CHAPTER 1
Richard reclined in the cockpit of the huge jet liner. His first officer had not arrived yet, so Richard had the cockpit to himself. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes to protect them from the glare of the sun, as he wondered what his wife was doing right at that moment. The soft cushion lining the pilot’s chair creaked slightly as he shifted position.
As he reached his hand upward to rub his dark hair, he smiled. Agreeing to let his friend, Ryan Whittaker, set him up on a blind date with his little sister was one of the smartest things Richard had ever done. Christina had made Richard feel comfortable and at ease from the moment they first laid eyes on each other, despite the fact that she was nearly five years his junior.
But that was ancient history now. They'd been married for nearly five years, and they had a sweet little baby whose first birthday was approaching fast. Richard, for his part, had a well-paying job that he loved. Life was perfect--or almost. Richard clenched his right fist as he remembered the tragedy that had befallen the nation on September 11th. He had watched the entire world reel from the attack, but he had also been touched by the personal grief shared by his wife and brother-in-law. Only his own grief at his sister’s murder, years before, had matched or surpassed Christina’s grief at the loss of her mother.
It had been almost a year since the horrible terrorists’ attack that had claimed so many lives, yet his job as a pilot still made Christina nervous. Richard saw no need for such fear, though. No one would ever attempt that atrocity again--he was sure of it. He wished that Christina could get over her fear; after 11 months, one would think she could begin to recover. She still feared for his safety, and she still grieved for her mother. Thus far, there had been no further terrorist attacks, but lately, Christina had seemed to have a premonition that something terrible was going to happen.
As he opened his eyes, he frowned. A dove was perching on the airplane’s nose in front of the windshield. That little bird better take off if it knows what’s good for it, he thought, frowning. He wasn’t overly fond of birds, but neither did he relish the thought of killing yet another one with his aircraft, as so often happened.
As Richard rubbed his hands on the front of his uniform, he tried to lose himself in a day-dream, hoping he could manage to avoid talking to his first officer, Timothy Hill, when he arrived. Richard’s efforts to escape into his own inner world failed, however. Instead of picturing a blue sky with fluffy clouds floating past the plane, all he could see was the runway that loomed ahead of the windshield, the sun hurting his eyes from the sky’s far left, and the dove on the nose of the airplane, turning its little head this way and that. Any moment now, Timothy would walk in and Richard would be forced to deal with him. How he dreaded that!
Desperately, Richard tried to focus on anything but what was really happening around him. Still, he couldn't do it quickly enough--a familiar thud grabbed his attention. Timothy strode into the cockpit.
Richard let out a long sigh. Until the previous September, Timothy had been a pretty nice guy, easy to get along with. Then, a week after 9-11, he had gotten on some religious kick and hadn't been the same since. Ever since Timothy had become a Christian, Richard had done his best to ignore his first officer, but Timothy had always been the type to talk to everyone about something if it was important enough, and obviously he thought religion was important.
“What happened on September 11th was a wake-up call for the nation, Richard,” he would say. “I, for one, had to respond to that call.” Richard would just shake his head in irritation.
Now, Timothy hung his pilot cap on a nail next to his head. “Hi, Captain Daly,” he greeted.
Richard wanted to ignore him, but Timothy, he knew, wasn't one to accept being ignored. “Hi,” Richard said, hoping his tone would give away he was in no mood for another one of Timothy's endless sermons.
In the back of his mind, Richard knew he was exaggerating Timothy's faith, but sometimes that was just how it felt. Even when Timothy wasn't saying anything, his eyes preached a sermon of their own.
Timothy thumbed his nose at the windshield. “What’s that dove doing there?”
Richard shrugged. “Stopped to rest, I guess. It better take off, soon, because in a few minutes, so are we.”
With a chuckle, Timothy removed his Bible from his flight bag. For a few moments, the two pilots settled into an uncomfortable silence. Richard rubbed his hair backwards as he gritted his teeth. He stared at the dove, wondering if he was going to have to risk killing it to take the jet liner into the air. If it dies, it’ll be its own fault, he thought.
When Richard finally looked at his first officer, he nearly laughed aloud. Timothy, leaning sideways, was gazing at the Bible’s blue cover, evidently trying to decide where to start reading. Bookmarks stuck out of the top in various places. Choosing one near the back cover, Timothy flipped open his Bible.
Clenching his fists, Richard let out another sigh. Timothy glanced up. “You OK?” he asked.
Richard tried to hold his temper under control. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his clenched fists against his sides. “You know, Timothy, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't rub your religion in my face like that. You know my opinions about God.” The mattress creaked softly as he shifted.
Timothy's eyebrows raised. His blue eyes betrayed a hint of confusion. “I was rubbing my religion in your face? How?”
Richard rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't giving the guy a fair chance. Still, Timothy could be too much at times. “You just…” Richard paused, wondering how he could justify his accusation. “You’re constantly reading the Bible...right in front of me. It's like you’re trying to rub in my face the fact that I'm not like you.”
Timothy was caught off-guard, but only his eyes showed it. “Richard, that's not what I'm trying to do. You should know me better than that. Yes, I am a Christian, and yes, I would like to see you become a one, too, but I'm not rubbing it in your face. I'm just continuing my reading from last night; I'm not trying to make you feel bad because you're different from me.”
Richard let out a long sigh. “I'm sorry Timothy...it's just…” Richard struggled for what to say. Finally, he blurted out an excuse that he knew would only be effective in changing the angle of the conversation. “I've got a lot on my mind.”
Timothy gazed at Richard, concerned. Richard hated looking into Timothy's eyes. It gave him a creepy feeling, as if Timothy was looking through him. “What?” Timothy asked, real concern in his voice.
Richard decided to confide in Timothy about something that had been bothering him for weeks. “I'm afraid I've been neglecting Christina,” he blurted, wondering if getting Timothy off his back about religion was worth spilling all his concerns to the man.
Timothy twisted in his seat to face Richard. His eyes locked on his co-pilot‘s. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean…” Richard paused again, to collect his thoughts. “I just think that my job is taking me away from Christina and Jessica too much. Not that I'd give flying up for anything...but I just don't think I'm spending enough time with them.” He rubbed his right hand on his uniform as he spoke.
Timothy smiled. “I know what you mean.” Timothy tilted his left hand, making his wedding ring flash in the sunlight bathing the cockpit.
Richard grinned. It was the one and only thing he had in common with his first officer. They were both married. Timothy continued speaking. “Sometimes I worry I'm spending too much time in the air. That's when I set aside one day I know I don't have to go anywhere on, and I spend it with my family.”
Richard thought about the prospect. Without thinking about it, Richard said, “But you've never used flying to escape.”
Timothy's eyebrows raised. Richard suddenly realized that he'd said too much. Without saying a word, Richard exited the cockpit.
Timothy glanced upwards, and prayed quickly, “Help him,” before returning to pre-flight checks. To his relief, the dove spread its wings and flew upward. Timothy watched as it flew out of sight.
_______________________________
Christina Daly felt the small lurch indicating that the taxi had stopped. She raised her head to see where she was. Good--she was there!
Without looking down, Christina un-buckled herself with one hand while opening her purse with the other. It took less than a minute to withdraw and open her wallet, hand a ten-dollar bill to the driver, close her wallet, and shove it back into her purse.
Christina hurriedly thanked the driver as she opened the door and turned in her seat. Stepping out of the taxi, Christina shut the door firmly behind her, hoping it wouldn't slam. To her relief, it didn't.
As the taxi took off, Christina patted her hair, then craned her neck to see what was there. So far, all she saw was an empty, rectangular hollowed-out basement, now devoid of dirt or equipment. Would the World Trade Center be rebuilt, or would the city build a memorial in its place?
I hope they’ll rebuild the place, she thought. As she always did at this time of day, Christina reached into her purse and pulled out the sketch diary. Flipping through the pictures she'd been drawing for the last several months, Christina scanned the clearing away of debris, captured in her drawings.
Today, she could see no difference between the sight now and the sight as it had appeared when the cleanup crew had finished clearing away the debris, in June. She patted her hair and sighed.
Her shoes clicked as she strolled down the concrete sidewalk, crowded with pedestrians also curious about the city’s plans for Ground Zero. Christina wondered if she was going to be able to get anywhere today…but it was no worse than any other time she needed a change of angle. She hoped she’d be able to get a good view of the site as it still looked, now.
Christina heard mumblings all around her. “Why would they want to rebuild on the same spot? It would be like rebuilding on a graveyard!”
“Well, they should. That would show that America won't sit back and take destruction from anyone!”
Christina chuckled. At times like this, she wished she was a reporter, so she could have an excuse to ask everyone she saw their thoughts. As Christina walked, she recalled Richard's reaction, earlier that summer, to the news that the city was deliberating whether to rebuild the World Trade Center...
“I don't like it, Christina! It sickens me that they even plan to discuss such things! Those who want to rebuild the place have no respect for the people who died!” Her husband clenched his fists till his knuckles had turned white.
Christina shook her head. “What about the people who lost their jobs? They need to get them back.”
Richard glared at her. “You, of all people, would say that! There are tons of people that haven’t been found! Their remains might still be there! It's a graveyard!” He folded his arms as he spoke.
Christina flinched. Then, gritting her teeth, she forced herself to respond calmly. A calm response, she knew, would drive her husband nuts for a few minutes, but in the long run, it would defuse his anger. “Richard, I can't imagine a greater tribute to my mom than having buildings raised, just to prove to the people who killed her that America isn't a country to lie down and accept defeat in any area!”...
Unable to come to an agreement, Christina and Richard had finally agreed to disagree and not let it affect their relationship. Since then, Christina had enjoyed her daily visits to what was formerly known as Ground Zero. She had watched the cleanup crew clear away the debris, little by little, until nothing remained but empty concrete. If and when the rebuilding commenced, she fully intended to draw pictures of the new buildings’ progress.
Suddenly, someone thudded against Christina’s back. Turning quickly to apologize, Christina lost her balance. Before her mind had time to register, Christina's bottom and her right elbow slammed against the pavement. “Ow!” she moaned.
The impact had knocked the sketch book out of her hand and the purse from the crook of her arm. Christina reeled from the impact. She clutched her aching elbow, moaning.
A voice interrupted her not-quite-collected thoughts. “Oh! No, no, no, no.”
Looking up, Christina saw a young woman who appeared to be in her late 20s or early 30's; her long, brownish-red hair hung over her face, trailing against the ground. She was kneeling on all fours, searching for something. As she pushed herself upward into a sitting position, a white blouse, tucked into pants, appeared under her jacket. The jackets matched the woman’s pants.
Shifting her gaze from the woman to the sidewalk, Christina noticed that her purse had fallen open and its contents had spilled all over the concrete. Among the items on the ground lay a pair of black-rimmed glasses, that clearly wasn’t hers. Christina braced her hands against the hot, rough surface of the sidewalk as she pushed herself into a crouch.
“Looking for these?” Christina questioned the young woman, who looked up at her with an almost panicked expression. Christina laid a hand on the eyeglasses. Relief flooded her face, and a beaming smile followed.
“Yes!” the woman exclaimed, reaching for the glasses. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, and I'm sorry,” Christina said.
“It's O.K,” the woman responded. She slid the glasses onto her nose as she spoke. “I’m sorry for bumping into you. Are you all right?”
“I think so.” Christina rubbed her elbow as she spoke.
The two women struggled to their feet. Christina paused to gaze at the building again. For a moment, she looked down at her sketch diary, still lying on the pavement, and bit her lip. “It's just that I was looking at Ground Zero; that's why I didn't see you. I've been coming here, every chance I get, to watch the crew clear the wreckage away. Now I just come here sometimes to see how it looks, now that they’re done.” She paused, twisting strands of her hair around her index finger, and words she hadn't meant to speak suddenly poured out of her. “My mother worked on the 102nd floor of Tower One, and--I don't know--I guess I just need to do this.”
“You hope watching its progress will be healing?” The woman tilted her head as she spoke. Christina nodded.
The woman put a comforting hand on Christina's shoulder for a moment as they stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by pedestrians who passed them on both sides. Cars and other vehicles roared up and down the street. Finally, Christina looked at her feet and glanced at the other people. “Look, we need to get this stuff off the ground before people start complaining about walking around us.”
The woman agreed, and the two women knelt to re-fill Christina's purse. “My name is Gloria.” The woman picked up a tube of lipstick as she spoke, and dumped it into the open purse.
“I'm Christina.” Christina shoved a handful of small items back into her purse. “Christina Daly.” She smiled. “Pleased to meet you.”
When they had stuffed everything into Christina’s purse, they stood up. Slowly, Christina turned back toward the empty basement facility. Opening it, Christina scribbled that day’s date in the bottom left-hand corner of the page, then began to sketch a new picture of the empty basement. It looked exactly as it had when she had last sketched it.
“You’re a good artist.” Gloria glanced at the picture as she spoke. “I wish I could draw that well.” Admiration welled in her voice.
Christina chuckled. “Thanks, Gloria. It just takes a little practice.”
Gloria quoted a commonly heard adage. “Practice makes perfect?”
Christina just nodded, intent on finishing the quick sketch. After a moment, she slammed the sketch pad shut and said, “I’m sorry for shutting you out like that Gloria. I just…need to make these drawings.” She laughed ruefully.
Running her fingers along the frame of her glasses, Gloria smiled. “I understand.”
For an instant, Christina actually believed Gloria actually understood. Her smile was so sincere, so innocent, that you couldn't believe that she'd even exaggerate her empathy. Gloria tilted her head as she nodded in response.
Maybe it was the smile, or maybe it was the fact that she’d already started pouring her heart out to this woman, but Christina found herself telling Gloria many things no one except Richard and Ryan knew about her.
“I’m worried about my husband,” she began. “He’s a pilot, and I’m always worried these fanatics will try again to do what they did last September…and that Richard will be the pilot.” Her voice trembled.
Gloria began to speak, but Christina had started to open up, and she couldn't stop. “When my mom died, I thought it was the end of the world. I mean--losing my mom…” Her voice broke. “And lately--well, lately, I can’t help feeling that something terrible’s going to happen again.”
Christina fought tears. She didn’t want to cry, not at this moment! Biting her lip, Christina hoped Gloria wouldn't urge her to go on; she’d already said more than she'd meant to. She shook her head from side to side.
To Christina’s relief, Gloria didn't push her to continue. Instead, she put a comforting hand on Christina's shoulder. A gentle squeeze followed.
“Thank you.” Christina faced her new friend. She plastered a smile on her face. “Listen, would you like a cup of coffee?”
Christina didn't have to wonder why she had asked that. Gloria had helped her get lots of things off her chest that she'd been needing to get into the open for a long time, so the least she could do was buy Gloria a cup of coffee.
With a tilt of her head, Gloria shrugged. “Sure. That would be nice.”
Christina’s face broke into a wide smile. “Come on. I know of a nice coffee shop just down the street.”
With that, the two of them began walking down the sidewalk again. A moment later, Christina led the way into a small coffee shop, wedged between two other buildings.
_______________________________
Richard walked down the aisle of the first-class section, past the rows of passengers dressed in business suits and dresses; his boots thudded softly on the soft carpet. He only had a few minutes before he would have to announce take-off. As the passengers settled themselves in their seats, Richard scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face, shading his eyes to protect them from the flood of sunlight pouring through the windows on the left.
Towards the back, Richard saw his brother-in-law, Ryan Whittaker, and smiled broadly. Good, he thought, maybe I can say hello to him before we take off. He dropped his hands to his side.
“Captain Daly?” An Irish voice startled him. Seconds later, a young flight attendant who appeared to be roughly his own age stepped in front of him. She had reddish-brown hair that was twisted up into the required bun, and a slender figure. Earrings studded with pearls dangled from her ear lobes. A soft light of caring and love emanated from her chocolate-brown eyes, startling Richard.
“Yes?” he responded.
The Irish woman clasped her hands in front of her waist. “First Officer Hill asked me to get you. Pre-flight is wrapping up and the plane can’t take off without you.”
Richard clenched his fists briefly, but forced himself to relax. Timothy Hill was the last person he wanted to see right now. The man probably thought he'd made some progress with Richard's “salvation,” a word Richard had never understood, nor had any desire to understand.
“Thank you…” he said half-heartedly, not sure what he was thanking her for. With a quick glance at her name tag, he made his thanks more personal. “...Monica. You new here?”
Nodding, Monica smiled, reminding Richard of Christina’s smile. He wondered briefly if Christina might be smiling at that same moment. He dismissed the thought; it was crazy.
“Well, thanks again.” He touched his cap as he spoke, and turned to go.
“You’re welcome,” she said sincerely.
With a sigh, Richard returned to the cockpit. So much for talking to his brother-in-law before the flight. Oh well, there would be another opportunity during the flight. Anything to avoid Timothy, he thought, frowning.
Richard slipped through the cockpit door. Timothy seemed focused on the pre-flight procedures. Without a word, Richard sat down and quickly strapped himself in. Then he pressed the intercom button.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain, Richard Daly, speaking. Welcome aboard Pan-World flight 87.”
Richard paused for a moment and looked at Timothy. Nodding, Timothy flashed three fingers, and Richard continued speaking. “We are scheduled to take off in three minutes, and will arrive at Fiumicino International Airport at 3:30 a.m., Italian Time. We will be flying at an altitude of 38,000 feet. The cabin will be pressurized for your comfort. If an emergency occurs, oxygen masks will drop in front of you. In case of air sickness, there are bags in the back of the seat in front of you. The crew’s final instruction to you is to fasten your seatbelts until we are in the air. And once again, thank you for flying Pan-World airways.”
Richard released the intercom button; he shook his head from side to side, to ease the tension. He always hated making that announcement. Most people on his flights were routine flyers and knew most of the information he'd given. Nevertheless, each flight always had a quota, no matter how small, of people who had never flown before or who rarely flew, and he had to keep giving that information for their sakes.
Sighing, Richard turned toward the instrument panel. Without a word, he began pressing the necessary buttons and levers to get the plane going. Within minutes, the jet liner was taxiing down the runway; shortly afterward, it rose into the air. I hope Timothy will keep his mouth shut till we touch down in Italy, he thought, as he set the instrument panel on auto-pilot. Leaning back, he rubbed his hands on the front of his uniform.
_______________________________
Christina couldn't believe how comfortable she felt around Gloria. She could talk to Gloria with an ease she could muster with very few people, save close loved ones. Christina had shared more about herself in the last half-hour than she had ever shared with anyone else, except her immediate family.
Gloria had only added small bits and peaces of information about herself. She told Christina about several close friends of hers, whose names were Monica, Tess, and Andrew. She shared some of her experiences in the past year or so, but nothing before that. Next to their table, the sunlight flooded their side of the room, forming squares of light on the linoleum floor.
It didn’t worry Christina that her new friend kept her own past a secret. She was just relieved to have a friend to talk to, who would actually listen. She had been so lonely since her mother’s death, and Richard and Ryan’s long and frequent absences had made it worse. Jessica filled her world, to be sure, and gave it meaning, but a baby was not much company.
The whole thing struck Christina as strange. Why was she able to talk to this stranger so well? And why this newfound silliness? Despite the seriousness their conversation often took, they had joked with each other frequently.
“Did you know Monica is a coffee addict?” Gloria asked thoughtfully, as a waitress refilled her Styrofoam cup. Christina nearly fell out of her hard-backed chair. Gloria had described Monica as a good friend who was like both a sister and a mother to her at the same time. Christina had the same kind of relationship with her older brother, Ryan Whittaker.
“So’s Ryan!” Christina shrieked to her new friend. Gloria knew how similar the descriptions they’d been giving of Ryan and Monica had been. Gloria’s mouth dropped open, and suddenly, the two women burst into uncontrollable peels of laughter. Christina shoved the tip of her stub of a cigarette against the cigarette ashtray, then pressed her fingers against the table’s smooth surface. She glanced out the window at the cars passing them up and down the street, and the strolling pedestrians.
Without warning, Gloria's hand bumped her coffee cup. They stopped laughing for a moment, just long enough to watch the contents of the cup spill all over the table and drip in a steady stream onto the floor.
Both women's eyes widened. As if of the same mind, they both turned to the napkin dispenser on the far end of their table. Arming themselves with handfuls of napkins, Christina and Gloria paused to glance at each other. Without a word, Christina knelt on the floor and wiped up the puddle of coffee at her feet, as Gloria tackled the mess on the table.
Only after they’d cleaned the whole table, and thrown the napkins in the trash, did they see the humor in the near-disaster. After only seconds of being in their seats, they burst out laughing.
“We’re just lucky it didn't spill on either of us,” Christina said.
Gloria nodded, and pulled Christina's cup towards the middle of the table to avoid another spill. Christina shifted position on the chair’s unyielding wooden seat.
Both women once again burst into uncontrollable laughter. Christina felt like a teenager again with Gloria around. The kind of person who had no responsibilities and got a good laugh out of anything. Giggling, Gloria rubbed her fingers against the table’s surface.
Christina's eyes widened at that thought. Responsibilities? Jessica! Christina had left Jessica with a babysitter, and if she wasn't back soon the babysitter would begin to worry.
“Oh, no!” Christina said aloud.
“What?” Gloria asked, her voice sobering instantly.
“I left my baby with a sitter,” Christina said. “And I have to get back home.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Gloria. Thanks for the absolutely wonderful afternoon.”
As Christina leaped to her feet and snatched her purse, her mind was too pre-occupied with the thoughts of the babysitter’s panic to think about even finding a way to stay in contact with her new friend. Grasping her own purse, Gloria rose from her seat at the coffee shop and followed Christina toward the cash register. After Christina paid for their coffee, they hurried toward the entrance.
“Want a ride?” Gloria asked, as they reached the glass door.
Christina stopped suddenly, and turned to face Gloria. “That would be great.” Then, a broad smile crossed her face. A brilliant idea had just occurred to her.
“Uh, Gloria…” Christina spoke slowly, deliberately drawing out the name so as to make it clear she had an idea. “How would you like to spend the night?”
Before Gloria could answer, Christina began babbling. “I mean, with Richard and my brother out of town for the night, and the fact that I haven’t had company in forever, it would really be wonderful if you could come. I’m actually a pretty good cook and we can have dinner, then act like we're a couple of kids on a slumber party and--and, well…”
Although she hated to do so, Gloria interrupted. “I’d love to.”
Christina’s babbling ceased, and Gloria gestured towards a gleaming red Cadillac convertible parked less than 50 yards from the door. “Come on. That's Tess’ car. She’s letting me borrow it.”
Christina's eyebrows raised. It seemed oddly coincidental that the car happened to be parked less than 50 yards from the coffee shop, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she laughed.
“No wonder you offered to give me a ride. Any excuse to drive that thing, right?”
Gloria chuckled and nodded. Without a word, she led the way toward the red convertible. This ought to be fun! Christina thought.
_______________________________
Richard leaned back in the pilot’s seat. Now that the plane was on auto-pilot at the moment, he and Timothy had some time to relax. Richard just hoped Timothy wouldn’t take the opportunity to preach to him or get him to open up again.
Even though the silence was welcome to him, Richard wasn’t used to it. Timothy was deeply engrossed in his Bible reading. Richard couldn't help but wonder how on earth the man could understand that book, let alone enjoy it. Only the occasional turning of oilskin pages and the steady hum of the engine broke the silence.
Once, Richard pulled out his wallet and glanced at a picture he’d carried around with him for years. A 14-year-old girl with long, flowing blond hair that framed her shoulders and a bright, dimpled smile spanned the picture. Richard bit his lip as he looked at her. Her cruel death had devastated him, and totally hardened his heart against God. Surely, if there was a God, He wouldn’t allow innocent young girls like Nicole Daly to be kidnapped and murdered!
Guess that’s what I’m trying to escape, he thought. The memories. It hurts me, even today, to remember her. I, of all people, ought to understand Christina and Ryan’s grief! After all, their mother was cruelly murdered too, along with over 3,000 other people. He bit his lower lip again. Sometimes I think if I could fly long enough and far enough, I could outrun the pain. Wish I could! He shook his head.
He pressed his lips into a tight line as he folded the wallet and shoved it back into his pocket. He couldn’t stand to look at Nicole’s photo for more than a few minutes at a time. Timothy, still engrossed in his Bible reading, did not look up.
As irritation surged in his heart, Richard rose to his feet. “I'm gonna go take a walk.” Timothy nodded to indicate that he had heard.
Rubbing his hands on the front of his uniform, Richard slowly exited the cockpit. His boots thudded on the soft carpet. He wanted to have a talk with his brother-in-law before the flight ended. It had mildly surprised Richard to see Ryan in first class--normally Ryan flew tourist class, when he rode as a passenger.
As Richard walked among the first-class passengers, he noticed varied responses. Some turned and glanced in his direction; others just continued with what they were doing. When Richard reached Ryan’s seat, he halted.
“Hey, Ryan,” Richard said simply.
Ryan smiled at his brother-in-law and best friend. “I was wondering when you’d step out and ask what’s up.”
It was only then when Richard noticed something indeed different about Ryan. He was wearing a dark blue business suit, an outfit he normally detested. Richard raised his eyebrows.
To anyone who didn’t know Ryan’s taste in clothes, they wouldn't think it unusual to see him wearing a suit. But to Richard, who knew Ryan was a casual dresser, the image was almost comical.
“What’s up with the outfit?” Richard asked.
On cue, Ryan reached to loosen his tie. “Antonio Puccini,” he answered simply.
At Richard's confused look, Ryan gave more information. “He’s the new Italian president. You probably heard about that on the news. He’s looking for a pilot to fly his private plane...and guess who got nominated?”
Richard guessed instantly. It was all too obvious from Ryan's tone. “You.”
Ryan nodded. “Well, now, Puccini’s asking to meet with me. Not that I blame the guy...I mean, if I trusted my life with someone I’d want to get to know that person myself."
Richard thought back to Timothy in the cockpit. A jolt raced through his system. In a way, he was trusting Timothy Hill with his life. For a moment, the thought unnerved him. It shouldn’t, he knew--Timothy had always been a dependable, reliable, skilled pilot, and turning into a religious nut hadn't changed that. With effort, Richard put it out of his mind as Ryan continued.
“But then, Puccini--or his people--bought me a first-class ticket, and I just knew I’d stick out like a sore thumb in my normal clothes. So I had to go and buy this--” Grimacing, Ryan gestured to his suit and tie. “--straightjacket and noose.”
Laughing at his brother-in-law’s description of a business suit and tie, Richard patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get use to them after a while,” Richard assured him.
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure! Like I really want to.”
An uneasy feeling welled up in Richard’s gut. To distract himself, Richard forced a chuckle out of his throat. “Well, I gotta get back to the cockpit. I don't want to leave the thing on auto-pilot all the way to Rome.” He removed his pilot’s cap to run his fingers through his hair as he spoke.
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, and I’ve got to make a call.“ He pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket as he spoke.
Putting the cap back on his head, Richard headed back to the cockpit. Although he had enjoyed talking to his best friend for the first time in months, he couldn't shake that nagging feeling. Christina had been right to be nervous. Something bad was going to happen. But what? He shook it out of his mind as he returned to the cockpit.
_______________________________
Timothy Hill leaned back in the co-pilot seat. He was grateful for the autopilot that allowed the plane to run on its own. It gave him a chance to read his Bible without Richard harping on him about "rubbing religion in his face."
The cushioned seat creaked as he shifted position. He flipped the pages, pausing when he reached the 24th chapter of Matthew. The sunlight flooding the cabin bathed his seat, giving him plenty of light to read by.
Normally, reading his Bible comforted Timothy, making him feel like he was wrapped in a Heavenly embrace that gave him the confidence to fly. Today though, the words on the pages sent chills up and down his spine.
"No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man,” he read silently. Pausing to swallow, he then continued. “For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and took them all away. That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken, and the other left.” Timothy paused again--this time to raise his eyes--then continued.
“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this. If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief would be coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken in to. So you must also be ready because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.”
Timothy stared at the page. He had read this passage on numerous occasions, but something was different about it this time. Somehow, it felt more real. The Lord’s going to come for His own any time now, he thought. I know I’m going to be caught up, but what about Richard? He bit his lower lip.
Timothy had a sick feeling in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. He felt an intense need to pray, but for what, he didn't know. Still, he’d learned to obey these urges, so, staring down at his Bible, he began to pray silently. After a few minutes, he felt the now-familiar contact with his Heavenly Father that always comforted him.
The familiar thud of Richard’s boots signaled the pilot’s return; a few seconds later, the cockpit door swung open behind Timothy. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Richard walk in. With a frown, Richard cleared his throat.
Timothy suddenly realized that he was praying for Richard. Sitting up straight, he closed his Bible. “Have a nice walk?”
With a nod, Richard took his seat. “My brother-in-law’s on this flight,” he said. “He's going to see the new president of Italy. Antonio Something.” He rubbed the front of his uniform, then stretched his arms above his head.
Timothy remembered hearing about the change of authority in Italy on the news a few weeks ago. “Puccini.”
“Yeah!” Richard exclaimed. “Antonio Puccini.” He paused for a moment. “Sounds like a vegetable,” he commented, pulling a handkerchief out of his pants pocket.
Timothy couldn’t help but chuckle. Richard was definitely right on that one. “I couldn’t agree more,” Timothy said. Chuckling with him, Richard wiped his face, then folded his handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket. The soft mattress creaked under him as he leaned back in his chair. Timothy closed his eyes and prayed silently for his friend.
_______________________________
“Herbie Rides Again?” Gloria scanned the row of Christina and Richard's videocassettes as she spoke. Next to her, Christina shook her head.
“Nah.”
“Casablanca?” Gloria rubbed her fingers on the top of the cover.
Frowning, Christina vetoed that movie. “Sorry, I’ve never liked Humphrey Bogart.”
“All Dogs Go to Heaven?”
“Let's not.”
“Star Wars?” Gloria pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
Christina hesitated. “Uh, let's not watch that yet, OK? That's more Richard’s thing.” She paused. “He loves the Star Wars movies for the flight scenes. Being a pilot, that excites him.”
Gloria laughed. “The Absent-Minded Professor?”
Christina bit her lip. “Mmmmm, no.” She twisted a strand of her hair around her index finger and shook her head.
“The Sound of Music?”
“Too long.”
“The Swiss Family Robinson?”
Christina chuckled. “I can never eat popcorn when I watch that movie.”
Gloria smiled. Ever since one of her previous assignments had introduced her to popcorn, she had loved that snack food. She hoped that Christina would offer her some.
"Dark Victory?" Christina made a face. “That Darn Cat?”
Christina beamed. “I love that movie!”
Gloria let out a long sigh of relief. She’d been crouched on her heels by the TV stand for the past several minutes, and had gone over nearly half of the Dalys’ video collection. Christina had knelt beside her for the whole time, commenting on each video as Gloria pulled it out.
The sigh knocked Gloria off-balance and onto her bottom. The videotape flew out of Gloria's hand, and right into Christina's lap.
Both women burst into uncontrollable giggles. They rose to their feet as they laughed.
“Here.” Christina managed, through her giggles, to hand the video to Gloria. “You put the movie in; I'll get the popcorn, OK?” Nodding agreement, Gloria flipped the TV on, and put the tape into the VCR. A broad smile spread across her face.
Tonight had been one of the best nights of Gloria’s existence. Already, Christina had become a good friend. They had a lot in common, despite the fact that Gloria had the logical mind of a computer. It was the first time Gloria had made a friend without a mutual agreement to be friends.
Fast-forwarding through the preliminary ads on the video, Gloria wondered why Christina was her assignment. They’d talked earlier about God and religion and things like that. Christina believed in God, believed He was all-loving, and loved God. Gloria didn't understand why she needed an angel. The angel tilted her head, as she tried to reason it out.
Maybe it wasn't an angel Christina Daly needed at all. Maybe she just needed a friend. At that moment, Tess’ earlier warning about impending bad times crossed Gloria’s mind, and she frowned. She will need a friend if bad times do come her way! And the Father’s support.
_______________________________
Richard leaned against the dresser of his hotel room. A few hours before, the plane had landed in Rome; minutes ago, he and Timothy had checked into a nearby hotel. A five-star hotel. Richard yawned. And we can only stay overnight. Too bad we can’t stay longer! I’d love to spend a couple of days in this place.
Shrugging, he removed his jacket and hung it in the closet. As he donned his pajamas, he wondered what Christina and Jessica were doing. It was nightfall, so no doubt Christina was asleep--or trying to sleep! “Jessica won’t make that easy,” he muttered. “Her colic causes her to cry all night.” He sighed, rubbing his hands on the front of his pajamas.
An uneasy feeling, akin to fear, welled up in him. Biting his lip, he shook it off. “Nothing’s going to happen,” he told himself sternly. “It’s just a wild imagination. Christina worrying about me because of what happened last year, that’s all it is.” He rubbed his hair, front to back, then cracked his knuckles.
As he slid underneath the covers and turned off the lamp, the foreboding feeling grew stronger. Something serious, indeed--very serious--was going to happen. But what? With an involuntary shudder, Richard pulled the covers over his neck.
END OF CHAPTER 1