by Nancy Rue
“I’m going to tell the nurses you need more pain meds,” I said, and left her there with her wisdom.
I’d barely delivered that message when Nurse Kim appeared with Special Agent Deidre Schmacker in tow. She wore a deep magenta jacket this time, though she had on the same heavy silver earrings and the same grandmotherly look of concern.
“I told her she could have ten minutes with Mrs. Cabot,” Kim said pointedly to me, “if you will stay in the room.”
“Are you prepared for what you’re going to see?” I said as I led the agent from the lounge.
“Unfortunately, I’ve interviewed burn victims before,” she said. “I’ll be careful with her.”
I wasn’t worried about Sonia’s reaction. I was worried about hers. Since the wounds had closed, they’d switched Sonia from bandages to a clear plastic pressurized mask that molded to her face. As masks went, it was fairly hideous—only the grotesqueness came from inside it. The first time Marnie saw her in it, I watched her turn the color of cream of wheat. I hated to admit that she recovered quickly. I’d have liked to have been able to tell Chip that his lover ran screaming from the room.
Sonia was in a chair, wrapped in a sage green silk robe Marnie had procured for her that made her look, from the neck down, like Marlene Dietrich in a film noir production. If Sonia’s appearance from the neck up bothered Deidre Schmacker, she, too, covered well.
“This is Special Agent Schmacker,” I said. “She’s from the FBI, and she needs to ask you some questions about the crash. It’s just routine.”
“Oh,” Sonia said. “Well, I feel like I’m on Law and Order. Or is it Without a Trace?”
“Hopefully neither,” Agent Schmacker said. “We try not to be quite that dramatic.”
Good. We had enough drama here. I was having trouble keeping my anxiety stuffed at the moment.
The agent accepted Sonia’s outstretched, gauze-swaddled hand. “First of all, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cabot.”
“Please—it’s Sonia. And what should I call you?”
The woman looked nonplussed. Obviously few of the people she interviewed cared to call her anything. Chip had referred to her as Agent Schmuck.
“Agent Schmacker is fine,” she said. “Or just Deidre.”
“I love that. Is it German?”
I rolled my eyes.
“It is.” She opened a folder on the rolling tray. “I’m going to try not to take too much of your time. I know you need rest.”
“I’ve had nothing but rest. This is a nice change.” Sonia looked at me, her stare more disconcerting than ever from the poke holes of the mask. “Lucia, could you get Deidre something to drink?”
No, I wanted to say. She travels with her own tea. Let’s get this over with.
“I’m good,” Agent Schmacker said. “I need for you to tell me as best you remember exactly what happened the day of the crash, beginning from the time the plane left Nashville. You can stop and rest whenever you need to.”
“I’m sure my sister will see to that,” she said.
I felt like Nurse Ratched. I leaned into the corner, arms folded.
“So, you left Nashville International . . .”
“At one o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Anything odd about the takeoff? Any noises that didn’t seem familiar to you?”
Sonia tilted her head. “You think there was something wrong with the plane? They were supposed to service it.”
“We just have to make sure we have all the bases covered.”
“No funny noises,” Sonia said. “Otto kept telling us all systems were go. He always liked to say that.”
Her voice cut out, which didn’t escape Schmacker. She let her eyes droop at the corners. “Did you know Mr. Underwood personally?”
“I kept him on retainer. He was forced to retire early from the airlines, which broke his heart because he loved to fly those commercial jets, but to me it was God’s doing. He was the perfect pilot for my ministry. He would pray with us before every flight—except when we took off from Philadelphia. We were in a hurry.”
Her voice broke again.
“You want to stop, Sonia?” I said.
“No.” She sat up straighter, smoothed the sash on the robe. “I know Otto’s with the Lord. He died doing His work.”
“You may not remember much—people often don’t,” Schmacker said, “but what can you tell me about what happened from the time the engines started for your departure from Northeast?”
“You’ve done this before,” Sonia said.
The agent almost smiled. “How can you tell?”
“Because you’re right—I hardly remember anything. I said goodbye to Chip and Lucia. Otto told us to fasten our seat belts. Marnie was up in front and I was in the back, and I said something to her and she said she couldn’t hear me, and the next thing I knew, my face . . .” Her hand went to the mask as if she’d just discovered it. “That’s all I remember until Lucia was with me on the ground. I don’t know how I got there.”
She was as composed as I had ever seen her.
I, on the other hand, was shredding a tissue I didn’t even recall picking up. I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine what it must have been like for her. Now I had it in my mind, where it could attack me at any time. That had to be stuffed, too, onto the ever-growing compost pile in my chest.
“Nothing beyond that?” Deidre Schmacker said.
“That’s it.”
The agent tapped her pen on the pad. “Mrs. Cabot, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, we’re not at all sure your crash was an accident. We’re trying to rule out foul play.”
“Let me save you the trouble,” Sonia said. Her voice remained as warm and creamy as chocolate sauce, and her arms still hung, relaxed, over the arms of the chair. “No one wanted to hurt me, and if they did, they’ve failed.”
“Have they?”
“This is about what God wants, and what He wants is for people to have a chance to see God’s power at work. I’m going to be completely healed.”
“I’m sure you are. You’re in the best burn facility in the Northeast.”
“But it’s God who is going to do the healing, Deidre. The miracle is already taking place. No one expected me to be able to speak this clearly, and yet I’m having a fluent conversation with you.”
Yes, unfortunately. I wiped my upper lip with the back of my hand.
“The wounds have closed. I’ve already graduated to this glamour mask. I’m going home in a matter of days, when people in my condition are normally here for months.”
If Deidre Schmacker said anything, I didn’t hear it. My own thoughts were screaming in my head. She’s going home? I didn’t know which part of this monologue was the most ludicrous.
“It’s God, Deidre. That’s what we’re seeing. I’m getting great care here—that’s part of it. But this is about faith. I put my trust in the Lord. ‘In your presence there is fullness of joy, and in your right hand are pleasures for evermore.’ ”
Deidre Schmacker didn’t say anything. She definitely wasn’t taking notes on what I assumed was a biblical quote.
“So no more questions about the crash,” Sonia said. “In fact, just stop your investigation altogether, because it’s pointless.”
Sonia settled further into the chair as if she’d just succeeded in sending Special Agent Schmacker back to FBI headquarters with her marching orders.
Schmacker didn’t move except to tilt her head back to look at Sonia. I hadn’t noticed the color of her eyes before. They were a clear gray with a liquid quality. I couldn’t read them, but I could feel them reading Sonia.
“I wish it were that easy, Sonia,” she said.
“Isn’t it?”
“Not under the circumstances. I am not quarreling with the possibility that you will have a miracle healing. I’ve seen stranger things happen. But as far as the investigation goes, I can’t stop that. And in fact, I’m going to need your help.”
Sonia sh
rugged gracefully. “I’ve told you everything.”
“We’ve barely begun to scratch the surface. I need to know about your relationships with everyone on that plane and with everyone on your staff. I have to pick your brain about all of the events leading up to your trip. And I am asking you to think and think hard about anyone who might want to hurt you. Any hate letters you might have received.”
“There is none of that,” Sonia said. “I only have one more thing to say, and that is that I’ll be praying for you. My whole ministry will. It has to be hard to hear all these stories and not become suspicious of everyone.”
Deidre Schmacker’s voice didn’t change either. “I’m doing my job, which is to investigate a plane crash in which a pilot with no previous history of illness just happened to die from unknown causes and drop a plane that just happened to explode on impact for no apparent reason.” She pressed her palms on the tray. “There were explosives on your plane, Mrs. Cabot. I need you to help me find out who put them there.”
I wanted to hurl myself from the room and lose everything I’d packed inside myself, because I couldn’t take this one more rotten piece of information. But I looked at Sonia instead, and saw as stubborn an expression in her body as she could ever have accomplished on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” Sonia said. “It’s a hideous job that you have to do, but I can’t help you. I have to focus on what God’s doing in this.”
Deidre Schmacker closed her portfolio and tucked it neatly under her arm. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said. “I’ll be back when you’ve had a chance to process it.”
“It will be a waste of your time,” Sonia said.
The liquid gray eyes went steely. “I’ll be back,” she said.
I barely waited for the door to close before I was on Sonia. If I didn’t say this now, it was going to get crammed in with everything else.
“Sonia, I don’t think you can—”
“I can do whatever God wills, Lucia.” The cream in her voice curdled. “Would you please get Marnie? And tell her to get Egan on the line before she gets here—and find Dr. Abernathy for me.”
“Why?” I said. “Why Dr. Abernathy?”
“Because I have to get back to Nashville before this thing gets out of control.”
She was too late. It already was.
CHAPTER TEN
Sully lowered himself onto one of the red and gold chintz love seats in Porphyria’s sitting room and pulled out his cell phone. Too bad he’d already keyed the number into his contacts. Also too bad he’d charged the battery and had good reception in the lodge for once. Too bad he’d run out of excuses not to call Sonia Cabot.
Holy crow. At one time confidence had shimmered out of his pores like sweat. Even three and four months ago, when he’d been fighting off freaking out, he could’ve still made a phone call to an old friend.
Besides, if Sonia still held on to her faith statement, she would just be eager to tell him how God was blessing her with a miracle. That would be the end of it.
He grunted to the empty room. The miracle would be if she wasn’t shaking her fist at heaven and denouncing every praise-word she’d ever sung or spoken from a platform. Anger at God would be healthy, but it would also mean she’d need somebody to guide her through.
Sully flipped the phone open. Well, there you go. He’d tell her he knew how much she must hurt, and he’d offer to set her up with one of his best therapists. Or even Dr. Ukwu.
Feeling the kind of relief usually reserved for post dental work, he pulled up the number for Sonia’s room at Crozer Medical Center and pressed Send. If every step back into the real world was this hard, he might not get there for years. Decades.
Though he wasn’t sure Sonia would still have the luscious voice that reminded him of whipped cream, the one that said hello was flatter and colder than he expected. He felt his hopes wobble.
“Sonia,” he said. “Sullivan Crisp.”
“This isn’t Sonia,” the woman said. “Who did you say this was?”
“Sullivan Crisp.”
“Oh.” The voice gave in slightly. “She’s talking to her doctor at the moment. I can have her call you back.”
She bordered on brusque, which wasn’t like anybody Sully knew on Sonia’s staff. They were all so schooled in Southern hospitality they practically offered you a mint julep over the phone. He couldn’t resist asking, “And who am I talking to?”
“Lucia Coffey,” the woman said. “I can just give her a message—wait.”
There was some murmuring and receiver shifting, and then fragrant oils were suddenly being poured on his head in the form of Sonia Cabot’s voice.
“Sully Crisp,” she said.
Sully felt himself grin. “When you produce an audition video for Survivor, you don’t mess around, do you?”
Sonia laughed, a sound as delicious as her words. “When they create a show called Thriver, I will audition for that.”
“I can tell this hasn’t slowed you down much,” Sully said. “You’re still running everything.”
“Why don’t you come up here and tell that to everybody else? I can’t convince these people I am ready to rock and roll.” She laughed again. “No, don’t. I’m coming back to Nashville anyway. Now, where are you? I haven’t heard anything about you in forever.”
“Taking a little hiatus,” Sully said. “But I may be headed for Nashville myself.”
“I love that! Come for lunch—no, dinner—no, spend a weekend. You know my guesthouse is always open.”
She’d made that offer every time he’d seen her over the last five years. He could almost recite it word for word, and yet somehow it sounded different now—rehearsed. He’d never sensed that about her before. Dang. He’d been just about to go with the miracle theory that would let him off his own hook.
“I might take you up on that,” he said. “Could you use a friend?”
She laughed softly again. “I know what you’re doing, Sully, bless your heart, but I’m good. God is going to use me in some amazing way through this. I can’t wait to get in front of my audience again and share this.”
Sully tried not to stumble over his tongue. He’d just read in an e-mail from Rusty that her entire face, head, and neck were burned. They must have made great strides in plastic surgery. Either that, or Sonia Cabot was in some serious denial.
“You know what you can do, Sully,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“You can pray.”
“I’ve already been on it.”
“I want you to pray specifically. I want you to ask the Lord to take the fear out of my staff’s hearts so they’ll stop trying to protect me and get on with the work we’ve been given to do. Will you do that for me?”
Sonia’s propensity to turn a prayer into a homily was one of the many ways her ministry differed from his, and Sully toyed with the possible answers like a Rubik’s cube. No, Sonia, because they have every reason to be afraid. No, Sonia, I’m not in the habit of giving God instructions. No, Sonia, I think you need to be protected until you deal with what’s happened to you.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll talk that over with God and get back to you.”
“I can’t wait to hear what He tells you.” She sighed into the phone. “Sully, I really appreciate your call. Will you promise to come see me?”
“Absolutely.”
One more item on the growing list of reasons to go to Nashville. Take a list of possible therapists to Sonia. Be there for Dr. Ukwu. Record some podcasts on God knew what.
Which was exactly the point. God did know what. And Sully knew where He might be willing to tell him.
A mere twenty-four hours after Agent Schmacker’s visit, I was going to Sonia’s room to take her to physical therapy and ran into Marnie—who was doing a stiff-legged fast walk down the hall with the I-have-to-get-this-done-for-Sonia lines carved between her eyebrows.
“I have to reschedule her appointment with PT,” she said over
her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—she’s having her board meeting in Lounge A.”
“Her what?”
“I’m supposed to tell you to get in there—she wants you to talk to them.”
Before I could tell her she was delusional, Marnie took off again, this time at a dead run. I yearned to escape with her. Just being in the same room with those people again was more than I could stomach. I would probably vomit if I had to actually talk to them.
I might have bypassed the meeting altogether if I hadn’t heard Sonia’s voice wending its way out of its usual creaminess and into a precipitously high place. I sucked in my gut and followed it.
Only because I had the worst luck possible did Sonia have her back to the door, while the board faced her—and me. I couldn’t remember anyone’s name except Egan’s, but the other two members were there, as well as a redheaded woman I hadn’t met before. Every face was ashen as Sonia sat before them in her silk robe and her now less-than-commanding posture. They had obviously realized that no miracle had yet occurred. I might have felt sorry for them if I hadn’t warned them weeks ago.
“Come on in, Lucia,” Sonia said. She must have smelled my presence.
As I edged inside, I saw Egan breathing so hard I could have driven a Buick into his nostrils.
“Tell my friends and supporters what kind of progress I’m making,” Sonia said.
I didn’t move. Didn’t bring my dumpy self before this audience of slimness and righteousness. Bad enough they were all staring at me as I stood behind Sonia. I wouldn’t give them a full frontal to judge.
Sonia waved her arm irritably. “Come on, Lucia. Tell them.”
“You’re making progress,” I said to the floor.
“No, tell them.”
The redhead nodded like a dashboard ornament. The rest still looked as if they’d just had electric shock therapy administered.
“Lucia.” Sonia snagged at my sleeve.
If I didn’t move forward, I would look even more conspicuous. I had on a black sweater Chip had brought me, and I crossed it over my chest as I stepped up to stand beside her.
“She’s right on schedule,” I said to the wall above their heads. “Everything is going the way it’s supposed to.”