freeway, the more direct route, at that time of day.

  Traffic jams were practically invented on the San Diego Freeway, and Dave was in no mood to join the other quarter of a million Angelenos jostling their way down it. As head of air traffic control at LAX, he spent enough time dealing with congestion.

  Dave kept his head straight in an attempt to ignore his beautiful daughter’s teasing, though he couldn’t help seeing her in his peripheral vision.

  He fought as hard as he could not to smirk—he didn’t want to encourage her—but there was no way to stop.

  He pulled down on his sunglasses and stole a quick glance at her.

  “Keep it up, young lady, and you’ll get every dad joke I’ve ever told you over the dinner table tonight.” He grinned from ear to ear before flicking his Ray-Bans back over his eyes.

  Emily pouted before looking ahead, her attempts at not laughing proving fruitless.

  She looked back over at her dad and smirked. “Pull out the dad jokes tonight,” she said with assurance, “and Todd and I will mysteriously disappear after doing the dishes.” She knew that was the last thing he’d want at his first meeting with Kylie Roberts.

  Dave laughed. Emily loved getting the last word. He smiled and said, “Hah, I don’t have a comeback for that!”

  The dinner table at the Roberts’ house was set meticulously, looking like something from the front cover of a Christmas cookbook. For a moment, Todd thought maybe he’d gotten things mixed up and it was actually the president coming to dinner. After Kylie had completed the scene by setting a jug of ice-cold water in the middle of the table, with a sliver of lime and lemon floating on top, Todd let out a small but audible whistle.

  Emily understood what he was trying to say, and smiled. “It’s been a while since we’ve had anyone new over for dinner,” Todd said. He walked over to his mother; towering over her by nearly a foot and a half, he put his arms around her and said, “You’ve done a beautiful job, Mom. Our guests will be quite impressed.” She knew it was more about the one guest than the two; Emily, to her, was almost becoming part of the furniture, and she thought this was a good thing.

  She stood back, and for a second Todd saw just a little hint of apprehension in her eyes. Being as close to his mother as his girlfriend was to her father, he had a strong sense of what she was feeling.

  He noticed his mother staring at something for a moment, and followed her eyes. On a distant wall in the nearby living room, just above the fireplace, was a small framed photo of himself and his mother and father.

  Todd put a hand on his mother’s shoulder and spoke sincerely: “You know, if you’re not up to this, we don’t have to do it.”

  Kylie turned away from Todd, and for a moment thought she was going to cancel dinner.

  But then she turned back to him and smiled.

  “I’ll always love your father,” she said, reaching up to him and putting her hand on his cheek. “But I know if he could speak to me from beyond the grave—” She took her hand away. “He would tell me he doesn’t want me to grow old alone.”

  Todd embraced his mother before grinning and saying, “Don’t worry, Mom. Tonight’s not a date in any shape or form.” She nodded and felt the awkwardness of the moment float away. “We just thought it would be fun to all get together for dinner.”

  Emily arrived at the front door, with her father a few feet behind.

  Dave was the perfect dinner guest, bringing a bottle of New Zealand 2016 Greywacke Sauvignon Blanc and an Australian 2012 Rothschild Estate Barossa Valley Shiraz.

  Emily thought her father looked quite dapper in his crisp white, open-necked shirt. He’d even bought a new pair of leather boats. As she met Todd’s gaze, her heart pinged; she was proud her dad had made an effort to look nice and had found the courage to step outside his comfort zone (which, 98% of the time, was 80 meters above the LAX tarmac).

  “Kylie.” Dave stepped forward and shook her hand lightly.

  “Nice to finally meet you,” Kylie said warmly, “Emily’s told me a lot about you.”

  Dave, like many people, had to tilt his head upward to get a clear view of Todd. He reached out and clenched the policeman’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Todd. How are you, good?”

  Todd had taken a liking to Dave Collins immediately on meeting him. Anyone who ran the LAX tower had to be made of the right stuff, and Dave’s professional demeanor and the respect he paid to others couldn’t help but be charming.

  Emily told Todd the story of the tragic boating accident that had taken her mother and brother, Kerryn and Matthew. Todd couldn’t believe it; it was one of the saddest stories he’d ever heard.

  It was another reason he thought highly of Emily’s father. The guy had been to hell and back. He’d seen his wife and son die with his own eyes.

  Todd motioned for Dave and Emily to come through to the living room. He stole a glance over at the mantelpiece as they entered, and couldn’t help feeling proud of his mom.

  She’d put away the family photo
.

  They poured each other drinks, and as everyone settled in, Emily and Todd couldn’t help but feel at home with both their parents talking as if they were old high-school buddies. Dave felt a warm sense of attraction to Kylie. It had been a long time since he’d experienced this feeling.

  Kylie, on the other hand, was not melting inside for Dave. But it was nice all the same to share an enjoyable evening together.

  As the clock above the fireplace chimed the new hour, they all felt the urge to eat. They kept chatting over dinner for more than an hour and a half, the wine and the conversation flowing freely.

  As the evening drew toward its end, Kylie realized she’d forgotten to organize desert, but they all agreed, given how much they’d already eaten, it was a blessing in disguise.

  When Todd and Emily started clearing the table, they realized they could leave their parents alone to fend for themselves. They already seemed like long-lost friends.

  Kylie was feeling very relaxed after her second glass of Shiraz, and more comfortable in her conversation with Dave.

  When Todd left the room, Kylie rose from her seat and made her way over to Dave’s side of the table. She sat down next to him a second later.

  Her body language showed Dave that she hadn’t moved next to him for any romantic reason. She had something to say, for his ears alone.

  “I just wanted to have a quick word to you about something,” she said, peering at the doorway to the kitchen. She could hear conversation overlapping the clatter of dishes, and knew she was safe for a few minutes at least.

  “No problem. What’s on your mind?”

  She swallowed hard. “It’s about Todd.”

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered, looking at the doorway himself.

  She looked down at her hands before turning her eyes to Dave.

  “One of my hus—” She was going to say husband’s, but seemed to trip on the word.

  He patted her hand, signaling it was okay to continue; he knew what she was trying to say.