Life Support (11 page)

Alexia used her cell phone to set up an appointment for Marilyn Simpson with another attorney, then she called the office and asked Gwen to relay the information to Marilyn. She clicked the phone off as she pulled into the parking lot for the airport.

The Santee airport had no commercial airline service. It catered to businesspeople, golfers, and individuals who wanted to learn how to fly. Alexia went into the small metal building that served as the fixed base operation center. This was new territory. She had never flown in anything except commercial jets.

An older man with thinning black hair and wearing a stained white T-shirt leaned against a counter, reading a magazine and smoking a cigarette. The scruffy figure looked out of place at an airport. A radio tuned to the local flight frequency crackled in the background.

“I'm a lawyer from Leggitt & Freeman,” Alexia said. “Someone from my office called to set up a flight to Greenville.”

The man put out his cigarette. “Preflight's all done. I'm ready when you are.”

Alexia followed the pilot through a door to the aircraft ramp behind the building. On his way out, he grabbed a shirt with “Jack Link Air Service” embroidered on it and slipped it on over his stained T-shirt.

“Are you Mr. Link?” Alexia asked as they walked across the asphalt.

“No, I found the shirt abandoned in the pilots' lounge in Des Moines. My name is Mo Reynolds.”

The plane was a single engine Piper Warrior with seating for four. As they approached it, Alexia glanced down and could tell that one of the two tires on the landing gear was low on air. Before she could say anything, Mo pulled an air gauge from his shirt pocket and checked the pressure.

“We need a shot of air in that tire. I'll get the compressor and be right back. Can I trust you not to jump in the plane and take off without me?”

He left without waiting for an answer. Alexia stayed beside the plane, wondering what else was wrong with it. The pilot rolled out an air compressor and put some air in the sagging tire.

“We're set,” he said. “You can sit in back, but there is more room up front.”

“Where do you recommend?” Alexia asked.

Mo smiled. “The best seats in the house are always in the front row.”

Mo stepped up onto the wing and opened the door on the passenger side of the aircraft. It was set up as a trainer with full controls on both sides. Alexia reluctantly followed and plopped down in the front passenger seat. To her relief, Mo went through a preflight checklist before starting the engine.

“You know, lawyers put Piper out of business,” he said. “They filed so many lawsuits every time an idiot would crash a plane into a mountain and get killed that the company went under. It's getting harder and harder for me to find spare parts.”

“I've never sued Piper,” Alexia reassured him.

Mo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, most of the lawsuits were in the '60s and '70s. I doubt you were born then.”

The pilot started the engine, which roared to life and shook the little cabin. He backed off the throttle and taxied away from the building.

“Hold your breath and exhale when I take her up,” he said with a grin.

They rolled forward to the end of the runway and Mo announced his intention to take off over the radio. There was no response.

“Is anyone listening?” Alexia asked.

Mo shrugged. “Probably not until we get to Columbia.”

He revved the engine and released the brakes. The small plane accelerated and lifted smoothly into the air.

“That wasn't too bad,” Alexia said without thinking.

“That's cause you were breathing right.”

They climbed to 8,500 feet, and the temperature in the cockpit dropped. Alexia put on a sweater and began to relax. It was a clear day and there was nothing to obstruct their view. The countryside from the coast to Columbia was flat and rural. Much of it was farmland devoted to soybeans or corn, but there were also large tracts of trees planted by lumber companies. Alexia particularly enjoyed the airborne perspective of the streams and rivers that divided the landscape. A river follows the path of least resistance in seeking a way to the sea, and the twists and turns of waterways were much more apparent from the air than when standing on the ground.

“Do you want to fly it?” Mo yelled over the sound of the engine.

Alexia looked at the flight controls in front of her. They were barely moving. Once they were in the air, Mo nonchalantly used a couple of fingers on his left hand to steer the aircraft. Alexia had been careful not to touch anything and had kept her feet close to the seat.

“Does that cost extra?” she asked.

Mo smiled. “No, it's on the house. Don't worry about your feet. Just take the control wheel. Try to keep the plane level on the horizon and maintain the same compass heading and altitude.”

“Where's the compass?”

Mo pointed to the silhouette of the plane on the directional gyro.

“That's all?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just try not to overcompensate. It doesn't respond like a car. Everything is a delayed reaction. Just keep it on this heading.”

Alexia reached forward and took the controls. Everything was fine for the first fifteen seconds, but then the plane shifted slightly to the left. She gradually corrected and waited. The plane tilted farther to the right than it had been to the left. She moved the controls a little bit more. The plane was gently rocking back and forth in the air. Alexia laughed.

“Take it back. If we keep this up, we'll pass over both Columbia and Atlanta.”

Mo took the controls and brought the plane level. “Not a bad effort. You didn't lose altitude.”

“It's a finer touch than I thought. Don't have a heart attack. I'm not ready to solo.”

The pilot put his hand to his chest. “I've got a few more flights in here before I go in for another triple bypass.”

Alexia wondered if he was telling the truth. As they approached Columbia, Mo called approach control. Within a few minutes, Alexia spotted the state capitol building and the stadium where the University of South Carolina played its home football games. On Saturday afternoons in the fall it would be filled with garnet and black. Small hills began to dimple the landscape as they continued toward the northwestern corner of the state. Many people from Charleston and the coastal areas thought the rest of South Carolina was devoid of personality. Alexia generally agreed.

Greenville shared an airport with Spartanburg. Its official name was the Greenville-Spartanburg International Airport, but it didn't serve foreign nations, only other states like Georgia and North Carolina. Air traffic was light, and they were cleared by the tower to descend to the runway. Mo set the plane down as casually as a farmer dropping a disk harrow in spring soil. There was one bump, and then they quickly slowed down.

“Be sure to check the overhead bin for your personal belongings and don't unbuckle your seat belt until we reach the terminal,” he said with a grin. “There won't be anyone available inside the concourse to direct you to your next flight because we don't have any other employees. I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

Alexia smiled. “It was fine. I've never flown in a small plane before.”

“Somehow that doesn't surprise me. When are you going back?”

“I don't know my schedule. I'm going to see someone at the hospital.”

“Let me know if I can fly you in the future. You need a few more lessons before we practice recovering from stalls and spins.”

They taxied near the terminal, and Alexia climbed out. By the time she reached the main building, Mo was already moving back toward the runway.

10

Still questioned me the story of my life.

OTHELLO
, ACT 1, SCENE 3

R
ena arrived at the ICU waiting area around 9:30 A.M. after a few hours of fitful sleep at a nearby hotel. She recognized several familiar faces from the night before, but her father-in-law's wasn't among them. Ezra Richardson had finally arrived at the hospital after Rena met with Dr. Kolb at 2 A.M. Usually in total control of himself and those around him, Ezra was obviously disoriented and struggling to come to terms with the terrible news about his younger son. Rena repeated her rote version of the accident and gave a summary of the doctor's gloomy assessment of Baxter's condition. However, when Rena suggested the merciful thing to do might be to terminate life support, the older man's eyes blazed, and she beat a hasty retreat while he stayed at the hospital. She hoped that after her father-in-law heard Baxter's prognosis directly from the doctors he would see the situation in a different light.

Rena approached a perky young woman who was monitoring ICU visitation.

“I'm Rena Richardson. How is my husband, Baxter, doing this morning?”

The young woman picked up a clipboard, read down a list, and flipped it over. A puzzled look came over her face. Rena's heart skipped a beat as the truth hit her. Baxter had died during the night, and they'd moved him from ICU to the morgue. The young woman started over at the top of the list. Rena was both ecstatic and upset. She was glad that Baxter had breathed his last, but mad at her father-in-law for not notifying her. It was the height of rudeness for Ezra not to leave her a message on her cell phone that Baxter had died. It was already midmorning, and she needed to get busy with the funeral arrangements. She would let him know how she felt as soon as she saw him.

“Here it is.” The young woman interrupted the flight of Rena's thoughts. “I missed him the first time.”

“Oh, he's alive?” Rena asked.

“Yes. Do you want to see him? I can let you go right back.”

“Is anyone with him?”

“I just came on duty, but if he had a visitor with him, it would be marked on this sheet.”

“Okay.”

Rena didn't want to spend pointless time viewing Baxter as the machines put him through his morning paces, but expectations demanded at least a cameo appearance. When she entered room 3824, it was exactly as she'd left it the previous night. Baxter hadn't moved a millimeter. Even the IV bag seemed to be at the same level. It was a world of suspended animation. Rena didn't linger at Baxter's bedside, but stepped into the small bathroom to inspect her appearance.

There were dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. The knot on the side of her head was hidden by her hair, but it was tender to the slightest touch and had made it hard to sleep on her left side. The scratches on her face were slightly inflamed. She hadn't covered them with makeup. They were her red badges of courage, the proof that she had scrambled heedless of her own safety into the rocky ravine to try to save her husband.

After a final glance at Baxter, Rena returned to the waiting room, where a familiar silhouette was sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper. She stopped and stared in disbelief. It wasn't Ezra Richardson. It was the hideous detective who had told her Baxter was alive. Giles Porter turned, and before Rena could avoid his gaze, their eyes met. The detective stood and casually walked over to her.

“I was able to contact your father-in-law,” he began. “Has he arrived?”

Rena did her best to be civil. “Yes, thanks for calling him. He came in late last night. He'd been out of town on a business trip and had to fly in from Baltimore.”

The detective nodded. When he did so, it gave Rena a clearer view of the scar on the top of his head. It grew redder as it progressed across his skull and then split into smaller, pale tendrils.

Rena felt suddenly dizzy and had to sit down. She closed her eyes for a second.

“Are you okay?” the detective said.

Rena didn't look up. “Uh, very tired.”

The detective sat down beside her. When he did, Rena could hear the clink of metal against the wooden arm of the chair. She didn't know if it was handcuffs or a gun.

“How is your husband this morning?” Porter asked.

“No change,” Rena managed. “He's in a coma and on life support. He may be totally paralyzed.”

The detective shook his head in sympathy. “Do the doctors think he's going to recover?”

“It's fifty-fifty. I haven't talked to them this morning. I was supposed to be here for a meeting.” Rena looked at her watch. “They may be waiting for me in one of the consultation rooms. I'd better be going.”

When Rena stood, the detective did, too, and blocked her path.

“I don't want to hold you up too long,” he said, “but I have a few more questions for you.”

Rena felt her face flush. “I told you everything I know yesterday.”

The detective didn't move out of the way. “It's been my experience that the day after a tragedy people remember more information because the immediate shock has subsided.”

Rena shook her head. “I'm still in shock and having you harass me doesn't help.”

Porter gave her a patient look. “Mrs. Richardson, I'm not trying to harass you, but I have to do my job when there has been a death or serious injury in Mitchell County. If you can answer a few questions, I'll be on my way.”

Rena was tired of the detective's badgering and considered brushing past him, but in the split second she had to decide what to do next, she remembered that Giles Porter was a man. Manipulating men was not new to her. She turned from sour to sweet.

“Okay,” she replied with a tired smile. “I'll talk to you for a few minutes. I'm sorry I've been rude.”

Porter put his hands in his pockets. “No need to apologize. You have every reason to be upset.”

The detective looked past Rena as if searching for the right question. When he spoke, it was on the same topic he'd asked her about before.

“Tell me what happened at the waterfall.”

Rena rewound the memory tapes she'd developed during the hike away from the falls. The tapes were still intact, and her words tracked verbatim what she'd told Porter the previous day. Porter listened impassively. When Rena finished what she thought was a satisfactory answer, he asked another question. Rena's resolve to be sweet began to melt under the heat of the detective's probing. Every answer led to another question. Rena began to fidget.