The Seat Beside Me

by Nancy Moser

  “What?”

  Dora was surprised by the intensity of her idea. “You said Roscoe helped you, and his wife helped him. He wanted the two of you to meet.”

  “But I don’t even know where she lives.”

  “Did he say if he was heading home on Flight 1382?”

  Sonja brightened. “Yes, yes, he did.”

  Dora stood. “Then let’s go find her.”

  Sonja sat in her living room with the phone on her lap. She stared at the address and phone number of Eden Moore. Would Roscoe’s widow want to hear from her? Or would the knowledge that Sonja, a woman sitting right next to her husband, had lived when he died upset her?

  There was only one way to find out. Sonja took a deep breath and dialed the number.

  A woman with a deep alto voice answered. “Moores.”

  “Hello … you don’t know me, but my name is Sonja Grafton, and I sat next to your husband on the plane and—”

  “You sat next to Roscoe?”

  “Yes.”

  “On Flight 1382?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you survived?”

  Sonja braced herself. “Yes.”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been wanting to know what happened; I’ve been aching to know what Roscoe went through, and now to have someone call who sat next to him and talked with him. I want to meet you, Sonja Grafton!”

  To expect anger and receive enthusiasm. Sonja’s voice was tight, but she managed the words. “I want to meet you too.”

  “I can’t get away again right now. I’ve been away from our work too long, but—”

  “I’ll come down there,” Sonja said, totally surprising herself.

  “You will?”

  “I’ll fly down tomorrow.”

  “You don’t mind flying?”

  Sonja had never thought about it. “I’ll do it. I’ll be there.”

  “Bless you, dear girl. You are a gift from God.”

  Funny, she didn’t feel like one.

  Anthony’s pager vibrated. He looked at the number. 911. The code meant he was needed in emergency. Just his luck. If only he’d canned the superdoctor bit and stayed home another day. But it was too late now. He couldn’t refuse.

  He reached for the phone and called back. “Dr. Thorgood here.”

  “Yes, Doctor, we have a hand injury. Bar fight. The patient’s been bit pretty badly, plus there’s some glass—”

  Yes, yes, don’t drone on about it. “I’ll be right there.” Anthony hung up and closed his eyes in disgust. This was one of the reasons he’d veered away from reconstructive plastic surgery and toward cosmetic. He hated dealing with the lowlifes who got injured through exposure to drunk drivers, domestic abuse, or sheer stupidity. He liked dealing with people who chose surgery as a means toward bettering their lives.

  The truth was, some people got what they deserved.

  Anthony found the patient sleeping, or out cold from the booze that seemed to emanate from every pore. His shirt was covered with blood. Various cuts on his face had already been treated. Must have been some fight.

  The man pulled out of his stupor, saw Anthony, and got agitated. “My hand! You have to fix … I must play …”

  At that moment the attending physician, Dr. Andrea Margalis, came in and rushed to the patient’s side. “Shh, shh, Mr. Harper. Calm down. Everything will be all right. We’ve brought in a specialist to look at your hand.”

  The man glanced at Anthony, then, when consciousness seemed too much for him, lay back down, mumbling a few times more about his hand before going silent.

  Well then. Anthony donned a pair of gloves and lifted the patient’s hand, assessing the damage. Andrea moved close. Her perfume was delicious. She waited patiently until he finished his examination. “You can see why we called you in.”

  Anthony set the hand down. “Actually, no. This is a stitch-up job, pure and simple.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed, taking nothing away from her beauty. Anthony purposely glanced at her left hand as she donned a pair of gloves. There was no ring, which indicated no husband. Usually. Though that detail wasn’t necessarily a problem.

  “Not to disagree, Dr. Thorgood, but look at this.” Dr. Margalis turned the hand over and pointed to a particularly vivid set of teeth marks. “There could be deeper damage here. I thought you might want to go in to make sure.”

  To appease her, Anthony took a closer look. She could be right, but probably wasn’t. After all, he was the expert. She was used to quick fixes, not the finesse work that was his hallmark.

  The man groaned.

  Andrea put a calming hand on his arm. “Poor man. When the police brought him in—”

  Anthony nodded, his judgment of the patient complete. “The police broke up the fight?”

  “Yes, but Mr. Harper was the only—”

  “Then he’s no poor man. He’s an arrogant fool.”

  Andrea flashed him a look. “That’s uncalled for.”

  Anthony shrugged and felt a wave of fatigue threaten. His ribs throbbed. He arched his back, adjusting to the pain.

  “Are you all right, Doctor? Considering what you’ve been through, I was a little surprised to see you back on call. If you’d rather I call Dr. Burrows—”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” Anthony despised Dr. Burrows. Compared to himself, Burrows was a meatball surgeon hiding under the guise of an elite plastic surgeon. Yet at the moment his professional opinion of his colleague wasn’t the point. The vital point was Dr. Margalis’s questioning Anthony’s opinion. “It comes down to this, Andrea. Either you trust me or you don’t. Or did you call me in here on my first day back from being in the hospital to ignore my prognosis?”

  She reddened, and Anthony thought she looked quite cute when she blushed. As soon as he felt up to it, he’d ask her out. “Of course not, Doctor. I defer to your expertise. But would it hurt to take a deeper look? Personally, I’ve never seen so much damage.”

  “Well, I have. Stitch him up, and get this brute on his way.”

  Andrea bent over the hand, looking close. “But this part right here—”

  Anthony sighed deeply. “Come on, Andrea. This is not a life or death matter. Stitch the drunk up. Get him home to beddie-bye where he can sleep it off. Either you do it, or I’ll do it. What’s it going to be?”

  After one last look, Andrea gently set down the hand. “As I said before, I defer to your expertise—and your workmanship. I’ll get you what you need.”

  Tina raced from her car to the front door of her apartment as fast as her crutches would take her. Ever since walking out of the school—and her job—she’d put her emotions on hold, not daring to let them out while driving. And now they were on the edge of enveloping her. If she didn’t get release soon …

  She fumbled the keys in the lock. “Come on. Come on.” Finally the key did its work and she was inside. She closed her apartment door and took a cleansing breath. And then.

  She tossed her keys into the air like they were confetti. “Yahoo!” If she had two good legs, she would have clicked her heels together like Gene Kelly singing in the rain.

  As the keys clattered to the floor and her shout died, Tina laughed. It was a wonderful, foreign sound. How long had it been since she felt such joy? The answer took her far back in time, way before the crash.

  She removed her coat and flung it toward the couch in a hook shot, enjoying the awkward arc. Then she fell onto the cushions with a satisfying umph. She couldn’t stop smiling.

  Settled in, she allowed herself to say the words that had been forming since she walked out of the school. “I’m not supposed to be a teacher. I don’t have to be a teacher.”

  Tina had never felt so free in her life. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her soul; it was like flying through the air with her arms outstretched; it was like running through a field with the wind whipping through—

  The phone rang and she answered it. �
�Hello!”

  “Ms. McKutcheon?”

  It was her principal’s voice. She ignored the quick flip of her stomach. What’s the worst he could do to her? Hire her back? She let the joy remain in her voice. “Well, hello, Mr. Dall. How are you doing today?”

  “How am I? Ms. McKutcheon, why aren’t you in your classroom? Some of your students came to the office and said you’d quit, walked out. They were concerned. We are concerned. This isn’t like you.”

  No, it wasn’t. Until now. Now she was AWOL. Truant. A deserter from duty. An escapee of education.

  Free.

  “Ms. McKutcheon, what do you have to say for yourself? We know you’ve been through a lot, but this kind of behavior is unacceptable.”

  “I agree.”

  “You—?”

  “It is unacceptable. Students should have teachers they can admire. Not a teacher whom they merely tolerate; not one who epitomizes the axiom, ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ ”

  “So you are quitting?”

  “Indeed I am.” How long had it been since she meant anything so sincerely?

  “Are you going to another school?”

  Tina hadn’t thought about it until this moment. “Nope.”

  “You’re giving up teaching for good?”

  “Yup.”

  “But your career? You have tenure. You can’t just throw that away.”

  Tina felt an inner flutter as the full consequence of her action became clear. Was she sure? Was this the right decision? Lord, help me see.

  “You’ve put us in a bind, Ms. McKutcheon. I suppose Mr. Merit can cover one of your classes, but the others …”

  Tina smiled. Tom Merit. Super teacher. He was the perfect person to take her students and make them shine. Teaching was his calling.

  But it isn’t yours.

  Tina’s soul locked onto this truth as if it were a magnet making contact with metal. She had never been so sure of anything in her life. She asked for God’s help and He did help—within seconds of her asking. With these four words her world changed from closed and ominous to open and promising. The freedom she felt swelled like a sponge expanding with water. For those words were the water of her life. Those words made everything possible. “What is impossible with men is possible with God.”

  That’s my problem. I’ve been depending on myself and not on Him.

  She embraced this other truth with a smile that dispelled all flutters and doubts. Then she made her proclamation into the phone, “I am very sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Dall, but my decision is final. I am not supposed to be a teacher.”

  “Not supposed …?”

  “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

  “Well then, good luck, Ms. McKutcheon. I fear you’re going to need it.”

  She laughed and hung up. He couldn’t be more mistaken. Tina wouldn’t be needing luck. Luck didn’t save her from the crash. Luck didn’t force her to quit her job. Luck didn’t make her feel like the whole world was suddenly open and good and promising.

  Luck was a fantasy. God was real.

  Tina bounced on the couch as she waited for David to answer his phone. Come on!

  “Calloway here.”

  “David, my dear man. Sorry to bother you at work, but you have to come to dinner tonight.”

  “Tina, what’s wrong? You sound … odd.”

  She laughed. “Oddly happy. I know that emotion is rare in my regard. But no more. No more.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Not now. Come to dinner, and I’ll tell you all about it.” “You’re going to cook?”

  She laughed again. “Actually, I was thinking of ordering in Chinese. Sweet and sour chicken okay?”

  “Add some crab rangoon and you’re on.”

  David arrived a few minutes after the restaurant delivered the food. She met him at the door with a kiss, then backed away. It took him a moment to open his eyes.

  “Wow. Now I am curious. You’re kissing me?”

  She kissed him again for good measure, then headed for the table. “Come eat, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  He grabbed her hand and stopped her. “Before you tell me anything, I want you to know you’ve made me incredibly happy.”

  “How?”

  “By being happy yourself. So whatever it is, I’m all for it.”

  She touched his cheek and let her brown eyes stroke his blue ones. “You are too good, David Calloway. I’ve done absolutely nothing to deserve you. If there’s anything I can do for you—”

  He kissed her nose. “Feed me. I’m starving—for food and your news.”

  They took a seat at the table, and Tina let David take up their portions. When all was ready, she grabbed his hand for grace before he could grab hers. And for once she led the prayer. “Lord, thank You for this food we share, and thank You for the chance to be together. And most of all, thank You for showing me a glimpse of Your plan for my life. Amen.”

  “Ah, the plot thickens.”

  Tina took a bite of chicken. “I quit my job.”

  David’s bite didn’t make it to his mouth but skipped down the front of his shirt. She handed him a napkin. “You quit? Why?”

  She told him about the students’ preoccupation with the morbid side of the crash and her realization that there was no bond between them. “Yet if it weren’t for their lack of interest. It was a veiled blessing. It forced me to act and do what I should have done a long time ago. I’ve been living my life in neutral, David. My faith too.”

  “But your degree. Your teaching certificate. Your tenure.”

  She was a little disappointed he’d homed in on the practical side of things. “What about my faith and finding my true calling?”

  He blushed. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. But you’ve got to admit it’s drastic. And haven’t you gone through enough drastic lately?”

  She pushed her plate aside and clasped her hands on the table. “Have you considered maybe all this happened so I would change my life and get on the right track? Think about it. I was on my way to Phoenix to make a decision. I was seated next to a student, traveling alone. What are the odds of that? And not just any student, but a brilliant, kind girl who talked about discovering her purpose when all the time I was supposed to be discovering mine.”

  “You’re not saying her purpose was to help you pinpoint yours, are you?”

  He made it sound so cold. “I don’t know, David. And there’s no way to know. Not for sure. But the point is, Mallory was instrumental in helping me see the light.” She frowned. “Even if I was negligent in helping her see the Light.”

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You don’t seem too upset about it.”

  “I’m not. The uncertainty frightens me, but it’s also extremely exciting. And faith, David, don’t forget about faith. God will show me what to do next.”

  He nodded, then kissed her hand. “Of course He will.”

  The phone rang and Tina’s insides grabbed. “I don’t want to talk to anyone. It’s probably some teacher at the school. I don’t want to defend myself. Not tonight. Tonight is for celebration.”

  David nodded and answered the phone. He talked for a while, then handed it to Tina, covering the mouthpiece. “You have to take this one. You’ll never believe who it is.”

  “Who?”

  “Vincent Carpelli, Mallory’s grandfather. He wants to meet with you.”

  “How did he get my—”

  David handed her the receiver. “Mr. Carpelli? This is Tina McKutcheon. You want to see me?”

  “Indeed I do, miss. I found out from my son that you were the last person to speak with my Mally. And I.” His voice broke. “I need to talk with you. Find out about her last moments. I thought we could meet at Johnny’s Diner for breakfast tomorrow? We could go real early so you could get to work.”

  Tina smiled. “No need for the early hour. I’ll meet you there at eight.�
��

  The door closed on the last well-wisher, and Merry leaned against it. Just in time too. She had approximately ten minutes of civility left. She’d put up an excellent front throughout the day. Once she left the viewing room, she wrapped herself in a cloak of feigned strength. It was not a heavy cloak, and it threatened to slip from her shoulders on more than one occasion. Only with acts of great will had she kept herself covered so no one knew the horrible, weak, worthless creature who hid beneath. People had even complimented her on her fortitude.

  Yes indeed, she handled the hundreds of well-wishers as aptly as a politician at a fund-raiser. Shake hands, nod your head, smile, and say thank you. Then hug. Lots of hugs. If I never hug another person …

  But afterward, everyone came to the house to eat and chat. And eat. And chat. And as the time neared for her to be left alone, people’s comments changed from words of condolence to words of concern. For her.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “If you need anything, anything, just let me know.”

  She knew they meant it sincerely. And she realized there were only about ten appropriate lines to say at such events. But once she’d heard the ten lines a dozen times each, the cloak began to suffocate, and she felt desperate to shrug it to the ground. She longed for silence and whatever it would bring. Letting the strength die and the weakness take over was another step in the process, and she wanted to get it over with.

  And now she was alone.

  Merry looked at her kitchen. The counters were covered with nine-by-thirteen pans of brownies and apple crisp, and the refrigerator was stocked with endless containers of Jell-O, lasagna, and shaved ham. She’d be able to eat for a month on the leftovers.

  Or not.

  She forced herself to leave the support of the door behind and ventured into the living room. Everything had been tidied up. There were no stray cups or plates. And no stray toys either. Or Lou’s work shoes. Or Justin’s mittens. Or.

  She had a realization. Without a son or husband in the house, it would rarely get messy. Merry was the type of person who had an obsession for cleaning up after herself. Perhaps she’d done so to make up for her family’s penchant for messiness. But now as she looked around the perfectly clean room, the reality of never having to clean it again, never having to make a meal for the whole family, never having the burden of wet towels on the floor, sand in the carpet, or shirts on the ironing board, was too much. Too stark. Too high a price to pay for her survival.