The Seat Beside Me Read online

  At first she was suspicious. Why does he want me gone? But she soon tossed such ridiculous notions away. Above all else, Lou could be trusted. Lou was true-blue, honest, hardworking, kind, generous, loyal …

  Everything she was not.

  But maybe a little time away would change all that. Maybe she was so down about her life because it was so disgustingly normal and routine. Maybe she was simply having a case of thirtyitis. Had her twenties been all she’d wanted them to be?

  Although she’d always wanted to be a mother, Merry thought it would be more … rewarding. Like in the TV commercials with the ever patient mother, ruffling the naughty son’s hair while she gave him a forgiving smile. Always under control, always smiling, always fulfilled.

  Life didn’t work that way. Although she loved her family, she often found herself on the verge of strangling them—at least in theory. When Justin had gotten into Merry’s brand-new eye shadow, putting water in it, using it like watercolor paints, or when he had scribbled on the walls with red crayons, Merry never considered ruffling his hair and smiling. Not once.

  And those women who pined for their man to come home, whose hearts beat a little faster at the sound of their husband’s car? As often as not, Merry was relieved when Lou left in the morning, and her stomach grabbed ever so slightly when he returned. Not because she didn’t love him, but because he thought so much of her—was constantly telling her what a wonderful wife and mother she was—she felt obligated to try to live up to his opinion. When he was home she couldn’t let down her guard and be herself. She was way too flawed.

  Lou deserved better. And she deserved.

  She thought of Teresa and Phoenix and four days of fun, sun, and free—

  An announcement came over the loudspeakers. “We’re sorry, folks, but the airport has been temporarily shut down due to the blizzard. Please continue to check in and remain at your gates until further notice. Hopefully we’ll begin boarding soon, and your delay will be as short as possible. Thank you for your patience.”

  Merry joined the groans of those around her. Apparently the fun and sun would have to wait.

  11:45 A.M.

  Suzy lifted her father’s suitcase from the trunk of the car. “This is heavy. I thought you were only going for a few days.”

  George stifled a laugh. If only Suzy knew what was in the suitcase. The only reason it had any weight at all was so she wouldn’t be suspicious. At the last minute George had scooped up two drawerfuls of Irma’s things and dumped them in the suitcase for weight, adding as an afterthought his favorite framed picture of her. Of the women’s clothing, a picture, and the pills, the pills were the only things that were a necessity.

  Suzy closed the trunk and hurried to her father’s side. She kissed him on the cheek. “Have a good trip, Dad. Stan and I think it’s wonderful you’re going. You and Mom loved to travel. It’s good you’re back at it again. Seven months is a long time.”

  Seven months, two days, and seven hours to be exact. And he wasn’t getting back to anything. His life was winding down and he had no intention of grabbing any key to wind it up again. George hugged her longer than usual. This will be my last hug. He didn’t let the thought linger but, with a final wave, hurried into the terminal and took a place at the check-in line.

  He’d check in, get to Phoenix, then check out. Literally.

  George had big plans. Once he was settled into their favorite condo in Sun City, he would visit some of his and Irma’s old haunts—to say good-bye. Then he would take matters into his own hands. Fun, sun, and suicide. Bon voyage, adios, auf Wiedersehen, arrivederci, sayonara.

  Soon, Irma, soon.

  But then what? What happened after death? Would there be an angelic chorus to greet him for the good things he’d done in his life? Or the devil’s jury to condemn him for his last act of desperation?

  Was it desperation? He didn’t feel desperate. Only weary, as if the air itself was too heavy to deal with. How could he be expected to go on living when breathing had become a burden?

  Planning his suicide hadn’t been easy; he tried to think of everything, but why did every moron on earth have to come into his presence these last few days? First it was the stupid travel agent who booked him in coach when he specifically asked for first class. Then his cleaning lady got all suspicious about why George had canceled her services. Then his lawyer made a huge to-do about his wanting to update his will. So what if George wanted to cut the church out of the bequests? Things had changed. It was his money, and he could toss it to the wind if he wanted to. People needed to mind their own business.

  The final straw was the fiasco at the bank where he’d gone to withdraw all his money—all $68,392 of it. They acted as flustered as firemen forced to start a fire. Withdraw money? Oh no, no, no, no, no. He wondered if they even knew the difference between a Czech and a check. They were such a pain about it that he considered asking for it in ones, but he relented, not wanting to give the poor teller a heart attack.

  But no matter. The money was now sitting in a desk drawer with a note to their daughter. Now that Suzy and her husband were taken care of, George could take this one last trip—in Irma’s honor.

  12:10 P.M.

  As Sonja stood in line for coffee, she was flying—literally and emotionally. Allen, Dale, and Sonja. Off to Phoenix. The new chosen three from Sanford Industries.

  The fact that Sonja had taken the place of another employee, Geraldine, through a little hook and crook was inconsequential. All’s fair in the business world.

  Or perhaps another truism was more appropriate here: Loose lips sink ships. If Geraldine hadn’t been so careless as to tell a coworker that she really shouldn’t be going to the convention because there were big problems with the numbers she put together for the Barston merger, Sonja would never have overheard, checked the numbers herself, and brought them to the attention of their boss. “I really hate to do this, Allen, but I think you should know …”

  Sure Geraldine had been furious when she was pulled from the convention and Sonja was assigned in her place. Sure Geraldine had called Sonja vicious and had even threatened, “Just wait, Sonja … some day …”

  So be it.

  Sonja paid for her coffee and pulled her suitcase toward the gate, juggling her laptop bag over the other shoulder. Some day what? I’ll get what I deserve? She shook the negative thought away and focused on another voice that was friendlier. What you deserve is to be given a chance. Now you’ve got one. If your bosses were more savvy and fair in the first place, they would have seen your potential long ago instead of forcing you into this position. It’s their fault.

  Sure it is.

  Back and forth. Up and down. Guilt could be so annoying. This was not how she wanted to feel just minutes before her flight left for the convention. She needed to recapture the feeling of victory that had been hers just moments before. She needed … to call her parents.

  Sonja got to her gate and nodded to Allen and Dale before taking a seat that offered a modicum of privacy. She dialed her parents’ number. This trip would make them proud of her. This trip would make them stand up and notice that she was a success in her own right, that she wasn’t the same underachiever who never worked to her full potential no matter what wonderful opportunities they’d given her. After all we’ve done for you, Sonja …

  The inner voice from her memories matched the voice that answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Sonja? Is that you? Why are you calling?”

  Sonja felt herself retreating. “No reason.”

  “There’s always a reason. Now, your brother … he’ll call for no reason whatsoever. He’s such a good boy.”

  That boy was thirty-five, the cherished only son, Sheffield D. Grafton III. Sonja had long ago realized that being the only daughter did not carry the same level of adoration. Did it have something to do with the Roman numeral after her brother’s name, his gender, or was it just her?

  “Is D
ad there?”

  “So there is a reason.”

  “No, not really. I just wanted—”

  “To talk to him more than me.”

  “Mom! I’m off to Phoenix, and I just wanted to tell you. Both of you.”

  “Playing hooky from work, are you?”

  “Of course not. I was chosen to go to a convention. I’m one of only three people going—in the entire company.”

  Her mother laughed. “And there’s four in the company, right?”

  Sonja’s breathing quickened. Her mother knew very well how many people worked at Sanford Industries. She’d even given her mother a tour of the office once.

  “Shef went to Atlantic City for his last convention. He stayed in a room that had a marble tub right there in the middle of it. And two phones. One in the bathroom.”

  “We’re going to be staying in a hotel at a desert resort.” Did one painted desert beat a bathtub and two phones?

  “I despise that dry air. Makes my skin feel like it’s going to crack off.”

  Sonja massaged the space between her eyes.

  “Did you know Shef just got a bonus? He said he’d buy us something nice with it. Last year he bought your father and me new watches. Expensive watches with the day and date on them. Did you know that?”

  Sonja’s finger pushed harder. “Yes, Mother, you told me.” And Shef told me. And Daddy told me. And Aunt Dottie told me. Sonja wouldn’t have been surprised if Shef had taken out a full-page ad to announce his good deed. Sonja thought of the last present she’d given her parents: a fancy food processor with five speeds. Last visit home she looked for it and asked where it was. Her mother had put it in the closet, saying it was too complicated to figure out.

  Not any more complicated than a watch that showed the date and day.

  “Oh! Here’s more news. Did you know Shef is going to—?”

  “Will you be quiet!”

  “What?”

  Sonja sucked in a breath and looked around the gate. A few waiting passengers glanced up, then down again.

  “Sonja? Did you just tell me to—?”

  She leaned into the phone. “Mother, I’m sorry, so sorry.”

  “I can’t believe you told—”

  “I didn’t mean it. I’m … I’m just nervous about the convention.” And how I got there.

  “I’m surprised they chose you to go anywhere with an attitude like that. If it were my choice you wouldn’t—”

  “I know. I was out of line. It’s just that when you kept mentioning everything Shef was doing and didn’t pay any attention to what I—”

  “Can I help it if we’re proud of your brother? He’s done wonderful things with his life.”

  “And I’m doing wonderful things with my life too.”

  Silence. “Don’t go getting into any contest with your brother, Sonja. You know that wouldn’t be right. Comparisons are always wrong.”

  Exactly! A flurry of words escaped. “But you and Daddy are the ones who compare us, who pit us one against the other.”

  An intake of breath. “We … we do not.”

  “Mother …”

  “Can I help it if we’re proud parents?”

  A question hovered near the surface. Uh-uh, Sonja. Don’t push it.

  “Proud of whom, Mother?”

  Another moment of hesitation. Why was it so hard for her parents to say something nice? “I’m proud of all my family.”

  “Shef?”

  “Of course Shef.”

  “And …?”

  “And … you.”

  Sonja thought the compliment would mean more; she thought she would feel relief, or a surge of pride. Maybe the compliment was impotent because she had to drag it out of her mother.

  Sonja looked at the cold snow outside. “Gotta go, Mother. I’ll call you when I get back. Say hi to Daddy for me.” She pushed the button on the phone, disconnecting herself from her parents. But she didn’t really need to go to the trouble. They’d disconnected years ago.

  12:29 P.M.

  All airline people were idiots. Anthony Thorgood was sure of it. He stood in the first-class check-in line while his own personal airline idiot checked her computer … again.

  Her fingers stopped tapping. She looked up at him and smiled a condescending smile he was sure she’d mastered her first day on the job. But if she thought he was going to merely accept the smile and move along, she was in for a surprise.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Thor—”

  “Doctor Thorgood.”

  “Doctor Thorgood. The computer shows your reservation is in coach, not first class.” She set his confirming printout on the counter between them. “See? It even states on your e-ticket that you’re in coach.”

  She was right.

  He scanned his mind for someone else to blame. Candy. His receptionist. She was the one who made the reservation. He had trusted her and she’d blown it. He’d deal with her when he got back.

  He read the clerk’s name tag. “Fine. But, Sandy … certainly you can change—”

  Their attention was diverted to the check-in line for regular passengers a few feet away. A dowdy woman was near tears, a young girl glued to her side. The woman slapped her hand on the counter, which was at her chin level. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You’re not listening to me! We can’t go on that flight.”

  “Ma’am, the airport is closed, but I’m sure it’s temporary. They just need some time to plow the runways. Everything will be running normally soon.”

  “No, it won’t. Don’t you get it? Something’s going to happen to that flight.”

  The airline employee raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know this, ma’am?”

  The woman put a fist to her gut and looked into the face of the girl at her side. “I just know it. I feel it. From the time I got up this morning I’ve felt a burden of impending disaster and now with the airport being shut down because of—”

  The employee looked bored. “Does this feeling happen often?”

  The woman set her jaw and stood the full extent of her five-foot frame. “Listen, miss, frankly, I don’t care if you believe me or not. If you don’t want me turning around and announcing my bad feelings to the rest of your passengers, I suggest you give us our money back.”

  “But you and your daughter have nonrefundable tickets, ma’am. See here? In the fine print?”

  The woman snatched the tickets away from the employee, grabbed the hand of the little girl, and stomped away, the wheels of their suitcases whirring against the floor.

  “Dr. Thorgood?”

  He remembered the goal at hand: a first-class seat. He turned back to Sandy. She smiled at him nervously. “You get many of those?” he asked.

  “Some people aren’t as good at flying as others.” She paused and smiled. “As good as people like yourself.”

  He knew he was being manipulated, but instead of jumping her for it, he let himself admire her tact. “So, what’s the verdict?”

  “There are no more first-class seats. Period. I’m sorry. But I have found you a first-class seat on your return flight. Of course, there will be an increase in price.”

  Anthony pulled out a Visa.

  1:00 P.M.

  Henry Smith sat at the gate, his eyes closed, praying. He hated to fly and thought it was ironic that God had placed him in a job that required him to continually face that which he feared the most.

  It’s not that he was afraid of dying. When the time came, he would be ready. The difficult thing about flying was that it required such a leap of faith, such a surrender of control. Even if he weren’t a God-fearing man, it would require such a leap. Henry could think of no reason why this heavy, bulky plane should be able to fly. None. It defied logic. And so, once airborne, Henry had to trust that the pilots, the mechanics, the engineers, and the Wright Brothers knew what they were doing.

  Beyond that, he also had to trust God. If a crash fit into God’s plan, Henry realized that he had absolutely, positively no control
over its outcome. Cruising at thirty thousand feet, traveling at hundreds of miles per hour, he understood how small and inconsequential he was. Not that God wouldn’t listen to his prayers … He would. But there was always the bigger picture to consider. And during the large moments of life, Henry knew God had a lot to think about. One man’s prayers were like a single piece of a jigsaw puzzle, and God had the unenviable job of putting all those pieces together into a finished work. Henry had no say whether he was an exasperating piece of the sky, a favored edge piece, or the beloved last piece in the puzzle.

  But ever since last night, Henry felt as if he’d been handed a new piece of the puzzle—and he had no idea where it went.

  It had all started with the temptation—the kind that was always there for a salesman on the road. The kind that was intent on chipping away at his good-man facade, trying to uncover the real Henry Smith.

  Who was the real Henry Smith?

  Last night had been an ample test. He ate in the hotel bar and grill, feeling the need for a celebratory steak with all the fixings after a great sales day. If only Ellen were here.

  But his wife wasn’t here, and the redhead was, all smiles and curves, with the flattering words he wanted to hear. “I just love a man with a beard.” When she suggested a nightcap in his room.

  He got so far as to have the door open before he came to his senses and told her thanks, but no thanks. He quickly closed it, locked it, and leaned against it, the smell of her perfume lingering like a tantalizing lure. He needed a distraction and ran to the bed, switched on the TV, flipped channels, and tried to think of anything but the woman.

  And then, without planning it, he took the Bible from the drawer of the bedside table, opened it, and bowed his head, reintroducing himself to a God he’d previously put on a back burner.

  His prayer was simple: Help me through this.