by Nancy Moser
“Thank you for coming down, gentlemen. This will only take a moment. If you’ll look at the screen.”
A face appeared. Ashen, with a cut on his upper forehead. But otherwise undisturbed, as if asleep. Floyd had trouble swallowing. How many times had he looked into the eyes of the hero as the man raised his face expectantly toward the helicopter? Were those the eyes—now closed? Was this the man who’d made a conscious decision to die in order to save the lives of others?
“It’s him,” Hugh said. “The hair. The beard. As near as I can tell, it’s him.”
The technician turned to Floyd. “Do you agree?”
Floyd’s throat tightened so he was forced to nod. He could not take his eyes off the face of the hero. He felt Hugh and the technician looking at him, but he didn’t care. He cleared his throat. “What’s his name?”
“Henry Smith.”
Nice to meet you, Henry. You don’t know it, but you changed my life forever.
“Well then, thanks for coming in.” The technician left them alone. A few moments later, the screen went to black.
“Just like that, he’s gone again,” Floyd said. “We finally see him, and then he’s gone.”
Hugh put a hand on Floyd’s shoulder. “Hey, take it easy—”
Floyd let the tears come. “I wanted to meet him, you know? I wanted to shake his hand and tell him how I found his actions astonishing.” His voice cracked. “Do you think he knew people were proud of him? Or did he just slip into that water feeling as if he failed?”
“Floyd …”
“We were the ones who failed, Hugh. We were the ones who couldn’t get back in time.”
Hugh squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “I know. I know.”
“They’re calling us heroes too. But what kind of heroes are we to let a man like this die?”
The black screen was their only answer.
Ten
My comfort in my suffering is this:
Your promise preserves my life.
PSALM 119:50
We have begun to make our descent. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened.” Ellen Smith didn’t move to put on her seat belt or secure her tray table or put her seat in an upright position. Since they’d taken off two hours before, she had not stirred. She hadn’t read a magazine, slept, eaten, or talked to the person in the seat beside her. She was relieved that her seatmate was not the talky type, but one of those businessmen who took out his laptop at the first chance and spent the entire flight working.
Until now. Having to stow his computer, he suddenly had nothing to do. He turned to Ellen. “I wasn’t too keen on flying this airline after their crash—especially going to that same airport. How ’bout you?”
Ellen considered remaining silent. Why stop the zombie act now? But then her anger and frustration met somewhere in the pit of her stomach, and she felt words clawing toward the surface. She slowly turned her face toward him and waited until his eyes met hers. “My husband died in that crash. I’m on my way to identify the body.”
The businessman sucked in a breath, his eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. This must be awful for you. I can’t imagine such a—”
“Lucky you.”
With another short stutter, he wisely shut up and turned his face toward the window. Ellen would have to remember that line. It was obviously a conversation killer. And why shouldn’t it be? What could people say in response to such a blatant reminder to count their own blessings?
Ellen closed her eyes and felt the engines decrease their power. How bizarre that she was being flown in a Sun Fun airplane in order to identify the body of her husband who had died in a Sun Fun Airlines crash. And first class, no less. She’d never flown first class, though she and Henry had talked about doing it to splurge. He certainly had the frequent flyer miles. But during his brief times off, the last thing Henry wanted to do was fly. He usually ended up giving his perks to coworkers. But now—alone—she was living like the rich and famous. Henry? Look at me! I’m riding in first class. Aren’t I special?
Special? Not in a way Ellen wanted to be special. And not even in a unique way. For ninety-five other families were coming together, taking a special trip to handle the special task of identifying the bodies of their special loved ones.
It wasn’t even a sure thing that they’d found Henry’s body yet. But Ellen had been assured that recovering the deceased was Sun Fun’s first priority. How about flying a safe plane? Shouldn’t that be your first priority? It was like having a teenager trash his house during a party and then tell his parents that his first priority was picking up the shards of Waterford crystal they’d broken. Too little too late.
Her worst fear was that they’d never find his body. The plane crashed in a river. A river has a current. What if Henry was swept downriver, never to be seen again? What if she waited and waited, day after day, only to be told, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith, but we can’t find him.” Now that would be a special situation.
Can’t find him? Can’t find the man I’ve been married to for twenty years? Can’t find the man who had the ability to make me laugh, drive me crazy, and fill my soul like no one else in the world? Isn’t it bad enough you made him lose his life? How dare you lose his body!
But maybe lost was lost. Ellen knew Henry wasn’t in his body anymore. The soul that was Henry, the essence of his being, was with God. Ellen knew that and found comfort in it. She wondered if Henry was looking down at her now with the glories of heaven all around him. Smiling, laughing, glowing with God’s peace and true happiness, whispering to her, “Come on, Elly. I’m fine. Really. You should see it up here. I’m the lucky one. And I’m waiting for you, Elly. When your time comes, I’ll be the second face you see.”
When your time comes.
Such a strange phrase. People tossed it around at times of death, attempting to make each other feel better. It was his time. Ellen didn’t ask the question, “Who says?” She knew God was in charge, and it was His choice—though such ends were certainly affected by man’s choices too. People often sealed their fate by their own stupidity, and God allowed it. He was big into free will—which was both a blessing and a curse.
No, the question Ellen wanted answered was not “Who says?” but “How come?” Why did Henry have to die? Why did ninety-five innocent people perish in the few split seconds where everything that was right went wrong?
Yet what good would it do to know why? If they could tell her today that the plane crashed because it was too cold or because it ran out of gas or because it was Friday, what difference would it make? Henry was dead. Would knowing that by the absence of some error he would still be alive make that fact better? Or different? Would having someone to blame make her feel better?
Ellen heard the landing gear descend. It was time to find Henry.
A flight attendant came down the aisle and stopped beside Ellen’s row. Ellen looked up expectantly. They were within minutes of landing. But the woman had tears in her eyes. What could possibly—?
“Mrs. Smith? Mrs. Henry Smith?”
“Yes?”
The woman’s chin quivered. “I just got word from the gate. They just announced that your husband was …” Her voice choked.
Whatever could be wrong?
“Out with it, lady,” Ellen’s seatmate said. “You’re torturing the poor woman.”
The attendant took a deep breath. “Your husband was the hero of Flight 1382.”
Ellen felt a quiver start in her diaphragm and travel up to her throat. She drew in a shaky breath. “Henry?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my … oh my.” Ellen closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest. I knew it. I knew it was him.
She heard whispering around her and then louder talking. Then came applause. She looked at the attendant who stood in the aisle, tears streaming down her face, wearing a bittersweet smile. The attendant spread a hand toward the rest of the plane, then began clapping herself. “It’s for him,” she whispered toward E
llen. “It’s for Henry.”
It took a moment for Ellen to absorb the implication of the applause. People were proud of her Henry. They were applauding his final act. They—
The attendant put a hand on her arm. “Would you stand for a moment, Mrs. Smith? Acknowledge them?”
Somehow it didn’t seem right for Ellen to take a bow for her husband’s deeds. And yet—
Her seatmate leaned toward her. “Do it for your husband, Mrs. Smith. He can’t be here, but you can.”
And so, with the help of the flight attendant, Ellen Smith unbuckled her seat belt and stood. And the applause soared. She looked back at the rest of the plane and saw faces full of awe, compassion, and a shared combination of sorrow and joy. And she wanted to clap herself.
Bravo, Henry. Bravo, dear husband.
“There.”
David stood over Tina and tucked her in. She was cocooned in the Queen Anne chair in her apartment, her feet on the ottoman, her legs swathed in an afghan. On the table to her right sat a cup of hot chocolate, and in her lap were three new books waiting to be read.
“You comfy?”
“If I were any more comfy, I’d hibernate for the rest of the winter. I certainly hope I don’t need to go to the bathroom soon. I wouldn’t want to ruin your handiwork.”
“Then hold it.”
“I’ll do my best.” She noticed David check his watch for the third time. “You have to get back to work?”
“Nope. I took the day off.” He moved to the front door and looked out the side window. Something was up. Surely he wasn’t having more balloons or flowers delivered.
“David, what’s going on? You’re acting like a nervous lookout.”
“In a way, I—” He glanced out the window, then clapped his hands. “They’re here!”
“Who’s here?”
“Your surprise.”
Tina felt a wave of nervous knots grip her stomach. She couldn’t imagine whom David had invited over. Fellow teachers? Not likely. Students? No way.
The doorbell rang. David put his hand on the doorknob. “You ready?”
“How can I be ready when I don’t know who—?”
He opened the door. A couple stood shoulder to shoulder as if they did not want to be separated. The man was slight and reminded Tina of the weak brother Fredo in The Godfather. The woman had the beautiful unmarred skin of the Orient. Within moments, Tina knew who they were.
Mallory’s parents.
Tina took advantage of her stagnant position in the chair and the time it took David to usher them in to try to get her bearings. She’d asked David to get ahold of them, and now he had. As a surprise. To please her. But now that she was confronted with them, what was she going to say? She closed her eyes. Lord, help me.
David made the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Carpelli, this is Tina McKutcheon. Tina, Mr. and Mrs. Carpelli.”
Tina extended her hand, and Mr. Carpelli shook it. Mrs. Carpelli nodded a greeting. They did not smile—which wasn’t too surprising. And yet.
“Have a seat,” David said, indicating the couch across from Tina. “I’ve made some hot chocolate. Would you like a cup?”
“We won’t be staying that long,” Mr. Carpelli said. His wife shook her head.
Tina homed in on the won’t in his statement. Not “we can’t stay long,” but “we won’t.” Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Mr. Carpelli adjusted himself on the couch cushions while Mrs. Carpelli perched herself on the edge as if ready to flee. From her husband or my house? He sliced through Tina with a look. “We didn’t want to come.”
Tina’s breath stopped. She and David exchanged a look. Finally she found some words. “Then why did you?”
“It seemed like the right thing to do.”
Tina couldn’t remember witnessing such a blatant example of people doing the right thing wrong. “If you’d rather go …”
Mr. Carpelli glanced at his wife. “Maybe we should.”
David rushed between them. “No, no … stay. I know this is awkward for everyone, but Tina got to know your daughter on the plane and was impressed with the girl. That’s why she wanted to meet you.”
“To gloat?”
Tina let out a puff of air. “Excuse me?”
Mr. Carpelli took his wife’s hand. “You lived. Our daughter died. You’re a teacher. You’re supposed to help and protect children when their parents aren’t around. Why didn’t you save our daughter?”
David moved to Tina’s side. “Mr. Carpelli, I don’t think that’s fair. Tina—”
Tina stopped him with a hand. She could handle this. She had to handle this. “Mr. and Mrs. Carpelli, I cannot begin to imagine the grief you are going through, and because of that, I will forgive your horrid and insensitive outburst. As with most of the world—including myself before this experience—you have no concept of the forces involved as a plane crashes.” She adjusted herself in the chair and grimaced against the pain more than she needed to in order to make her point.
“If you must know, I was holding Mallory’s hand when we knew things weren’t right. But there is no way I could have saved her as the plane ripped apart. If I could have, I would have. Perhaps your accusation comes from the question of whether or not I would have given my life to save hers—like the hero did for the rest of us.” She shook her head. “And the answer to that is, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows the full extent of the heart in regard to sacrifice until the time comes.”
Tina felt the sting of tears and was strengthened by David’s hand on her shoulder. “Speaking of the hero … should I have refused the lifeline from him? Should I have insisted he go first?” She sniffed loudly, knowing this was a question that would haunt her like a shadow. She lifted her chin and gained strength with her next breath. “Though you might want to condemn me for that too, I won’t let you. That’s between me and God.”
She saw tears in Mrs. Carpelli’s eyes. Her husband stared straight ahead, but Tina could see the tendons in his neck tighten as he struggled for control.
Suddenly, Tina remembered why she wanted to meet them. Had her blown chance to tell Mallory about Christ resulted in eternal consequences? This was going to be delicate. How could she segue from yelling at Mallory’s parents to asking them about their relationship with God?
Tina decided to emphasize the positive. “Mallory was an interesting girl, Mr. and Mrs. Carpelli. As you mentioned, I’m a high school teacher so I know the kind of kids who are out there. To be truthful, I suffer through teaching them. But your daughter.” Tina remembered the thought-provoking discussions they’d had on the plane. They were extraordinary. If only she’d realized it at the time. “Mallory mentioned wanting to go into the military?”
“A stupid idea,” Mr. Carpelli said.
Couldn’t the man say anything positive? “I don’t think a person’s desire to serve her country is ever stupid. She was very inspired by her Grandpa Carpelli.”
“My father brainwashed that girl.”
Mrs. Carpelli squeezed her husband’s knee indicating she did not have so harsh an opinion. Doesn’t the woman talk?
“From what I could tell, your father had a good influence on Mallory. He made her interested in history, in honor, and …” Here goes. “And in God.”
Mr. Carpelli stood, drawing his wife up with him. “Don’t you dare speak that word again. It was God who made me lose my job, it was God who made my wife lose her breast to cancer, and it was God who took our only child. My father’s opinions of a loving God go against every bad thing that’s ever happened to us. If Mallory was such a good girl, where was God when she needed Him?”
“I—”
He pulled his wife to the door. “Thanks for nothing, Miss McKutcheon. I hope you enjoy this life our daughter won’t be living.”
The slam of the door echoed. Tina stared straight ahead, incredulous. “What just happened?”
David knelt by her side. “They didn’t mean it, Teen. None of it. T
hey’re upset. You shouldn’t feel responsible for Mallory’s death.”
“Oh, I don’t,” she said. “I know there was nothing I could have done differently. At least not in saving her life. But the God-stuff, David. If what they said is any indication, Mallory didn’t know about God or Jesus or heaven or anything. When she asked me about Him, it was from a sincere need to know—a sincere need to balance out the anti-God sentiment she got her whole life. And I didn’t tell her. I missed my chance—and there were no others.”
David wrapped his arms around her, but she noticed he didn’t offer any words of comfort.
Because there weren’t any.
Tina had insisted that David go home. For the first time since the crash, she was completely and positively alone. Alone with her thoughts, her pain, and her guilt.
Her apartment assaulted her with a cloak of normalcy. Rows of stuffed bookshelves looming against the walls, framed photos of places she hoped to visit someday: Rome, the Alps, Paris. A three-tiered stack of vanilla-scented candles that made the apartment smell homey and warm even in the coldest weather. A glass jar stocked with wrapped candy from peppermints to butterscotch to root beer barrels. Her apartment was a place of comfort, fulfillment, and hope for the future.
And yet, suddenly she felt like an alien. How could she take a book off the shelf and read it? How could she dream of faraway places or light a candle just for the sheer deliciousness of the smell? And how could she indulge in sweets, choosing a flavor to suit her mood?
Mallory Carpelli was dead. If her soul was in heaven, Tina had lucked out. But if her soul was in hell …
There was hell to pay.
Merry watched her mother scoop coffee into a filter, then empty it back into the can, then scoop it out again, only to repeat the process a third time.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
Her mother blushed. “I can’t seem to concentrate. I can’t count.”
“You want me to do it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to do this.”