Exit Row (21 page)

F
IONA THOUGHT
C
ORAL
and Dominick would fall into each other's arms, sobbing. Instead, Dominick cuffed her on the chin and said, “Hey, kid,” and she said, “Why didn't you come get me? I hated it there!”

“Believe me, I was trying.”

They climbed into the backseat and began talking in a low murmur.

Fiona set the GPS for Magdalena, and they were off.

The hospital blazed with lights as if there was a party going on. This time Fiona went into a lobby that was furnished in 1960s style, turquoise and bright orange vinyl. A few ragged magazines lay on a kidney-shaped coffee table, and there were prints on the walls by an R. C. Gorman wannabe.

Lee was in a second-floor private room. She stood in the doorway for a moment and took in the IV drip and tubes, almost not recognizing him. His fair hair was shaggy and a light beard covered his face—Lee, who was more meticulous than anyone she knew. He gave her a groggy smile, his lips twitching.

To her surprise she did not break down, just went over and kissed his forehead hard, then hugged him tightly.

“I'm not letting you out of my sight again,” she murmured.

“Good. Obviously I can't be trusted.”

T
HE SURVIVORS MET
two weeks later at an Indian restaurant in Patchogue—a place that Rosa had chosen. When Fiona pushed open the heavy wooden door, the waft of heat and spices stunned her. Tandoori was elegant, lit subtly like a cave, with carved rosewood panels that showed scenes of daily life in India. At the back of the restaurant was an open, black-walled oven; to its right a man in a white robe stroked a long-necked sitar. The mingled odors of sandalwood and spices took Fiona back to New Delhi.

Rosa had asked Fiona and Lee to come before the others so they could talk privately. She was waiting at the bar in a far corner, under an overhead drape of dark blue silk. An apricot-colored drink stood on the counter, and she laughed when she saw them. “Can I interest you in a piña colada, Fiona?”

“Oh, God. You know what happened the last time I had one.” She leaned over and kissed Rosa, careful not to touch the white gauze pad on her forehead. “How
are
you?”

“I'm fine. I'm tough.”

“You remember Lee from the hospital.” She pushed him forward like a proud mother. Although his recovery from his concussion had been good, he was quieter, more pensive than before.

“Of course I do.” She leaned forward for a kiss. “You're feeling okay?”

“Better every day. Fiona worries too much. My vision's still blurry sometimes, but the doctor says that should improve. Funny thing is, I still can't remember the flight.”

“That's what everyone says. Order what you want and let's sit at a table.”

“How do you know no one can remember the flight?” Fiona asked when they joined her.

“Ah.” Rosa looked complacent. Tonight she was wearing an emerald-green cotton dress, embroidered and mirrored, with long jade earrings. “That's one of the things I want to tell you.”

Lee lifted his glass and the other two clinked theirs against it. He had decided to keep the beard and looked to Fiona like a Viking explorer.

“I've been in touch with the others because—okay, Susan's gone. I accept that. It's tragic that she never enjoyed the recognition she should have gotten. But I'm not looking for someone to replace her. This is a wonderful story, and
I'm
writing it.”

“No! Really?”

“To paraphrase Samuel Johnson: When a man knows he will be hanged in two weeks, it focuses the mind wonderfully. When I was in the hospital I realized I've been part of the backstage crew all my life when what I really wanted to do was write. And this story has everything. Drama, twists, the Jesse-Ginger Lee connection.”

Fiona didn't know what to say. She looked at Lee, but he was smiling and nodding at Rosa. For a moment she felt a sense of regret that she wouldn't be the one doing the writing. Then she opened her hand over the table as if to let it go.

“Will you help me?” Rosa was asking. “Tell me everything you remember?”

“Of course.”

“I've contacted Ginger Lee, but she hasn't responded, of course. Do people get mail in jail? Those sons of hers are cretins; I'd never talk to them.”

“They're in jail too?”

“Of course they are, for attempted murder. The plane scam was bad, but trying to get rid of the last passengers was worse. No bail. Lots of publicity because of who they are.”

“I know.” An ashen-faced Ginger Lee, looking older and furious, had been all over news sites. “But they're not blaming Jesse Wilcox?”

“Oh no. They did an evaluation and interviewed his caretakers and decided he couldn't have known what was going on. I tracked down that Day Star receptionist who gave you the note, Priss Fields—she's a key witness. She knew about the identical plane at the Ranch, always kept ready. Sometimes they had parties on it.”

Lee shuddered. “These are evil people.”

“And they almost got away with it. If you're not looking for small discrepancies, you won't see them. It's a huge airport, the Day Star plane with the right numbers landed, nobody paid attention. They even loaded it up with passengers and flew it back to Taos. A new flight crew was scheduled, and they didn't even know what had happened.” Rosa waved her glass. “So much human drama. The way that grandmother came all the way from Germany for the little girl . . . it's got everything!”

“You've already done so much research,” Fiona said admiringly.

“Well, I won't live forever. But there's something I wanted to tell y
ou,
Fiona.” Rosa's brown eyes were focused on hers; the white bandage accentuated the wrinkles around them. “Before I got shot you were telling me about what happened to you in Egypt. I've been thinking about that a lot, the way you seemed to be blaming yourself. You shouldn't. Those men were
criminals
. You did the right thing to leave Egypt when you did.”

Fiona drank a sip of merlot, stalling for time. She had not been expecting this. “But it still feels like I ran away. And nobody knew the truth of what happened to Marcelle.”

Lee put his hand over hers. “Marcelle was dead. You were in danger of being incarcerated permanently.” He smiled at Rosa. “We've had this conversation before, obviously.”

“Post-traumatic stress,” Rosa said wisely, then turned to Fiona. “You think the Egyptian authorities would have believed you? You could have been another Amanda Knox, locked up for years!”

“She thinks the authorities are looking for her. That she can't fly internationally anymore.”

“No, I don't.” Fiona said, embarrassed. This was going to be hard to admit. “I checked, and I'm not on any list. But I—I couldn't face living on a farm again for a year, even in Africa. I was going to tell you. Soon.”

Lee took a sip of wine. “I've been thinking about that. Could you stand it for a month? Maybe a year is unrealistic. I can take all the photos I need to in a few weeks. We wouldn't even have to give up the apartment.”

“Are you sure? You're not just saying that because I—”

“Saved my life?” He put his arm around her and squeezed her. “No, but it made me realize I can't risk losing you. Ever.”

“Aww
.
”
Rosa beamed at them.

“Hey, you!” Dominick was coming toward them, his hand on Coral's shoulder. “I should have known I'd find you in the bar.”

“Just killing time.” Rosa stood up and let Dominick enfold her in a hug.

Fiona hugged Dominick and Coral too and watched the men shake hands. “You look great!” she told Coral. The cast on her arm looked professional and new.

“I'm back in school. What kind of place
is
this?”

“It's Indian; you'll love it,” Rosa told her. “Our table's in the other room.”

Fiona watched Dominick guide his daughter toward the entrance. He had always believed it would work out, that nothing terrible had happened. Was that the secret? To believe life wouldn't let you down?

Except it sometimes did.

The table was set for eight, a lush white tablecloth and napkins, dark red plates. She knew who two of the other plates were for, but had a symbolic place been set for Greg, like Elijah at a Passover Seder? She didn't need a reminder that his life had been unfinished; she thought about him at odd times every day. The irony was that Dimitri was one of the people rescued from the church. It was doubtful he would walk again, but the program he had been bringing Greg was brilliant.

And then Amanda, blonde and chic, was standing in the doorway with Jackson, looking around. Fiona waved at them and they came over.

No more pink smock. Amanda was crisp in a stylish black outfit, accented by a heavy turquoise-and-silver neckband. Jackson wore narrow-hipped jeans with a silver concha belt and a white dress shirt. On his feet were the same style of Western boots that Will wore. Fiona had a terrible image of him going back and wresting them off Will's feet. But she was sure he hadn't.

Jackson knew everyone from the hospital, but Fiona said to the others, “This is Amanda Redhawk.”

“Really?” Dominick stared at her a moment, then stood up to embrace her. “Your husband was a hero. He saved my daughter's life!”

Amanda smiled over at Jackson “In the end, he was.”

“You came all the way to New York to have dinner with us?” he continued, amazed.

Now Amanda laughed and looked at Fiona. “No, I'm trying to get into the Fashion Institute if they'll have me. Fiona's been a big help with everything. And Jack—well, I'll let him tell you.”

But Jackson sat down next to his wife, looking grave. “First of all, it wasn't just me. If Fiona hadn't kept on looking, none of this would have come out. At the church she kept the family away from me so I could go inside. She saved
my
life.”

And suddenly, led by Rosa, the people at the table began applauding. It was picked up quickly by the wait staff and then everyone in the room. “Speech, speech!” someone in the corner with no idea what was happening called out.

Fiona wiped at her eyes. “
Everyone
was brave.” She looked at Dominick. “The way you stood up to those guys? And went off to find Greg?”

At the hospital she found out that Dominick had gone up and down the path, calling Greg's name, until it was too dark to see anything. Then he'd hiked out to the road and managed to flag down a pickup truck. Not knowing where anyone else was, he'd gone back to the gas station.

“A lot's happened,” Dominick said. “Eve's staying in Taos; it's what she wants. She says she's living her dream.” He looked disgruntled at that, then recovered. “At least I still have Coral. We thought she should stay up here because of her gymnastics, but the doctor doesn't think her arm will heal in the right way. They really botched it up.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” Rosa cried.

“It's okay,” Coral told her, “I was getting too tall anyway. My dad's getting me riding lessons. When I was out in Taos, I found this great horse!” But her face changed. “I want my mom to come back.”

“I know, sweetheart, but it will be okay. I'm going to lease you a horse!”

Fiona started to laugh, but was saved by the waiter coming back. He had been there several times, seen them talking, and moved discreetly away.

“Can I have a Caesar salad?” Coral asked him quickly. “I don't think I'd like anything else here.”

Rosa shook her head, but the waiter promised to see what he could do.

“Jackson, you never told us what you were going to do,” Rosa said.

“Oh.” He ducked his head, embarrassed. “There are a lot of airlines here. Because of what happened in Taos, they've offered me a job. Two of them.”

“More than that. He's just being modest,” Amanda told them.

In the aftermath of the Day Star collapse, Jackson had been recognized as a hero. He had been credited as saving the lives of the passengers in the burning church, seven people. Eight people, if you counted Jackson rescuing her from Will earlier. The police had accepted Fiona's version that he shot Will while defending her. They didn't seem to care about the second bullet.

Fiona gestured at the empty chair. “Is that for the mystery tourist?”

Rosa laughed. “Nobody knows who he was. No one has come forward. But I'll have to find him. He's part of the story too.”

“Is it for—Greg?”

Rosa looked sad. “I guess it should be.” She raised her wine glass, filled from the carafes that had been waiting on the table for them. “He was a hero too.”

They drank to him somberly.

“I can't get over feeling guilty about him,” Fiona said. “It's like the movie
Hair
where that hippie accidentally gets sent to Vietnam and dies. He didn't even believe in the war, but got caught up in it because of his friends.”

Rosa reached across the table and grasped her wrist. “Fiona, stop! You're not responsible for everything that happens to other adults. He insisted on climbing the mountain that day.”

“I know.”

“But who is
the chair for?” Dominick asked. “I can't think of anyone else.”

“Maggie,” Rosa said. “But I doubt she'll come. She was feeling terrible when I spoke to her.”

“She should.” Fiona felt outraged. “She almost made us give up!”

“They promised her forty thousand dollars. That older man who said he had been on the shuttle went to see her. He told her that her father had had a heart attack during the flight and died. She thought her father would want her to use the money to get Derek more help.”

“Wait a minute,” Dominick demanded. “Her father never got to Long Island? It was a lie?”