by Nancy Rue
“You can relax. I just need to ask you a few questions about the plane crash.”
She waited yet again. Something seeped into me like damp air. “I thought the crash was an accident,” I said.
“We have to look at all possibilities. The report from the NTSB—”
I shook my head.
“The National Transportation Safety Board. They’re the investigative board that takes possession of the wreckage after a plane crash. Their findings indicate that we need to look more closely at the circumstances. Since 9/11 it’s policy.” She indicated the Thermos again. “You sure you won’t have some tea?”
“Positive.”
“All right, I just have a few questions for you. I know you want to get back to your sister, so I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
That had never been a consideration with the FBI before.
“You were there the day of the crash, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw your sister before the plane took off.”
“Yes.”
She paused after every answer, as if I might want to add more. I didn’t.
“Where exactly did you see her?”
“On the plane.”
“You were on the plane.”
That was what I’d said, plainly.
“How would you describe Sonia’s state of mind when you talked to her?”
I couldn’t help the widening of my eyes.
“It’s just a routine question,” she said.
“She seemed like she always is. Upbeat. Anxious to get going.”
“Anxious?”
“Eager.”
“She didn’t seem preoccupied at all, maybe distracted?”
“No.” Sonia had been totally aware of what went on with everyone, inside and out.
“Who else was on the plane when you were on board?”
“My husband. Marnie, her assistant.”
“Did she appear to have any issues with either of them?”
I scraped my palm with my nails. “I hadn’t seen my sister in two years, and I’d never met her assistant before that day. I couldn’t tell you if they had issues.”
“Of course. I’m just asking for an observation.” She took a long sip of her tea. “You seem like an observer to me. I just thought you might have noticed something.”
I pretended to be considering that. One thing I’d learned about the FBI: if you didn’t tell them something you knew, it came back to bite you later. You or someone you loved.
“Sonia wasn’t happy with Marnie because she hadn’t told me we weren’t all going to my home—that they had to leave for Pittsburgh right away. That was evidently a last-minute change in plans that I wasn’t notified about.”
The agent scribbled something on the legal pad.
Good. A meaningless detail was now in writing.
“Do you know why the change in plans?” she said.
“No. I don’t have anything to do with my sister’s company.”
She fingered her chin. “Even though your husband was employed by this”—she consulted the pad—“Abundant Living Ministries?”
“He lived in Nashville for the past three months. I stayed here. We didn’t discuss it.”
“So you and your sister are not close.”
“No.”
“How did the assistant react when Sonia called her on her mistake?”
I couldn’t even remember, being too busy recovering from the sight of her making love to my husband with her eyes.
“I don’t think it was any big deal,” I said. “Sonia moved on to the next thing.”
“Which was?”
“The pilot told her they needed to get going.”
“So you saw the pilot.”
“I got a glimpse of him.”
“How did he seem to you? I know you’re a nurse—did you notice anything about his color or his behavior that would indicate an illness?”
“I barely looked at him,” I said.
And if I’d seen anything amiss, didn’t she think I would have said something? He was about to take my sister to 15,000 feet.
“So he seemed fine to you.”
“Yes.” I was dying to say, Why are you asking me that? But it would only have prolonged what was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I had already rubbed the skin raw in the palm of my hand.
“What did he say exactly? From what you can remember.”
“I didn’t hear him say anything. He must have given my sister a signal, because she said something like, ‘Okay, Otto, I know we have to go,’ and then my husband and I got off the plane.”
“He didn’t say anything to anyone else.”
“Not that I heard.”
“Did anyone react to him in any way?”
For Pete’s sake, no. “My husband shook hands with him before we deplaned,” I said. Maybe that would get her off this.
“You’re doing great,” she said. “I just have a few more questions.” She consulted her pad, which gave me a chance to lick my lips. “How did your husband seem when you first saw him?”
“Fine.”
Her brows pulled in. “You hadn’t seen each other in three months, and he just seemed ‘fine’?”
“I guess he might have been nervous,” I said. I bit back the testiness in my voice. “Three months is a long time.”
“What is his relationship with your sister like?”
My lips were so dry, they stuck together momentarily when I tried to open them.
“Would you like some water, Lucia?” she said.
“I’m okay. My sister was good enough to give Chip a job when he needed one. He was grateful for that. Like I said, we didn’t discuss it much.”
“So you didn’t sense any animosity between them.”
“No,” I said. “Everything seemed fine to me.” Could I use the word fine about twenty more times?
“Since the crash, has he said anything to you about their relationship or his relationship with anyone else on the plane?”
Had he said anything to me? No. Had he shown me exactly what one of those relationships was? In spades.
“Did you think of something?”
“We haven’t talked about anything since the crash except my sister’s injuries,” I said.
“I can completely understand that. This must be difficult for you.”
I wasn’t sure whether she meant Sonia’s condition or this interview. A yes to either one would have been an understatement.
“I just have one more question.” She nodded at me, all concern. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to talk about, but I need for you to tell me exactly what you saw from where you were standing, from the time the plane’s engines started up until the crash. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
I wanted nothing more. I closed my eyes, saw and heard it all again, and described it to her. Terror tried to lick at me, but I talked it down with the best words I could choose to reproduce the experience, down to the heat that singed my eyebrows when I ran from the terminal. Then I prayed that when I opened my eyes at the end, she would be gone. Of course she wasn’t.
In her grandmother voice she asked a few more questions, to clarify the color of the smoke and how long I estimated the time between the plane hitting the ground and bursting into flame.
I snapped my fingers.
“So you’re saying instantly.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
She made a note on the pad. I saw that she hadn’t added anything since the last time I looked. Nothing I’d said in my long harangue had been written down. Evidently she didn’t need the ravings of a fat lady after all.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I lied—I do have one more question.”
I wanted to stand up so she’d know I only had one answer left in me, but I stayed put.
“Did you notice the crew that serviced the airplane at all?”
“The crew?”
“Weren’t ther
e some people refueling the jet—”
“I know what a crew is.” I closed my eyes again, but I only saw the scrawny kid with a wanna-be goatee who tried to hit on Marnie. “They were just kind of there,” I said. “All I saw them do—”
“Them.”
“Two guys. They put those blocks under the wheels. Other than that, I didn’t pay attention.”
“Neither of them went on board the plane.”
“Not while I was on there.”
“When you got off, did you notice them anywhere around the plane?”
How many ways did I have to say it?
And, more to the point, why? The FBI didn’t come around unless they suspected somebody had committed a crime. It didn’t sound like Chip’s kind of crime this time, but I still wanted with every cell in my body to get out of there. Yet I couldn’t leave with this piling on top of everything else I was hauling around inside. Even I could only expand so much to hold it.
“You said you weren’t here to talk about my husband,” I said. “Then why are you here?”
“That’s a fair question.” She added more tea to her cup. “We don’t have a theory about the plane crash yet. At this point we’re just gathering information. Would you like to hear what we know so far?” She gave a small shrug. “Who knows, maybe it will jog something in your memory.”
Regret that I’d asked crept in, but I nodded.
“Air traffic control lost contact with the pilot within seconds of takeoff. Preliminary examination of his body by the medical examiner showed no smoke inhalation, which would indicate he died before the fire occurred. That jibes with the behavior of the plane described by the ground crew. Am I going too fast?”
It was too much to process at any speed.
“Mr. Underwood’s medical records show he has no previous history of serious illness. The man was fifty-nine years old, though pronounced to be in good health at his last physical.”
Her words were professional, but by her tone we could have been chatting on the back porch about our recently deceased uncle.
“The autopsy and full tox screen could reveal more. In any event, as the jet ascended, he apparently pulled the yoke too hard for some reason and caused a stall. The plane virtually fell out of the sky.”
I nodded involuntarily. I’d described it that way to myself as I’d watched it.
“Now, here’s the problem. The plane had gained no more than a few hundred feet in altitude before the crash. While the fact that it had been refueled literally moments before would account for its bursting into flame, NTSB is not sure the impact was enough to warrant the kind of explosion you saw.” She gave me the grandmotherly look again. “I’m sorry, but we’re looking for evidence of foul play.”
“You think somebody did this deliberately?”
“We’re just compiling the facts.” She pulled out her badge case again and produced a business card, which she held out to me. “If anything occurs to you—even if you think it’s insignificant—call me at this number.”
I couldn’t even reach out my hand to take the card. She set it on my knee.
“The idea that someone would want to hurt your sister, or anyone else on the plane, is probably difficult to fathom,” she said. “Unless you can think of anyone who might.”
“Everyone loves Sonia,” I said before I even thought it. To meet Sonia was to drop to one’s knees in awe, no matter how hard you fought it.
“There are people who hate the ones everyone else loves,” the agent said. “It’s sick, but it’s the sick who perpetrate this kind of tragedy. And again, there may not be a perpetrator at all. We could be talking about a freak accident.”
She put out her hand to shake, and I stuck mine in it, sure it had all the warmth of a branch.
“I’m so sorry for what you and your family must be going through. By the way,” she added offhandedly, “we haven’t been able to get in touch with your father. Any idea how we might locate him?”
“None,” I said.
“He hasn’t contacted you? This has been all over the national news.” She glanced toward the door. “Those two reporters aren’t the only ones looking for a story.”
“I don’t even know if my father has access to a TV,” I said.
“If you hear from Mr. Brocacini, you’ll let us know, yes? I think that’s enough for now.” The agent stood up.
Agent—
I couldn’t remember her name.
I couldn’t even remember my own.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The FBI agent vacated her domain in Lounge C later that afternoon, and I went in to close my eyes against everything, including a headache that threatened behind my brain. When I opened them, Chip was there.
“Hey, babe,” he said. He put a bulging white trash bag in my lap. “I brought you some of your own clothes. Not that you don’t look fabulous in those scrubs.” He attempted a smile, which I didn’t return. “See if those are okay.”
I pulled the bag open and peered inside. Nothing in there went with anything else, and I hadn’t been able to get into any of it in weeks.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I found your purse and got the car to the house,” he said. “And I watered your plants. You have enough to handle here. I thought I’d take care of things at home.”
I couldn’t help staring at him. When had Dr. Chip Coffey ever done a domestic chore in his life?
“You’re scaring me, Lucia,” he said. “Talk to me.” He pulled the sack from my lap and pawed for my hand. “Tell me about Sonia.” “The FBI is going to question you,” I said.
“Special Agent Deidre Schmacker. She got to you too.”
“She already saw you?”
“They probably contacted me before anybody. She showed up at the house.” He waved off my sudden tautness. “Relax, babe. Schmacker came alone. If I were a suspect she would have brought a partner.” His smile was grim. “It was a refreshing change, actually. She didn’t try to make me hang myself.”
My insides shook. “Did you help her?”
“Probably not.” He sat up again and took both of my hands. “Look, I don’t know what Agent Schmuck told you, but nobody is out to get Sonia. All I’ve seen the last three months is complete idolatry. People worship her. It gets a little sickening, actually.”
“Is that why you quit?”
It was out now, stirring Chip’s faded-denim gaze. He didn’t release my hands, though, and I didn’t pull away. If I moved, it would all go.
“So you know,” he said. “I was going to tell you. I never had the chance.”
“Did you just decide on the plane on the way up here?” I said.
“No.”
“Never mind.” I floundered against the onslaught of openness. It was too much. “It doesn’t matter right now.”
Chip swore softly, around the edges of his sandpaper voice. “That FBI agent shook you up, didn’t she? Lucia, listen to me. They have to do an investigation any time there’s an explosion on an airplane, so they can rule out terrorism.”
“Terrorism!”
He put his finger to my lips. “It’s protocol. Nobody thinks the plane was sabotaged. They know there was structural damage, but they just aren’t saying it. That combined with whatever happened with Otto—she told you that part, right?”
“He didn’t have heart trouble or anything before.”
“Not that anybody knew about.”
“Did you?”
Chip stiffened. “I didn’t practice medicine down at Sonia’s, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t do much of anything except drive her around and run errands. That’s why I quit. And because I missed you too much.” His eyes softened. “I miss your cooking, babe. And your nagging—and the way you dance in the kitchen when you’re making ravioli.”
He lifted my chin—all my chins—with the tips of his fingers. It was a moment like so many I’d had with Chip, when I knew he didn’t see my fatness and didn’t care if he did.
Or at leas
t I’d thought so.
I let the moment pass into one of the real ones, when I knew he couldn’t stand the sight of this bloated version of his size 6 bride. When I knew the inevitable had happened, and I had been traded in for a size 2.
“I don’t dance anymore,” I said.
“I would guess not—you look exhausted. I wish you’d come home and get some decent rest.”
“I can’t.”
“Why? Sonia’s getting round-the-clock care right now. This is the perfect time for you to take care of yourself.” He touched my chin again. “Or let me take care of you.”
“Since when have you ever taken care of me?”
Dear God, why did You let me say that?
I groped to get the words back, saying, “Never mind, never mind,” but the space they left gave me room to breathe. I got up and stood beneath a cooling vent and gulped in air.
“Since never,” Chip said behind me. “I have never taken care of you. But I’m going to start now.”
I felt him come to me, but he didn’t touch me. “I said I didn’t do much at Sonia’s, but that’s not completely true. I thought, babe, and I searched my soul, and I realized I could never have gotten through these last three years without you being who you are and standing by me. Now it’s time for me to do that for you.”
I felt his hands take my shoulders as if they were too hot to touch.
“Please come home with me and let me try.”
I wanted to. I wanted to as much as I’d once wanted to believe he was innocent. And then later that he was at least remorseful. And then that he wanted a family as much as I did—children to focus on, a reason to start over. I always wanted to believe, and I had, over and over, because I somehow knew I was his only one. For once in my life, I was someone’s only one.
Until now. Now he thought I was stupid enough not to know it. I was tired of being stupid.
“Babe, you’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I said. But the bursting apart of pride and pain and panic was imminent if I didn’t get it under control, here in the strange comfort of ICU where I knew what I was doing. Where I wasn’t just a fat idiot. Maybe after that I could tell him what I knew. Maybe after that I could handle what he might say.
“I can’t come home right now,” I said. “Later, when Sonia’s doing better.”