by Nancy Moser
Merry spoke to the others. “I told you he was a charmer.”
He bowed. “You do me justice.” He smiled, but Dora noticed him studying Merry’s face. She gave him a slight nod, and he seemed to relax. Suzy took her food offerings.
One by one they noticed Dora. Sonja first.
“Dora!” Sonja gave her an awkward hug because of her cast. “What are you doing here?”
“We’ll get to that,” George said. He initiated the introductions all around and Dora was amazed that the only survivors who seemed to have met were he and Merry. Suzy took their coats and led everyone into the living room.
“We make four,” Tina said. “Where’s number five? We’re missing the doctor, right?”
“Anthony Thorgood,” George said. “I never heard back from him, but I’m hoping—”
I’m hoping he skips it. Dora felt bad about the uncharitable thoughts she kept having with regard to the doctor. Weren’t they supposed to love the unlovable? From what she’d seen, Dr. Anthony Thorgood certainly fit into that category.
“He may be purposely indisposed,” Sonja said. “The headlines. I think he got the worst of it.” She gasped, then looked to Merry. “Except you, Merry. The paper said … of course we all know it’s not true, but …”
Merry straightened her spine. “But it is true. I did try to kill myself.”
Everyone exchanged an awkward look, and Dora was very glad she hadn’t pressed Merry for an interview.
“Are you okay now?” Tina asked. “I mean, how could you be, losing your family, but.” She put a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m bungling this badly.”
“No you’re not,” Merry said, but Dora noticed her voice was tight. “We’ve all suffered.”
“But you’re the only one who lost loved ones and lived to grieve that loss.”
The truth of this statement quieted the room; a simple fact that glared in garish neon.
“I guess I am,” Merry said. Then suddenly the thought seemed to take root and grow. She looked to George, her eyes suddenly wild. “George, I am. All the others who were traveling with their families died. I’m the only one who lived!”
The doorbell rang. They all hesitated, wanting to help Merry yet needing to move on. George gave her hand a squeeze as Suzy opened the door to Anthony. Dora braced herself. He would be no happier to see her than she was to see him.
“I’m here to see George—”
With reluctance, George left Merry and moved to the door. “Come on in, Anthony. Join us.”
Dora noticed that Anthony handed his coat to Suzy without a glance, as if George’s daughter were a maid ready to serve. He hasn’t changed a bit. Then the man made the rounds, shaking the hands of the ladies. He hadn’t noticed Dora yet, and she hung back, willing to merely observe for a few moments longer.
She was amazed at how he made sure they all knew he was a doctor. A doctor in trouble if the news is correct. And Dora became annoyed that he qualified every introduction with the words, “I’m not sure why I came.” The only chink in his everything-is-normal act was when he lingered a moment when their eyes met.
Feeling a twinge of guilt, Doctor?
Dora held her breath, waiting for an apology. None came.
“Hey-ya, Doc.”
Anthony turned to George. “What’s she doing here?” There was repulsion in his voice, and Dora resented it. She didn’t like him either, but his reaction was overboard.
Dora took the heat off George. “I came to visit George, and he was kind enough to let me stay.”
Anthony turned to Suzy. “Where’s my coat? I’m not staying.”
“What’s going on, Dora?” Sonja asked.
“I interviewed him. He was rude and arrogant, so I didn’t write the story. He’s mad.”
“You bet I’m mad. You judged me. You let me pour out my heart, and then you insulted me by—”
Dora laughed. “Heart? Surely you jest? You don’t have a heart, Doctor.”
As soon as she said it, Dora realized she’d gone too far. Forgive me, Lord. She looked at the others. Their faces were drawn and concerned. She was ruining what should have been their reunion. She turned to Anthony. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She sat down. “Forgive me. All of you. Please forgive me.” She didn’t meet Anthony’s eyes but looked to George.
He nodded his acceptance and took over. “Well, then. Nothing like a little fireworks to make a gathering interesting. Anthony? Please sit down. We’ve all come this far …”
Anthony held his ground a moment, then sat as far away from Dora as he could.
George took a deep breath, then stood on the perimeter of the circle. “I am so glad you all came. After seeing the news yesterday, I figured we all could use a little reinforcement, and who better to give it than the other people who have experienced what we’ve experienced. We are unique. A band of five.” He looked toward the den. “Plus one. As you all remember, there were eight of us in the water. And only because of the one who is not with us are we here today. But in a way, Henry Smith is here, for I have a surprise for all of you.”
Suzy opened the door to the den and Ellen appeared.
“Please greet Ellen Smith. Henry’s wife.”
There was a moment of silence. Dora watched the survivors’ faces. It was as if seeing Ellen made them realize that the hero was real. Henry had had a life before the crash; he wasn’t a figment of their imaginations, or an angel sent to rescue them. He was a flesh-and-blood man who called this woman his wife.
Tina stood to greet Ellen. “I hated that I couldn’t thank Henry, so I’ll thank you instead, because your life was sacrificed for us too.” Their handshake turned into a hug. “Thank you.”
The floodgates of emotion opened and the women swarmed Ellen, crying, embracing, talking at once. Dora noticed Anthony did not join the others. He seemed uncomfortable with the emotional outburst. Come on, man, buck it up.
The women returned to their seats, making room for Ellen on the couch. As they sat, unexpectedly—awkwardly—Anthony stood. They looked at him expectantly. His face warred with itself.
“Anthony? Are you all right?” George asked.
He shook his head, and his forehead became a washboard of stress. It was disconcerting—and yet oddly heartening—to see this suave man’s armor of strength crack, and yet Dora hoped their little exchange hadn’t been the cause of it. “I suppose you read in the paper how I thought I lived because I deserved to live?”
“We know you didn’t mean it,” Sonja said.
He shot her a look. “I did mean it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “At the time.” He glanced at Dora, then away. He groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have come.”
“You have something to say, Anthony. Now’s the time,” George said.
Dora was amazed at the bevy of emotions that flashed across Anthony’s face as if he were trying each one on and quickly discarding it for another. Finally a shroud of sorrow settled in, and he looked to the floor. “I owe one of the survivors an apology, but she’s not here.”
Tina filled in the blank. “Belinda Miller?”
Anthony nodded. “I took her turn. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to justify it—and did for a long time—but Lissa, a friend of mine, has helped me see—” he attempted a smile—“the error of my ways?”
Then he turned to Ellen. “And my comments about deserving to live. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate your husband’s sacrifice. I did. I do. But, I had it all wrong. My thinking was skewed. Then this thing at the hospital and the lawsuits …”
Dora was in shock. An apology from Mr. Arrogance? She felt bad.
“Is it true?” George asked. “Did you mess up an operation?”
“Actually I neglected to do an operation that should have been done. The patient was a concert pianist—was being the key word.”
“Did you mess up because of the aftereffects of the crash?” Sonja asked.
“I’d love to say yes, but the answer is
no. I probably would have made the same mistake—or a similar one—eventually. The crash didn’t cause my arrogance, but it did test it.”
“I can’t believe you said that,” Sonja said. “I’ve been going through the same thing. I was arrogant too, cutthroat ambitious. I lost my job because of it.”
“Your job? What are you going to do now?” Merry asked her.
Sonja smiled and looked at Dora. “I just got back from Phoenix yesterday. I met the wife of my seatmate, Roscoe Moore, a wonderful man who took keen interest in me while we were waiting to take off. He kept talking about needing to have something more in my life.” She looked as if she wanted to expand on the thought but wasn’t comfortable with it. “Anyway, Mrs. Moore invited me to work with her in Phoenix—with high risk kids who need help getting on the right track.”
“You’re moving?” Dora asked.
Sonja looked into space, then back. “I haven’t really made a decision … but why not? The crash gave me a second chance. I need to start over. Completely. What have I got to lose?” She looked toward Dora and mouthed thanks.
Tina raised a hand. “The articles were right about me too. I walked out on my teaching job. On the plane I sat next to a wonderful girl, Mallory Carpelli, a student who helped me realize I was in the wrong profession.” She grinned. “But I’ve already got a new job—in a Christian bookstore, and I love it.”
“Henry was my seatmate,” George said.
There was a moment of silence.
“You got to know him?” Tina asked.
George nodded. “He was an interesting man.” He smiled at Ellen. “And this next bit is something I’ve been waiting to tell Ellen.” He put a hand to his throat and turned to Suzy. “Water, please?” Suzy brought him a glass, and he took a sip.
Dora’s stomach tightened. She’d been wanting to learn more about the hero and now.
“What is it, George?” Ellen asked. “Tell me about Henry.”
He set the glass down and bowed his head as if saying a quick prayer. He met Ellen’s eyes. “Henry was just an ordinary man—I say that with the utmost respect. But there was something going on in his life leading up to the day of the crash. He described it as an anticipation, as if he was supposed to do something but wasn’t sure what it was.” He looked around the room. “Think about it, people. Henry felt he was supposed to accomplish something.”
Merry gasped. “He was supposed to save us?”
“I think so. Henry even had a panic attack on the plane. He wanted off. The stewardess had to calm him down.”
Tina put a hand to her mouth. “As if he knew?”
Ellen clutched the front of her blouse. “He knew?”
George raised his hands. “I don’t know about that. But he seemed very focused on this purpose he was trying to unravel. He shared with me a Bible verse he read the night before. The part he quoted said, ‘This is the way—’ ”
“ ‘Walk in it,’ ” Ellen finished. “I know that verse.”
“He was searching for ‘the way.’ ”
Anthony shook his head. “Some way.”
Sonja pointed a finger at him. “Don’t say that. Because of his way, we’re here.”
Tina fingered her lower lip. “I guess this proves that the crash wasn’t a surprise to God.”
“We are so lucky,” Sonja said.
Tina shook her head vehemently. “There’s no such thing as luck. God is intimately involved in the details of our lives. He knows every hair on our head, the length of our days, and the plans He has for us. If you believe in God, you can’t believe in luck.” She looked around the room at each of them. “Don’t you agree?”
Anthony adjusted his seat on the couch. “Are you asking if we believe in God?”
A moment’s hesitation, then a nod. “Yes I am. Do you?”
Anthony looked to the floor. “I don’t know. I didn’t. I only believed in myself.”
“But now?”
Anthony shook his head, obviously still unsure. Dora felt for him. If he didn’t even acknowledge God, then no wonder …
Sonja fingered the armrest of the chair. “I used to feel that way about God. Uncertain. But I believe in Him now. The crash … God got my attention.”
“He got everybody’s attention,” Tina said. She turned to Anthony and Merry. “We’ve heard about everyone else’s seatmate. Who sat in the seat beside you two? And how did they affect you? Anthony? You go first.”
He offered a bitter laugh. “I certainly didn’t have any influential person next to me. It was Belinda Miller.”
“You took the lifeline of your seatmate?” Sonja’s tone portrayed this fact as unthinkable.
“Actually, she was a most annoying woman. She hated doctors, and I thought she was way off base.”
“But was she?” Dora asked.
He glared at her.
She felt herself blush. “Sorry.”
He shrugged. “She was very opinionated and thought she had me figured out.”
“How so?” Sonja asked.
Anthony fidgeted in his chair, and Dora had the notion that it wasn’t something he did often. Whoever Belinda had been, whatever she said, she obviously had struck a nerve.
“She said I was afraid of taking chances, afraid of losing everything.”
“And?”
“What?”
“Is it true?” George asked.
He looked past them into air. “I … I suppose … in a way.” He glanced at Dora. “I suppose it’s possible I’ve been so busy holding on to what I had, that I forgot about what I am—a good doctor.”
Tina applauded. “Bravo.”
Anthony shrugged as if it was nothing, but Dora noticed his blush and felt good for him. At least the guy was trying.
Tina turned to Merry. “You’re last. Who was the person in the seat beside you?”
Merry’s eyes filled. “They were my husband and little boy.”
Tina gasped. “Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry.”
Merry sniffed and a tear escaped. She took a moment to collect herself, retrieving a tissue from her purse. “Actually, they weren’t supposed to be on the trip. Lou surprised me by showing up. I was heading down to Phoenix to party with a single girlfriend from college.” She shook her head. “I thought Teresa had it all when I was the one who had everything. And lost everything.”
“Not everything,” George said.
Merry sighed deeply. “I’m afraid the jury’s still out on that.”
She and George exchanged a look, and his face flashed with panic. Merry looked away.
Suddenly George’s daughter, Suzy, stepped into the circle. “I know I’m the only outsider here, and I find all this fascinating, how your seatmates and the crash have affected your lives and changed you for the better. But there’s one person in this room I’m worried about; someone who hasn’t figured out his life.” She looked to her father.
George took an awkward step toward her. “Hey, Suze, there’s no need to go into any of that.” He looked worried, as if he was afraid she was going to divulge a family secret.
But then Ellen stood, in a slow smooth movement, as if a puppeteer had raised her out of her seat by pulling a string. “I have something I’d like you to do for me, George. For Henry.”
He seemed relieved by her diversion. “Anything.” He sat down with Suzy beside him.
Her eyes filled with tears, and Dora could see the strength she was tapping into in order to keep them contained. “I miss my Henry with an ache I can’t imagine ever lessening, but after talking with all of you, I know his death was not in vain. His death was at the essence of this way he’d been searching for, and I thank God he was the kind of man who could walk in it. Henry hadn’t told me about the verse, but I’m not surprised God brought it to his attention. Henry had an open heart. It was one of the things I loved about him.” She met every set of eyes. “The thing is, Henry could have told God no. Do you realize that? Three times God handed him the lifelines and said, ‘Henry? Y
ou know what I’d like you to do. Will you do it?’ And three times my Henry set himself aside and said yes.” She pointed to Sonja, to Merry, to Anthony, and to Tina. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
They all were crying. Even Anthony’s eyes were glistening. But Ellen wasn’t finished.
“You know what I want people to understand about my Henry? I want them to realize he was just an ordinary man who was given an extraordinary chance to touch perfection. To touch the face of God. Did he know to what extent that ability was in him beforehand?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Yet that makes it all the more hopeful for the rest of us. Maybe if we don’t have an inkling we can do great things, then there’s the chance that we can do them. If given the chance, if given the heart, if given the courage to say yes. The key is being ready for that moment. Henry was ready to say yes. Are we?”
“Oh, Ellen, that’s beautiful,” Merry said.
“It’s more than beautiful,” Sonja said, “it’s something everyone needs to hear.”
“Exactly,” Ellen said. “Which leads me to my—”
George stood and Dora realized what he was about to do. It was show time. He went to Ellen and put an arm around her shoulder. “Excuse me for interrupting, Ellen. Your words have moved us greatly, but I think now is the perfect time for all of you to hear something that Dora has written about Henry—and the rest of us. That’s what brought her over here today. She wanted me to read it. And now I want her to read it to all of you. Dora?”
As George and Ellen sat down, Dora retrieved the pages from her purse and stood at her chair. “I just want to say that all of you have inspired me very much, and—”
George interrupted. “Just read it, Dora.”
She nodded and began. “It’s called ‘Ordinary Heroes.’ ” She cleared her throat and read. “No one plans to be a hero. It’s not on anyone’s list of long-term goals, nor on anyone’s to-do list for the day. And if asked, most people would say they aren’t hero material at all.
“But that’s not true. We are all hero material, or rather, we have that God-given spark within us. But as with all life options, being a hero is a choice. God doesn’t shove us into it—though He may hurl us into a situation that requires us to choose. As He did with Henry Smith and the crash of Flight 1382.”