Exit Row (3 page)

L
EE WAS NOT
on the plane. Fiona joined the group of people waiting and watched as the stream of exiting passengers once again slowed and then stopped. This time, she did not stop the flight attendants in their navy uniforms to question them. After several minutes, the lounge was empty again except for the people she had been waiting with. It was as if a giant wave had swept over a beach and left only them—flotsam—behind.

“Shit, shit, shit!” The backpacker pounded his fist against the back of a seat. “Where is he?”

“Where was he coming from?” But Fiona dreaded the answer.

“Taos. Where else?”

“Maybe this flight was already booked up,” the pool man said. “People who had tickets would be given preference over standbys.”

“Yes, but it wasn't their fault!” Fiona told herself not to catastrophize. She had too much imagination.

“It
is
the end of vacation,” Maggie agreed quickly, giving Derek's wheelchair a tiny jiggle to quiet his moaning. “I should have told my father to come next week.”

“He'd better be on the next flight,” the backpacker threatened.

Or else what?

“I get what you're saying,” Fiona told the man. “But if they were bumped, why didn't they call to let us know?”

Maggie laughed. “My dad wouldn't.”

“Coral probably forgot to charge her phone again.” Her father gave a laugh. “I'm always on her about it.”

“Well, I think it's very inconsiderate,” the editor said. “This is going to disrupt our whole schedule! Unless—did I give Susan my new cell number? I
think
I did.”

“I'm gonna find out what's going on,” the backpacker announced, and stalked off.

Fiona pulled out her iPhone and retrieved a dial tone. The phone was still charged, still working. It was odd, though, that she hadn't gotten texts from anyone else. It had to be a service glitch.

She started to put the phone away when it dinged.
At last.

It was a text from her bank, offering a new deposit app.

The backpacker returned, a messenger with an outraged scowl. “That was the last fucking flight of the day from Denver! Can you believe it? From now on they fly into LaGuardia. It doesn't matter; I've already missed the fucking connection to Portland!” He adjusted the red pack on his shoulders and stormed off.

“Well, I'm not driving all the way to Queens,” the editor said. “I'll go home and wait for Susan to call me.”

“That's all we can do,” the other man agreed.

No, it's not!
Fiona's heart was racing like a frightened child in the dark.
Before the second plane landed, she'd thought that Lee might have forgotten to charge his phone or left it on the Taos plane. There would been no time to retrieve it or to call her. But if he hadn't made this flight either, he'd have found a phone.

She stood rooted to the floor by a more shocking idea. What if he had collapsed at the Denver airport and been taken to the closest hospital? No one would know to call her! If he were unconscious, he would not have been able to tell them. She pictured the paramedics trying to revive him, the wail of the ambulance siren peeling traffic out of the way, someone nestling his blue backpack beside his head.

What if he was dead?

C
OMB-OVER HAD BEEN
replaced at the Voyager counter by a woman with gray hair and a serious face. She looked up as Fiona stepped in front of her. “Name?”

“No, I'm not a passenger, I need to find out about my—fiancé. Did anything happen to one of the passengers on the morning shuttle from Taos or when it landed in Denver?”

“The Day Star plane? I haven't heard of anything.”

“Can you check?
Please?
If anyone got sick?”

The representative pushed her lips into a single line as she considered it, then began typing on her keyboard. After a moment she picked up her dark blue phone. “Hi, this is Edie. Any emergencies on flights today? Specifically”—she peered at her computer screen—“Day Star 101 out of Taos?”

She listened, then said, “Uh-huh. Okay. Someone here is asking. Thanks.” A pause. “You too.”

She hung up and looked at Fiona. “Interesting you should ask. They had a fuel line problem and switched planes, but the flight got into Denver with no problem. It was late, of course, but so was the feeder from San Diego, so they held our flight.”

“But no passengers got sick or went to the hospital?”
A relief. Of course, a relief.
But it didn't answer her questions.

Edie looked at her, blue eyes kind behind glasses. “Why don't you tell me what this is all about?”

This was what Fiona liked best about Long Island, that people cared enough to stop and talk to you. She glanced behind her, at the people and their luggage.

“Don't worry about them. I'll get someone.” Edie picked up the dark blue phone again. As soon as a young man in a white shirt with the Voyager logo stepped behind the counter, she motioned Fiona to one side. Fiona could feel the curious eyes of the passengers burning her back.

“My fiancé was supposed to be on that plane out of Taos, but he wasn't. Several other passengers didn't make it either, so we just thought they'd be on the next Voyager flight. But they weren't, and somebody said it was the last flight from Denver for the day!”

Keep it together.
Edie's kindness and her own desperation made her voice ragged. “The other people had reasons their people might have missed the flight, but I don't. I mean, he hasn't texted me or called. He let me know he was getting on the plane in Taos. But then . . . nothing!”

“And that's why you thought he might have gotten sick. What's his name, hon?”

“Lee Pienaar.” Automatically she spelled it.
You may have seen his photographs in magazines.

Edie moved away from her and picked up the phone. This time Fiona could not hear any conversation. Instead she watched the check-in progress beside her, saw the passengers produce driver's licenses and in one case a maroon passport.

Then Edie was back, looking perplexed. “I don't know what to tell you. A Lee Pienaar was scheduled for Flight 886, but he never checked in. He wasn't on the next flight either. You'll need to check with Day Star if he was actually on their shuttle. Unfortunately, they're a Western outfit; they have no presence here. And we have no way to check their manifests.” She sighed. “I'm sorry.”

“No, you've helped a lot. Can I call them?”

Edie's face relaxed. “Of course you can. I'll get you the number.”

“Thanks.” Now—
now—
she could find out where he was.

As soon as she had the number, written on a Post-it bearing the Voyager logo, Fiona retreated to a seat in the arrivals lounge. The waiting area was once again full. Evidently, flights were still arriving from other cities.

The area code she pressed in was unfamiliar, but a cheerful voice informed her that the corporate offices in Santa Fe were closed on weekends and would reopen tomorrow morning at ten o'clock.

No! I have to talk to you now!
Didn't they have an emergency contact number? Maybe it was on their website. But if she sent an e-mail, would somebody read it before Monday morning?

This can't be happening.
They had plans for the evening, a life to get on with. How could she wait until tomorrow morning to find anything out? But maybe she wouldn't have to. She imagined him leaving his phone on the shuttle flight, realizing it when he got to Denver, and running back desperately to retrieve it. The airline couldn't find the phone, and Flight 886 had departed in the meantime. The next flight from Denver was already full.

So now he was headed for LaGuardia Airport without his phone to let her know. And if her cell number was stored on his lost phone . . . he probably wouldn't know it from memory, since he had never had to dial it. He knew her apartment landline, but of course she wasn't there.

That jerked her up in her seat. There were probably messages, multiple messages, waiting for her back in Sydney Beach. She cursed herself for never bothering to learn the retrieval code to pick up her messages remotely. But between e-mails and texts to her iPhone, no calls to her apartment phone ever seemed that urgent.

Until now.

S
TALLED AT A
traffic light in Eastport, Fiona realized she had forgotten about their dinner reservations. No chance of making those now. Would the Diligent Farmer restaurant give them a second chance later if they just didn't show up? No, they had her landline number. She had to be the one to cancel.

If Lee was landing at La Guardia, would there be enough time to shoot over to Brooklyn? But it was a large airport and she had no idea what airline they might put him on. No, it was better to go home.

As the light changed, Fiona considered something else. Lee traveled widely, both for his own photography and on assignment, and had never lived a workaday life. For the last four years, she hadn't either. If he woke up, as he had in April, and decided they should drive to Jekyll Island in Georgia, he knew that she would be happy to go too.

Was it possible that in the airport he had heard about some unbelievably beautiful place to photograph, a spot that he could not miss, especially since he was already out there? Perhaps he had rented a car and headed out impulsively, thinking he would just get a later plane. She saw him lost, running out of gas in the mountains where there was no phone service. Even now he was waiting by the side of the road, desperate, hoping that someone would come by . . .

Fiona turned onto Sunrise Highway. A year ago they hadn't even known each other, though he had read her travel writing and she had seen his photographs in magazines. They met at a reception when
Gusto!
was moving to larger quarters, and hit it off immediately. Afterward they had gone for a drink, and that had been that. Lee had been born in South Africa and sent to school in England and had a repertoire of stories. By the next morning, he had known everything worth knowing about her as well.

Fiona parked her Toyota in its numbered space. It was due for its state inspection next month, and God knew what problems might show up this year. She still had some money saved from her law firm days, money she had used to finance her travels until her blog had become successful, but now there was only the money from
Gusto!
coming in.

Fortunately, rents in Sydney Beach were low. Though the town was located on the south shore of Long Island, not far from the Hamptons, it had none of their cachet. When she'd moved into the studio at Mario's Vacation Apartments last December, the manager had warned her that prices would skyrocket in summer.

But when June came, she cajoled the manager into letting her stay on at the same price, pointing out that she was a responsible tenant and would still be there next winter when other units were vacant. Yet now she realized guiltily that she wouldn't. There would be no reason to stay here once she was settled in Brooklyn. Lee was currently subletting an apartment, and she was there much of the time. But living together would be different.

She hadn't yet broken the news to the manager.

Fiona grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and locked the doors, then clattered up the outside wooden stairs to the second floor. She had no doubt that there would be multiple messages from Lee, and as she entered the dim foyer, she saw that her machine light was blinking.
Yes.

Quickly she pressed “Play.”

The message had come in at 5:26 p.m.

“Good evening, Ms. Reina. I'm calling from the Diligent Farmer to confirm your reservation for seven o'clock this evening. If there are any changes or modifications, please let us know.” The number followed.

Damn!
That couldn't be all.

The Diligent Farmer
could go fuck himself.

H
OW COULD SHE
make the time pass until tomorrow morning? It seemed an intolerable wait. She didn't dare leave the apartment in case Lee called; eventually, she slathered peanut butter on a handful of Triscuits and finished a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. At eleven, when the phone still hadn't rung, she took two Valium to make herself sleep.

She woke up for good at 6:20 a.m. Monday morning. Her “Via Venezia” sleep shirt was clinging to her, the day's heat already creeping into the apartment. Consciousness returned with a slap. Lee wasn't lying in bed beside her. She had no idea where he was.

She willed herself to get up and make coffee, but did not move. What was the point? She couldn't call the airline in New Mexico until noon Eastern time. On the other hand, the column for
Gusto!
was due Thursday.

Right
. But how could she care about the horrors of cosmetics when her life felt upside down? Another glance at the clock. At least she should go to the gym. If she left now, she could see Karl and find out if he had any other ideas. They had been friends since her first law job; he would never soften the truth to make her feel better. A reality check was what she needed.

Besides, exercise would help fill the time. She would not do a class; she would talk to Karl and then use the machines. Quickly she made coffee, then headed out.

S
HE FOUND
K
ARL
getting set up for a spin class, already wearing his narrow plastic glasses and red sweatband over his large forehead.

“I have to talk to you,” she said breathlessly.

“What's up?” He abandoned the bike and followed her out of the room.

They sat down at a wire table in the small café area, not bothering to order anything.

“It's Lee. He was coming home from Santa Fe yesterday, but he wasn't on the plane. And I haven't heard from him since!”

Karl nodded. “How long have you guys been together?”

“It's not that! Things were great between us. We talked for a long time Saturday night. I'm worried that something's happened to him.”

“Like what?”

“I'm not sure. He may have gotten sidetracked taking photos and gotten lost in the mountains. But it's odd; there were other people at the airport waiting for passengers who didn't get there either. And didn't text or call.” She leaned earnestly across the table and told him everything that had happened, including the older man who said he had been on the shuttle but couldn't remember Lee. “It's driving me crazy!”

“Well, let's look at the facts.” Karl was brisk, in attorney mode. “You've established that there wasn't a problem with the flights. At least one person who was on Lee's plane arrived in New York. For some reason, he's choosing not to communicate with you. You have to decide why.”

Fiona sat silent.

Why would he stop communicating with her? He was either incapacitated and couldn't—or he was letting her know their relationship was over. Was he slipping out of her life as easily as he had moved into it? At forty-one, he had never been married. Maybe, in the months they had been inseparable, he felt that they were heading down a road he did not want to be on. Fiona had told the Voyager representative that he was her fiancé in order to be taken more seriously, but they had never talked about marriage.

But it couldn't be true! When they had talked on their phones Saturday night—using FaceTime for the pleasure of seeing each other—everything had been normal. They made jokes about what they would do to each other when he was back: love talk.

He hadn't sounded like a man about to disappear from her life.

Karl gave her the look that had calmed many clients. “It's probably not as bad as you think. There's some reasonable explanation. I bet by tonight it's all worked out.”

“Really?”

“In the meantime, what about these other people waiting for passengers? Can you get in touch with any of them and see if those people ever arrived? Or contacted them? If they got here, they might know something about Lee.”

“That's true. I'm sure I could find some of them. And I'll see what Day Star has to tell me when they open, about whether he was on the plane.”

Karl tilted his head delicately. “If it's his way of ending things, it's better to know now.” He pushed up, his large hands almost tipping the table.

“Are you in court today?” Fiona asked.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Judge Callaghan.”

“Yikes.”

Thank God. Thank God I never have to do that again.

“Everybody misses you, Fee. Your wonderful stories about what
could
have happened. Even the judges were amused.”

“That's the trouble with law: it's so cut-and-dried. There are so many
rules.
”

Karl laughed.

She wasn't sorry she had gone to law school. After her junior year at Iowa State, she was running low on funds. She had attended on scholarships, and her family, the Jensens, had ponied up the rest, but she knew she could not travel the world—still her dream—without money. Her grades were not outstanding, but she remembered her conversation with her high school guidance counselor.

Mrs. Malloy had insisted she apply for status as a Native American. The father listed on her original birth certificate, Leonard Charley, was a Chippewa Indian who had worked in Lamb's Tongue for a few months on his way east.

Fiona brought Mrs. Malloy the document. “But I never lived on the reservation or anything.”

“That's hardly the point.” Mrs. Malloy peered at her over her half-glasses and demanded to know what else Fiona had going for her. “You're bright enough, but so are a million other seventeen-year-olds.”

“Maybe I should be a doctor.” That seemed a good way to earn money fast.

The guidance counselor laughed. “With your grades? Lawyer, maybe; I could see you arguing in court. Trying to make people see things your way.”

Fiona's Native American roots hadn't gotten her into Columbia or Yale, but Hofstra Law School on Long Island had given her a scholarship and enough work-study opportunities to survive. They had even helped her find a job at Legal Aid. It wasn't
their
fault that she had tired of the law.

Pressing Fiona's shoulder, Karl strode off.

Fiona went upstairs to the treadmills and set the machine for twenty minutes. Could Lee have gotten food poisoning and be too sick to phone? Maybe the planes were overbooked in Denver and he kept giving up his seat to pile on credits for future flights, embarrassed to tell her.
Right
. He was just as likely to be trapped in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in a time-warp and surface in a hundred years, wondering if his dinner reservation was still good.

Maybe Karl's right: Lee just hates me.