The Seat Beside Me Page 3

  Before he opened his eyes, he felt a sudden wave of peace. He found he could even think about the redhead without wanting to go to her.

  He was so thankful for God’s instant response that he dared to ask another ever present question: Show me what You want me to do with my life. Then—for the second time in one night—he received an instant answer as his eyes were drawn to a set of verses someone had highlighted with a yellow marker. Isaiah 30:19–21.

  The verses stayed with him even now.

  Henry ran a hand over his beard, glanced around the airport, then closed his eyes and recited to himself. “You will weep no more. How gracious he will be when you cry for help! As soon as he hears, he will answer you. Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’ ”

  The last line was the clincher. This is the way; walk in it. Henry grabbed on to those seven words like a lifeline. They became his mantra, his hope for the future. And the cause of his confusion.

  What was “the way”?

  He opened his eyes and looked outside to the raging blizzard. At the moment he just wanted to finish his work and get home. Maybe Ellen would understand what it all meant. She was good at life issues and Bible verses. Much better than he was.

  He’d hoped that the morning light would make everything clear. But it hadn’t. He was pleased that he still remembered the verse, but as far as the rest? He traveled the road between thinking his life was in shambles to a kind of fearful anticipation. As if “the way” loomed in the near future, and no matter what it was, it would be better than what he had now.

  In fact, what he had now.

  He reached for his phone and dialed.

  “Hey, Elly.”

  “Hiya, hon. What’s up?”

  He sat back, taking comfort from her voice. She was the constant in his life. The “way”? “The airport’s closed for a while. I’m bored.”

  “Then I’ll do my best to entertain you. Where you headed next?”

  “Phoenix.”

  “Since when do you go to Phoenix? Isn’t that Bill’s territory?”

  “Bill’s son is getting married. He covered for me last year when Joey graduated from high school. Now it’s my turn.”

  “You take too many turns,” Ellen said. “You need to learn to say no.”

  “Except to you, right?”

  “Now that’s a good husband.”

  He considered telling her about the verse but decided he’d rather do it in person. “What are you doing?”

  “I just made myself an omelette for lunch.”

  “You make the best omelettes.”

  “I do?”

  She seemed so grateful. Why didn’t he say nice things more often? He vowed to do better.

  “Be careful, Henry. Get home safe to me. When you do, I promise we’ll share an omelette. With the works.”

  “It’s a date.”

  Henry’s eyes were once again drawn to the window. He felt a wave of dread.

  “Bye, Henry. See you—”

  “Elly?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do. And I love you too.”

  He hung up and let thoughts of home warm him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are confident the airport will be reopened soon. To be ready when that time comes, we have decided to start boarding the flight immediately. Now boarding from the rear of the plane …”

  Henry stood. Home. He’d be there soon.

  1:10 P.M.

  Tina McKutcheon looked up from her book. Since her assigned seat was near the rear of the plane, her row had been called long ago, but she held back, having no intention of getting in first and sitting all cramped during the chaos of boarding. Calm, comfortable, and controlled. Those were the key words of the day. Especially after the bombshell David had tossed this morning. Marriage? She didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not yet. And the way he’d done it … so casually after stopping by on his way to work. Not that a romantic dinner at Lazlo’s would have made her decision any easier.

  Tina shut her book and scanned the remaining passengers, wondering what kind of person would be her seatmate. She saw old people and business travelers. Those she could tolerate. There was only one category of person she did not want seated beside her: the dreaded teenager. As a high school English teacher, this trip was an escape from them. If God was a good God, He would have mercy and keep them far, far away. The luggage hold would be good.

  Tina spotted one lone teenager entering the jet way. Her hair was black and braided in cornrows. Her skin had an olive tone, though her facial features hinted of some oriental link. Headphones draped around her neck, a backpack over her shoulder. Her pants were too big; her shirt too tight. The pièce de résistance was the earring—in her nose.

  Anyone but her … please, God. Anyone but her.

  The only people left at the gate were a father and a young boy who’d run in at the last minute. In their hurry, the boy spilled the contents of his red-and-blue backpack. As they scrambled to collect the toys, Tina knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time.

  She walked through the jet way, boarded, and eased her way down the aisle toward the back of the plane. She nearly gasped as the cornrowed teenager in front of her kept going down the aisle. When the girl stopped near two empty seats, Tina’s stomach knotted with a sick certainty.

  The girl tossed her backpack in the overhead bin and slid into the middle seat—the middle seat next to Tina’s aisle seat.

  Tina couldn’t believe it. God certainly had a sick sense of humor.

  1:12 P.M.

  Merry flipped through the in-flight magazine, thrilled the rest of her row was empty. Now that was luxury. Not only was she going on a trip alone, she had space to spread out and enjoy—

  “Mommy!”

  Merry’s head hit the back of the seat. There in the aisle was Justin! And Lou!

  Her husband beamed down at her. “Are you surprised?”

  That wasn’t the word.

  Two

  Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.

  He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress,

  I will not be shaken.

  PSALM 62:5–6

  1:15 P.M.

  SCHEDULED TAKEOFF TIME

  Merry let Lou get Justin settled between them. She let him buckle the seat belt, put the Scooby-Doo backpack under the seat, and show Justin how the tray table worked. She let their chatter about the light, the vent, and the drinks and snack that would be served pinch her nerves until she thought she would scream.

  She stared outside. At the snow. At the cold, awful, horrible snow that reflected the state of her heart. How could Lou do this to her? And worse, why did she feel this way?

  “There,” Lou finally said, taking a breath. “All set.”

  She refused to look at him.

  “Mer?”

  She didn’t move.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

  She still didn’t move.

  “Daddy, what’s wrong with Mommy?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Mommy, bud. We’re going to have so much fun in—”

  Merry swung toward him. “We were not supposed to have fun in Phoenix. I was supposed to have fun in Phoenix.”

  Justin looked at her face, then tugged at his father’s arm. “Daddy …”

  Lou put a calming hand on his leg. “We just surprised Mommy so much she hasn’t had time to let it sink in.”

  Merry laughed and was amazed at how wicked it sounded. She angled her body toward him. “Mommy is not surprised. Mommy is shocked and appalled.”

  “Hey, Mer … that can’t—”

  “That can’t be true?” She lowered her voice when her eyes met with those of
the man across the aisle. “You can’t handle the truth.”

  Justin drew his legs to his chest and started whimpering. Merry felt a twinge of regret but let it die. It was Lou’s fault that their son was here, seated between them, a captive to their argument. Actually, they were all captives, buckled in their seats, unable to move or leave the situation. Unable to run away—as she’d tried to run away to Phoenix?

  Lou unbuckled Justin’s seat belt. The boy was in his lap within seconds, clinging to his neck. “Shh, shh, buddy. It’ll be all—”

  A flight attendant came by and touched Lou’s shoulder. “Sir? Your son needs to get buckled into his seat.”

  “I know. Just a few minutes.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No. He’ll be fine.”

  She nodded and moved on. Merry looked at her family, huddled together in one seat, with one empty seat separating them from her. What an apt picture of her life. Them against her.

  Justin calmed down and cuddled against Lou’s chest. Lou spoke softly, “So what’s this truth you need to tell me?”

  Faced with Lou’s attention and his request to pinpoint her discontent, Merry’s mind suddenly went blank. What was the truth anyway? That she hated them? That wasn’t the truth. That she hated her life with them? That wasn’t the truth, either.

  “I know you’re not happy, Mer.”

  She stared at him, incredulously. “Since when?”

  “I may not have a college degree, but I’m not dumb.”

  “Then why haven’t you said anything? Done anything?”

  He thought a moment, stroking Justin’s hair. “I was afraid—afraid I was losing you.”

  Obviously she was less subtle, and Lou more intuitive, than she thought.

  “I don’t know if you’re losing me …”

  “Then why is our surprise appalling?”

  Merry rubbed her hands fiercely over her face. “Ohhh. I’m so confused.”

  “I can see that.” Lou nudged Justin away from his chest. “Time to get in your own seat, bud.”

  Reluctantly, Justin sat down and fumbled with his seat belt.

  “Here, let me do that,” Merry said.

  Justin looked up with hopeful eyes. “So it’s okay we’re here, Mommy?”

  Merry looked at Lou, then at her son. She felt her fight evaporate like steam from a kettle of soup.

  Yet maybe her resignation wasn’t losing the war. Maybe the battle had changed. Maybe this trip was a chance for her and Lou to spell out the terms of mutual surrender. Maybe good could come out of bad.

  Justin took her hand. Merry pulled it to her lips and kissed the tiny fingers.

  And the anger left her. For now.

  Sonja had expected to sit next to Allen and Dale on the plane. When her seat was rows behind them, she was disappointed—at first. But her disappointment soon turned to relief when she realized how much more relaxing the flight would be if she didn’t have to keep up the pretense of being the great career woman. Plus, there was the advantage of not having to answer too many questions. Dale had already insinuated he knew how she’d gotten on the trip. And Allen had been the man she’d gone to with her information about Geraldine. So who cared if her seat was at the rear of the plane? What better place to hide?

  Sonja felt an absurd freedom putting her laptop in the overhead bin. She felt no need to work without the eyes of her coworkers on her. She took her seat by the window and watched the snow that had started on their ride to the airport. The flurry had turned into a blizzard. Could planes fly in snow? She tossed the worry away. She had enough to think about.

  She closed her eyes. The last few days had wrung the life from her cells, and each one screamed to be renewed, rejuvenated. These few hours on the plane would be her only chance to rest and regroup. Once they got to the convention, she would have to be “on” every waking moment.

  She opened her eyes when she felt the person shift in the seat beside her. She looked in his direction for the first time. He was an African-American sporting a trim mustache and wearing a navy suit. He looked in her direction. “Afternoon.”

  “Afternoon.” Sonja closed her eyes again, hoping to cut off further conversation.

  “You look worried.”

  Sonja opened her eyes. “Why do you say that?”

  He pointed to the space between her eyes. “Even with your eyes closed, you’ve got a worry line digging deep.” He yanked at his suit coat, adjusting it under the seat belt. “I take it your trip to Phoenix is not for pleasure?”

  “Work. A convention.”

  He nodded. “I used to go that route.” He shook his head as if the memories disturbed him.

  “You don’t approve of conventions?”

  “Not for me to approve or disapprove. All I know is every convention I ever attended was full of people trying too hard to be something they weren’t, selling stuff they only pretended to believe in.”

  Bingo. Yet she couldn’t let him know how on target he was. She pointed to his attire. “You’re hardly dressed for a golf outing.”

  He adjusted his tie. “I’m heading home.”

  “Dressed like that?”

  “My wife’s picking me up at the airport. She likes me in suits.” Sonja shook her head. “You dressed up for her?”

  “I like to please her.”

  Sonja laughed. “Sorry, but you’re too good to be true. Care for a second wife?”

  “No thanks. I’ve got my one and only, and she’s plenty much for me.”

  Sonja clapped. “Wow. Loyal too. I am impressed.” He nodded a bow. She glanced out the window as she felt the bump of luggage being placed in the storage compartment beneath them.

  “So, miss … since I’ve done such a good job of impressing you, I might as well introduce myself.” He held out a hand. “Roscoe Moore.”

  “Sonja Grafton.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Grafton. Now suppose you tell me about that worry line you’re etching into your forehead, and I, in turn, will tell you how to get rid of it for good.”

  “This I’ve got to hear.”

  “Gladly. But you first.”

  Sonja took a deep breath. Being tempted to confide in this stranger was disconcerting, yet everything about him oozed trust.

  “Want to think about it?” Roscoe asked.

  “That sounds good.” If only she had her laptop.

  At least I got the aisle.

  That was Anthony Thorgood’s only consolation when he didn’t get his first-class seat. He found that the back of the plane had a closed-in feel, and the fact his entire row was full and three wide instead of two didn’t help matters. Add to that the type of person who inhabited the seat beside him.

  He decided his wool blazer was too warm and stood to take it off. As he carefully folded it and put it in the overhead bin, he had a chance to look at her. He did not like what he saw.

  She took up every inch of the seat, armrest to armrest. The fact that she sat with her hands clasped across her lap only accentuated her weight. The rest of her was no more impressive. Stringy straight hair, parted in the middle. No makeup, and clothes that probably cost the same amount as Anthony spent on one lunch. The obnoxious magenta of her sweater was totally wrong for her ruddy complexion. He hadn’t heard her speak yet, but he assumed if she did so, her sentences would be punctuated with ain’t, gotta, and offensive pairings such as it don’t and I got.

  White trash.

  “I got snot on my nose, mister?”

  Anthony smiled with satisfaction. He took his seat, trying hard not to nudge her as he put on the seat belt. He never had this problem in first class.

  He felt the woman’s eyes and glanced at her. She did not look away.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’re a rich la-di-da, aren’t you?” She waved a pudgy finger at his watch and rings, then let it wave across his clothes.

  He looked away, feeling himself flush. “I—”

  “You a lawyer? Or mayb
e the CEO of some dot-com?”

  He pulled the laminated instruction card from the pocket. “I’m a doctor.”

  When she didn’t react, he risked another look. She was shaking her head, her jowl set.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just my luck.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I hate doctors.” She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “All doctors.”

  “Don’t you think that’s unfair?”

  She gave a small laugh. “Just like a doctor. Ready to defend the profession without even knowing why I feel the way I do.”

  Touché. But in truth, he didn’t want to know. And he knew she wanted him to ask.

  “Since you’ll never have guts enough to ask, I’ll tell you why I hate all doctors: because my father died of cancer.”

  “It happens. But why hate the doctors?”

  “When Dad first went to them, they flipped him off. Told him it was nothing. When we finally found out, it was too late.”

  Anthony opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. What could he say?

  “Cat got your tongue, Doc?”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

  “You’re not an arrogant—?”

  “I’m not an oncologist. I don’t treat cancer. I’m a plastic surgeon.”

  “Well, zipadee-do-da. Isn’t that a cushy job? You don’t have to deal with death at all, do you?”

  “There is risk in any surgery.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, pa-leaze.”

  She was right. It sounded lame.

  “Bet you’d have a field day with me, wouldn’t you, Doc?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A little liposuction here, a tummy tuck there. Maybe a face-lift and a nose job. And bob my ears while you’re at it.”

  He shoved the laminated card in the pocket and removed the magazine, flipping it open. “I don’t need to listen to—”

  “Oh yes you do, Doc Doo-Da. For the next few hours you and I are joined at the hip. Aren’t you thrilled?”

  As soon as Tina was seated she opened her book, hoping to quell any possibility that this … this teenager seated beside her would have the nerve to talk to her. Hopefully she was like most teens, totally absorbed in her own little world, not caring who or what existed beyond her immediate boundary of sight, smell, and sound.