Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead (32 page)

“Did you say fifty thousand shares?”

“I did.”

“
Whoa!
I wish I could multiply in my head.”

“Trust me, after you carry the one, it’s worth . . . I don’t even know how much, but a lot, and the funny thing is, I’m more in shock that we almost tossed the box. We were hauling so much 284

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crap from the basement, we weren’t even bothering to look at what we were throwing out.”

“So what made you open it?”

“I don’t know. It looked more official for some reason. But isn’t that crazy? All these valuable documents were just rotting in a basement.”

“Shows you how out of it they were.” Mindy sighed. “But wait.

What about the fire truck?”

“I saved the best for last. . . . We found it in a box of old baby clothes and it looked brand-new. Aaron is so psyched to bring it over to the Fitzgeralds’. I swear I feel like I won a contest.”

“Funny you should say that,” Mindy laughed. “That was supposed to be me.”

Mindy and Beth were so unglued, it was a toss-up who had the better head to drive. They settled on Mindy, as she feared Beth would intentionally drive into a guardrail. But en route to O’Hare, Mindy had a brainstorm that stole her concentration, causing her to change lanes without looking. “Sorry, sorry.” She clutched the wheel. “I must have blanked out for a second.”

“Fine by me.” Beth stared out the window.

“I was thinking,” she started, “and just hear me out before you say no. . . . Why don’t we both go to Portland?”

“Are you nuts? The last person I want to see is Richard.”

“I know, but think about it. It would give you the chance to have a heart-to-heart conversation without the girls interrupting, and sometimes a change of scenery works wonders.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. When I tell him I’m pregnant, he’ll get all spiritual, do the happy dance, and then tell me it’s great news.”

“But that’s good. You want him to be excited.”

“No I don’t. It’ll all be for show. The second it’s old news, he’ll go right back to his old tricks. I’ll never know where he is, how Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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much money we have, if he’s telling me the truth about work . . .”

“But think about this. He’s out there now because he wants desperately to start over.”

“Yes. Without me!”

“Or maybe because of you . . . Maybe he’s trying to get it together so he can come back to you and say look, I’m doing it. I’m handling my new job, I’m getting counseling—”

“Mindy, we’re not some Lifetime movie starring Valerie Ber-tinelli! Richard is hopeless.”

“No, he’s not. He sounds as lost and scared as you.”

Beth fidgeted with her engagement ring.

“And you have to admit, he’d be so shocked to see you, it would really make him think about your relationship. I mean who flies across the country unless they mean business? Plus, you have to admit this whole thing with both of our husbands ending up in Portland is bizarre. It has to mean something important is happening in the cosmos, right?”

“Maybe,” she sniffed. “But I wouldn’t even know what I’d say to him, where I’d start.”

“It’s like I told Rhoda; it doesn’t matter what you say. The fact that you’re there is the only thing that’s important.”

Beth didn’t answer.

“Oh, please say yes? I have such a good feeling about this.”

“Are you always such an optimist?”

“No, never, I swear. It’s my first time.”

“Then what’s up with you? Why do you care if I have this kid?”

“Are you kidding? It would be a dream come true. You’d finally be fatter than me!”

Twenty-five

It was déjà vu all over again: Artie, Aaron, and Richard standing around an airport due to unexpected circumstances, each lost in thought. Artie wondered if Richard knew Beth was pregnant.

Richard wondered if Aaron knew he was wearing his old clothes.

Aaron wondered if Artie believed him when he said he wanted to marry Rainbow. Then a woman’s cry diverted their attention.

Richard was the first to spot the somber-faced airline person-nel dotting the crowd, but it was Artie who heard mention of United’s flight 671 from Chicago and the chilling words,
please
identify yourself to the agents.

It’s hard to remember the details of your day only hours later, but there is no forgetting where you were the minute you learned that the plane on which your loved one was a passenger was doing figure eights over the airport to burn fuel before bracing for an emergency landing.

“This is the same thing that happened on that Jet Blue f light a few years ago.” A woman raced past them on the way to the airline’s Red Carpet Club for a briefing.

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“What did you hear?” a breathless Artie followed.

“Did you get through to someone on board?” Richard book-ended her on the other side.

“My sister’s at home watching CNN.” She beat their stride.

“They’re reporting the landing gear is messed up. They’ll have to do one of those foam f lops. Hope the runway is long enough . . .”

“It may not be mechanical,” a heavyset man tried keeping up.

“My wife’s boss knows a guy at the NTSB. They’re thinking hijacker.”

Artie felt chest pains. Plane crash? Terrorist plot? This couldn’t be happening. But when a terrified group assembled in a packed conference room, reality hit. A drama was unfolding without benefit of a script and the reaction was immediate. Grab your cell phone and laptop and get the facts.

Unfortunately, phone contact with passengers would be impossible, as the signals had been scrambled to prevent radio interference with the tower. Or as one distraught husband said,

“The SOBs are probably already doing spin control.”

In youthful defiance, Aaron leaped over a chair and headed for the door. “I can find out what’s goin’ down,” he said. “I gotta friend whose dad works here.”

“And I know the guys who left Fallon to set up the ad agency that won the United account.” Richard’s heart was pounding.

“They might know something.”

Artie nodded, unable to mask the terror in his eyes, or the guilt. Had he not talked Mindy into switching her flight, both of their wives would be back in New York and out of harm’s way.

How he prayed not to be one of those unfortunate souls quoted in the paper whose story reeked of irony.
I thought it would be nice if
she came to Portland
. “How do you think they’re doing?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?” Richard checked his cell for the tenth time.

“Beth goes nowhere without Xanax. She probably took the whole 288

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bottle by now. Damn! No service in here. I’ll be right back.”

“Richard, wait!” Artie grabbed him. “There’s something I need to tell you . . . about Beth.”

“I know what you’re going to say, but I know my wife. She wasn’t going to leave me.”

“No, no. That’s not it. . . . She may not have taken the Xanax

. . . she’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” His voice ricocheted over the crowd noise. “What the . . . are you sure?”

“Positive. Mindy told me she did the test last night. That’s what she was coming to tell you.”

“Oh my God.” He clutched Artie’s shoulder. “Oh my God . . .”

Artie was pacing at the back of the room, wondering how anyone could remain seated let alone focused on the hastily done Power Point presentation that was supposed to reassure them. Instead it was creating more angst, giving people things to fear that they hadn’t yet considered.

“The A320 airbus is one of the most reliable, technologically advanced commercial jets out there,” a veteran pilot droned on.

“Similar incident in Los Angeles a few years back . . . nosewheel jammed ninety degrees in the wrong direction . . . passengers and baggage were moved toward the rear of the craft . . . no fatalities.”

Artie couldn’t listen. All he could ponder was what he’d say when he called home. He was awful at this job. Mindy was the rock, the one who knew the right words to put everyone at ease.

How would he ever survive without her?

“We’re doing everything humanly possible to minimize the risks: burning forty-six thousand pounds of aviation fuel, putting less stress on the plane reduces chances of an explosion.

Fire trucks and emergency rescue workers standing by on the tarmac . . .”

He checked his watch. They’d been circling for an hour. One Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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more to go. Thank God they wouldn’t have a view of the touch-down, but would they hear the sirens?

“The pilots will keep the nose gear off the ground as long as possible. Runway 28L is eleven thousand feet. FAA doesn’t recommend a pre-foam, depletes supply in case of fire, can’t com-promise the brakes . . . may be able to evacuate using air stairs instead of slides . . .”

Artie was in such shock, he didn’t notice Aaron crouched in a corner until he heard a familiar voice:
“ ‘I’m afraid of aeroplanes,
even though I like the way it feels to be a person in the sky . . . one day
we’ ll come crashing down, what will I do, never had a chance to say
goodbye . . . close my eyes . . .’ ”

Now his stomach was in knots. This wasn’t just any song. It was “A320,” the Foo Fighter hit from the
Godzilla
soundtrack.

He liked it, too, he just never imagined it would one day be his theme song. “Believe me, I’m freaked out,” he said, “but these guys are so well trained.”

“Not good.” Richard found them. “It’s a full flight . . . hundred-thirty six passengers and crew . . . they’ve never had a major crash here before. Let’s hope they know what the hell they’re doing!”

“Oh my God, would you cool it?” Artie gritted.

“Right. No, of course,” Richard backpedaled. “My buddy at the agency said the pilot just has to pop a wheelie so he lands on the back tires. Sure beats losing an engine!”

Artie didn’t know which was worse: thinking that every passing minute was bringing the plane closer to its life-or-death landing or being surrounded by a room full of strangers who were crying, praying, and chatting, their random words of fear and faith wafting in the air.

“Hey, c’mon.” Artie had to lift Aaron off the f loor. “You heard the guy. The second the plane lands, they start the evacuation and everyone gets out.”

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“You believe what you wanna believe. I know the truth!”

“What do you mean?” Artie’s heart raced.

Aaron waved his arms in a big circle and made a loud popping sound.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“My friend’s dad is off today but I got to talking to some guys on the ground crew.” He looked up in tears. “They said the wind’s not comin’ from the west, so it’s gonna be real hard to control the plane now. . . . They’re gettin’ ready for a crash and burn!”

“Oh my God!” Artie shuddered.

“Why do you have to keep saying
God
?” He rocked like a baby.

“There’s no such thing.”

“You don’t believe in God?”

“Wouldn’t matter if I did. He doesn’t believe in me!”

“That’s crazy. Of course there’s a God. I mean it’s fine to question your beliefs. Even Mother Teresa had doubts. But this is no time to abandon ship. If ever you needed to believe in a higher being and—”

“Stop tryin’ to sell me, okay? I used to go to church and pray and it did shit for me. You think I wanted to grow up in that house? You think it’s fair I’ve been losin’ people left and right, or that a plane full of good people might blow up ’cause my mom wants to get even with me. I know I shouldn’t have called the cops on her, but I thought we were all gonna get killed . . . all these guys livin’ in our house, stealin’ our things. ’Cause of me she had to serve time; wouldn’t talk to me when she got out. . . .”

Artie was riveted, momentarily forgetting that his wife’s life was in jeopardy. All he could focus on was his son’s painful confession and his sad, convoluted belief that there was some karmic connection between his dead mother and the innocent people in peril.

“Hey, look. It’s your call if you want to talk to God, or Allah, or the Good Humor man. But please tell me you believe in Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

291

something, ’cause I can’t think of anything worse than not having faith. And how you could think you had anything to do with this situation? You’re an innocent bystander.”

“You’re only sayin’ that ’cause you’re my dad, but you gotta see the truth. Somebody up there hates me. . . . I go on a vacation and my mom dies, I come home and my uncle is dead, I go back to New York and find out I’m under arrest in Portland. I get back here and now a plane full of people is getting fucked! It’s me, man. Don’t you see? Anything to do with me is doomed!”

Artie tried to process the sad revelation that his son felt like a marked man, yet he couldn’t contain his glee. “You think of me as your dad.”

“Duh.”

“No, I mean when we first got together, you kept calling me Art.”

“Just a name,” Aaron said. “I’m not retarded. You’re all I got now.”

“Mindy thinks you’re great, too.” He wiped his eyes. “She’d do anything for you.”

“I know. . . . Somethin’ happens to her, we are so screwed!”

“Nothing’s going to happen. . . . God knows we need her more than he does. ”

Artie had lost track of how many diet Cokes he’d downed, how many steps he’d paced, how many tears he’d shed, how many times he’d called home, how many times he’d wished he’d never asked Mindy to change her plans. But the bottom line was the same. If not for finding the Starbucks stock, he never would have suggested that Mindy book a last-minute flight. So the money wasn’t even in his pocket yet, but it had already altered his life, and not for the better.

And who was he to tell Aaron not to question God’s existence?

He had a few concerns himself. How could a compassionate God 292

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shower him with wealth, then take away the woman who was his wife and best friend? Was it written in the script that he wasn’t entitled to happiness and success at the same time?