Over the Waters (17 page)

V
alerie looked at her watch. "I probably should get back so you can get ready. Don't you have to leave pretty soon?"

He checked his own watch and scooted away from the table. "Yes, it's getting close to that time. Come, I'll walk you to Hope House."

Valerie scooped up her New Testament and made room for it in the tote bag she'd carried to church. She followed Max to the dining room where they dropped off their pop bottles in the divided wooden crate. They strolled to the gate side by side.

A blanket of depression settled over her when she thought about actually saying goodbye. Haiti wouldn't be the same without Max Jordan. So much of what she would treasure about this time had been shared with Max.

They walked along the worn path between the two orphanages, chatting about the now-familiar sights they saw along the way: Madame Duval's scrawny chickens scratching in the dirt, a tap-tap overloaded with dusty passengers, two bearded goats butting heads near the compound walls.

Max stopped in the road and pointed high up in a coconut tree that grew inside the orphanage grounds. "Look. Somebody's hoping for coconut pie for dessert."

They laughed together as two young boys shimmied one after the other up the tree's scaly trunk, tossing coconuts down behind them before they disappeared behind the cinderblock wall.

"It's a different world, isn't it?" Max said, shaking his head and gazing off into the distance as they strolled up to the gate.

She nodded, her throat tightening unexpectedly at the realization that this was the beginning of their goodbyes. She swallowed hard and forced the words over the lump in her throat. "I'm glad we got a chance to...to say goodbye before you left."

"Me, too," Max said. He turned to look at her. "I just want to say thank you. For everything."

She looked at him askance. "I don't know what you're thanking
me
for."

"Then I'll tell you." He stopped outside the gate, leaning on one arm against the whitewashed wall.

Valerie copied him, leaning to face him. Something in his eyes made her even more curious about what he would say.

"Thank you for helping me understand my son better."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Max cut her off with an upheld hand. "And thank you for helping me see the world through different eyes. Thank you for always seeing life through those rose-colored glasses of yours. And thank you for...for just being you. You are a very special young lady, Valerie Austin."

"You were doing great until you got to the 'young lady' part," she said, thoroughly embarrassed by his litany of gratitude, and smarting a bit at the thought of him seeing her as "young." Yet his words touched her deeply at the same time.

"I'm serious, Valerie. I don't think you realize what this trip has meant to me. You, and Pastor Phil and Samantha--everybody--you've all had so much to do with it. But you especially. I--"

"Max--" She didn't know how to respond, squirming under his studied gaze. She finally looked at the ground. "I have a feeling you'll...find your way no matter what. Maybe in spite of me." She smiled, remembering all the conversations with him when she'd put both feet in her mouth.

"Oh, no. Don't play your part down. Aren't you the one who's so big on us all needing each other? God putting just the right people in our lives and all that?" His smile was teasing and sweet, almost shy.

"Okay, okay. I'll take some of the credit."

"That's more like it." His smile faded and his tone turned serious. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure."

"When you come to Chicago to visit your sister, I'd like to take you out to dinner. Do you think that could be arranged?"

"I...I'd like that very much, Max."

He shifted his weight. "I want to give you something before I go. I hope you won't think it too...Well, here--" He reached into his pants pocket, drew out his cell phone and handed it to her.

She questioned him with knitted brows. "What's this?"

"I want you to have it. I realize you're only here a few more days, but I hate to think of you being here without a way to call out...call your sister, or to ring for help or...whatever." He shrugged, then took her hand and cradled the phone inside her palm.

She looked down at the tiny cell phone. It was sleek and high-tech--obviously far more expensive than her clunky phone. "But--won't you need this, Max?"

He shook his head. "I have another one. Here...I can show you how to use it." He came beside her and bent his head over the keypad. "The number comes up when you turn it on, so you can tell your friends where to call. Oh, and I programmed it with a new number--so you won't be getting all my calls from the office. I'd hate for you to have to deal with a woman in Botox withdrawal. Believe me, it's not a pretty sight."

She giggled, loving his ability to laugh at himself, even at his occupation. And glad that he felt safe enough to do so with her. "But...you're sure you don't need this?"

"I'm positive. The contract is good for a year. If you don't want it after that, you can give it to someone else or just trash it or--"

"Trash it? I wouldn't do that!" Good grief, was the man so rich that he thought nothing of throwing away a perfectly good cell phone? "Maybe I can give it back when...if I see you in Chicago?"

"Oh, no. It's yours to keep. Do whatever you want with it. I just didn't like the thought of you not being able to call out if you needed to."

His gift of the cell phone gave her the courage to do what she'd been considering ever since Max had brought her luggage.

She reached into her tote and pulled out the slim New Testament. "I...I'd like to give you this. It's nowhere near as valuable as your phone, but--" She stopped short, realizing what she'd just said.

She suddenly no longer cared if she offended him. "No...I take that back." This might be her last chance to talk to Max about the only thing that really mattered. She took a deep breath. "This is a cheap edition, and it's only half of the Bible--the New Testament. Our church got a bunch of them on sale and sent them down with me. They were in my suitcase--one of the ones you rescued at the airport."

"Yeah, yeah, you already thanked me for that, remember?"

She gave him a flimsy smile, but she wasn't going to let him change the subject with a joke. She studied him, trying to gauge how he was receiving her offering.

He waited, his smile gone, his expression unreadable.

She forged ahead, not caring now if he completely rejected her. "The paper this is printed on might not be worth much, Max, but the words inside are the most valuable thing I could possibly give you. I know this sounds a little radical, probably a little bit crazy to an educated man like you, but--at the risk of sounding preachy--this book contains the answers to every question you could ever ask about life. There's nothing I could offer you that would be worth more."

She clamped her mouth shut, shooting a prayer heavenward, waiting for his response with apprehension.

He took the book, opened it--politely, the way a teenager might open a gift of poetry from a dotty great-aunt.

"Thank you, Valerie." He looked at her, and his eyes softened.

"I appreciate the gift. I know how much this book means to you." He closed the cover and slapped the volume gently on his hand. He gave her a crooked smile. "Maybe I'll even read it sometime."

"I hope you will, Max. I really do."

He shifted from one foot to the other, seeming suddenly uncomfortable in her presence. "Well...I guess I'd better go. You be careful...and have a safe trip home."

"I will."

He turned to reach for the bell on the gate, then started, as if he'd forgotten something. "Oh...I should tell you..." He motioned toward the cell phone in her hand. "I programmed my phone number into the memory. Don't feel obligated to use it." He flashed a shy grin. "But I'd sure like it if you did."

She returned his smile, but didn't trust her voice. It was just the right note to end on.

Max rang the bell and a minute later Henri came running. "Good afternoon, Dr. Jordan, Miss Valerie. Your lunch was good, no?"

"Good."

"It was good." They answered at the same time.

Henri stood at a distance, waiting for Valerie to enter.

"Well...Good luck." Max held out a businesslike hand.

She reached to meet his handshake, but he surprised her by pulling her into an embrace.

"Thanks again, Valerie. For everything."

She patted his back, feeling unsettled in his arms--and safe there at the same time. "Goodbye, Max. God bless you."

He released her, gave one last little wave, and took off at a jog down the path toward Madame Duval's.

As he closed the gate and secured the lock, Henri chattered away at Valerie in his broken English. But she didn't hear his words.

She turned her back on Henri and cupped her hand into a visor. Squinting against the sun's glare--and against the tears that formed prisms of the light--she watched Max Jordan walk out of her life.

M
ax loosened the collar of his polo shirt and pulled the damp knit fabric away from his chest. Stretching his legs as far as he could in the cramped seat, he looked out the low window of the 757. They'd been sitting on the tarmac for forty-five minutes, most of it with the air-conditioning turned off. As far as he could tell from the activity on the ground beneath the wing, there was some kind of mechanical problem.

He unfastened another button and propped one leg on the empty seat beside him. Thank goodness the flight wasn't full. Somewhere behind him, a colicky baby started squalling again and Max found his old temper flaring. Was that new sense of peacefulness he'd finally gotten a grasp on so tenuous?

He put a hand on the seat back in front of him, ready to go ask the flight attendant to let him off the plane. But before he could pull himself to standing, the captain's lackadaisical voice came over the PA system.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the delay. We're working to resolve a minor mechanical problem. The ground crew tells me it's going to be about another ten minutes, so we will be taking off shortly and we'll get the air turned on just as soon as possible. In the meantime, feel free to get up and move about the cabin if you'd like."

He looked at his watch. Nine-eighteen. They were already an hour behind schedule. There was no way he'd catch his connecting flight in Miami. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the Chicago office.

He punched in Dori's extension and she answered in her perky receptionist's voice. "Good morning. Jordan Center for Aesthetic Surgery. How may I help you?"

"Hey, Dori."

"Dr. Jordan! How was your trip?"

"I'm not home yet," he said, unable to suppress a sigh.

"Oh? What's going on?"

"I don't know for sure. We're still sitting on the tarmac in Port-au-Prince."

"You're kidding?"

"I wish I was. Listen, would you call the travel agency and get me a later flight out of Miami? We're taking off in a minute here, but I'm not going to make my connection. See if American has something late afternoon. And nonstop."

"You got it."

"And could you have a car waiting?"

"Sure thing. I'll leave a message on your cell if I don't catch you before you take off."

"Thanks, Dori. Everything going okay there?"

"Running like a top. But you've got your work cut out for you when you get into the office Wednesday morning."

"Well, that's good, I guess."

Her polite laughter rang in his ear as he said goodbye and punched the End button on his phone. He settled back into his seat and buckled the seat belt around his waist again.

He'd barely thought about work for the last week. He pictured his plush office and mentally conjured what a typical busy day would look like. A peculiar apathy roosted inside him. Somehow, he couldn't find much enthusiasm for returning to work. Ten days ago, he hadn't thought he could get back to his life in Chicago quickly enough.

He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Twenty minutes later the roar of the engines jarred him awake and within seconds, they were finally airborne. He reached up to get the air vent flowing. It hissed loudly, but produced a minimal stream of air. Sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of his face. Finally the cool air kicked in.

He took the newspaper out of the seat pocket in front of him and shook it out. Yesterday's
Herald.
He hadn't seen an American newspaper in almost two weeks, though he'd perused the top stories online in Madame Duval's office.

He skimmed the
Herald'
s headlines, then looked out the window. The sky was dotted with fluffy cumulus clouds, and beneath them he could still make out the whitecaps on the ocean. But the landmass that comprised Haiti and the Dominican Republic had disappeared from sight. The plane was suspended over a choppy sea. If he thought about that concept for too long, he knew his blood pressure would climb right along with the plane's altitude.

As the cabin cooled down and the engine emitted a familiar, modern drone, Max tried to switch gears. He felt as if he'd been gone from civilization for a hundred years. He let his daydreams conjure images of the dual shower massage and heated towel racks that awaited him in the master bath at his house on the lake in Winnetka.

He began to plan what he would have for dinner. He couldn't decide whether to go by Magnum's for a steak, or have the driver pick up takeout that he could eat on the drive home. Even a double cheeseburger from a fast-food joint would be palatable after the steady diet of mostly rice, beans and vegetables he'd existed on in Brizjanti. He straightened in the seat and patted his belly. He hadn't weighed himself since leaving home, but he felt sure he'd dropped a few pounds on this trip.

The hum of the plane's engine was punctuated by a series of mechanical coughs. Max leaned forward in his seat and looked out the window. Nothing seemed amiss.

Abruptly, the plane lurched, before losing enough altitude to leave Max's stomach behind. He sucked in a deep breath and glanced up at the flight attendant. She was still seated in the jump seat, appearing quite unconcerned. Okay. That was usually a good sign.

He tried turning his attention back to his newspaper. Before he'd read one paragraph, the aircraft shuddered and the cabin lights flickered, then dimmed. A murmur went up from the passengers. The flight attendant's eyebrows arched slightly, but she calmly turned to poke her head through the gap in the curtain concealing the cockpit.

Max felt the pressure build in his ears, as though they'd made a sudden descent. The noise level declined noticeably--or was it just that his ears were so clogged?

A piercing mechanical wail started from the vicinity of the forward lavatory. The smoke alarm? Another one blared from the lavatory at the back of the plane. A series of random call bells added to the cacophony.

Max leaned to look out his window. Behind him, he could see steady movement in the engine on the left side of the plane. He was no aviation mechanic, but nothing seemed amiss.

The captain's voice came over the public address system. Max tried to take comfort in the steady cadence of the deep male timbre.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some difficulties with our pressurization system. We are working quickly to correct the problem. In the meantime, we ask that all passengers return their seats to the upright position and remain in your seats with your seat belts securely fastened.

We are experiencing some changes in the air pressure in the cabin, so uh--"

For several moments all the passengers seemed to hold a collective breath, as if doing so might keep the plane airborne.

The alarms and call bells continued to sound. Max tried to breathe slowly, but the air seemed thin, every breath an effort. He worked his jaw, trying to relieve the pressure in his ears.

The two flight attendants moved through the aisles, helping passengers with seat backs and seat belts and offering words of reassurance. As one of the attendants passed by Max he reached out and touched her arm.

"Yes?"

"I'm...a doctor. Is there anything I can do?"

She looked blankly around the plane, as if wondering to whom he was speaking. Finally she said. "No. Not right now. Just remain in your seat. But...thank you for letting me know. Hopefully there won't be any need for your services." She gave him a wooden smile.

It did not console him. Though she was doing a good job of hiding it, he could see the woman was shaken. He admired her strength.

He tried to think what he should do to prepare for the worst. His business affairs were in order. With Joshua gone, he had no heirs. His will included a nice provision for Janie--one he suspected she would decline. The rest of his estate was portioned out to various charitable organizations. He had nothing to live for. But he could only think of one thing: he wasn't ready to die.

He had a crazy urge to pray. After all his posturing and spouting about God not caring about individual men, was his mind betraying his true belief in a moment when he believed he might indeed die? Or was it wishful thinking?

For the past two weeks, he'd lived among people who talked to God on a daily basis, who believed the man upstairs was listening, whether they got a response or not.

He remembered the Bible Valerie had given him before he left. He'd been genuinely touched by her gift. Not because the book had any meaning for him, but because he knew it had meaning for her. He'd accepted her gift with no intention of ever cracking the cover. But for some reason he hadn't stopped to analyze, he'd removed it from his suitcase in the airport and tucked it into his briefcase.

Now, he reached under the seat in front of him. He slid the book from the side pocket and rested it on his lap.

The smoke detectors continued to blare in his ears and the cabin lights flickered in time with the haywire call bells. But the plane had steadied and the light pouring through the windows was bright enough to read by.

Max remembered Valerie's joking comment about sometimes, in moments of desperation, reading the Bible by what she called the "flip method."

This moment certainly qualified as one of desperation. He gave a mirthless snort as he centered the spine of the book on his lap and let the pages fall open at will.

The heading at the top of the pages read Romans. Nothing significant there. Well, if he was going to turn religious in the face of death, he might as well turn superstitious, too. He closed his eyes and circled a pointed finger over the page. He jabbed a spot on the page, opened his eyes and began to read at the paragraph where his finger landed. He inhaled the words like air.

Until the airplane lurched again and the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling.

Almost immediately, the public address system sprang to life again. It was not the captain's voice, but a formal, recorded message. "This is an emergency," the voice said. "Please remain calm and in your seats with your seat belts securely fastened..."

He turned to look behind him, then in front, his gaze darting frantically from one end of the plane to the other. People were putting the flimsy masks in place over their faces. Several women wailed or cried softly.

He fumbled with the mask that swayed eerily in front of him. It had been probably thirty years since he'd really paid attention to the instructions for using such a device. He clapped the cup over his mouth, then grabbed the instruction card from the pocket in front of him and tried to make sense of it. His vision blurred and he felt genuine panic climbing his throat. His ears throbbed as the pressure grew intense.

The recording cut off and the public address system clicked, then crackled back to life. The captain's voice came again. This time it wavered with undeniable fear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an emergency situation...."