Freefall Read online

  “Thank you.” I felt like a child being given her milk. I took a reluctant sip. It was too sweet, like drinking a milkshake. I set the mug down on the table, placed my hands on the worn top. “How the hell hard is it to find a plane? Aren’t there satellites they could use? Helicopters?” I tried to drive the idea of Ally out there, scared and alone and hurt, from my head. That picture wouldn’t help. Facts would help. I needed to establish the facts.

  “Everything that can be done is being done,” he said. “I promise.”

  My mind raced. Jim had said it had been just her and another person on the plane. “Who was the man she was with? The pilot. What’s his name?”

  He shifted in his seat. “They’re still trying to notify his next of kin.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little officer wiping down the counter with a dish towel. A wave of rage coursed through me. “But you know? You know and you’re not telling me.”

  “Honestly, Maggie, right now you know just as much as I do.”

  I got up, took the cloth out of the little officer’s hand, and started wiping at a bit of countertop. The dough was slowly deflating on its wooden board. “I should keep kneading,” I muttered to myself. The thought of throwing out the dough struck me suddenly as the most horrible waste. I refloured my hands and the board and began pushing the dough away from me with the heels of my hands and then folding it back. Away and back. Away and back. Away and back.

  Jim stood up and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Why don’t you go lie down? Shannon here will get you a cup of coffee, maybe—Shannon, can you put the coffee maker on?”

  “I don’t want to lie down and I don’t want a cup of coffee, thank you anyway, Shannon. I want to finish kneading this dough and get it proving or else it won’t rise in the oven.”

  Jim’s hands tightened and I heard him let out a sigh. “Maggie, leave the damn dough. Just— Just calm down for a minute. Just take a breath.”

  I wheeled on him. “My little girl is out there in the middle of God knows where and you’re telling me to calm down?”

  Jim looked at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “but getting yourself worked up like this isn’t going to help anything.”

  I was silent.

  He picked up his hat and held it in both hands. “I’m going to call the doctor and see if he can prescribe something to help you sleep. I’ll ask Linda to pick it up from the drugstore on her way over.”

  “I’m not crazy, Jim. My daughter was in a plane crash. I’m sorry my reaction is making you uncomfortable.” A look of hurt crossed his face that I immediately regretted. I tried again. “You’ve told Linda?”

  “I came here as soon as I heard, but I thought you’d want—” He sighed. “She’ll want to help, and if you don’t mind me saying so, you need a good friend around you right now.”

  In that moment, I didn’t want to see a single person on this earth who wasn’t my daughter, but I knew there was no point in trying to fight off Linda Quinn’s goodwill. I nodded. “Tell her to come by when she’s got a minute.”

  “I’ll go by the house now,” he said, gathering his keys from the table. He couldn’t wait to leave, the relief was painted across his face. “She’ll be over real soon. In the meantime, Shannon here will stay with you.”

  I looked at the little officer, who was now fingering the hem of the tablecloth. She shot me a nervous smile. Everything about her—her round, lash-fringed eyes, her hair pulled into a perky little ponytail, her smooth, lineless skin—felt like an affront. She was so young. Younger than Ally. What right did she have to be there? “I’ll be fine on my own,” I said coolly.

  Jim gripped the brim of his hat a little more tightly. “I’m sure you would, but I’d be more comfortable knowing someone was here with you until Linda gets here. You’ve had an awful shock, and I would just—” He looked at me pleadingly. “Please, for my peace of mind.”

  I nodded. “Fine.” I dropped the dough into an oiled glass bowl, covered it with a tea towel, and walked into the pantry, where I set it on a shelf to rise. I stood there for a minute, staring up at the neat rows of canned corn and olive oil and dried pasta, and placed my head against the cool wall. I could hear the two of them whispering about me on the other side of the door. I had never felt more helpless in my life.

  I took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen. Jim pulled me in for an awkward hug. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear anything. Anything you need, don’t hesitate.”

  “You just find my girl.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see you soon. Shannon, you take good care of her.”

  Shannon nodded and we both listened to the door shut behind him. Her cheeks were pink. She wore a claddagh on the ring finger of her right hand with the tip of the heart pointed out. I wanted to hit her. “Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?” she asked, eyes wide with concern. “Or maybe some more coffee?”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine, really. You can go whenever you want. I’m sure you have better things to be doing with your time.” I didn’t know how much longer I could look at her innocent little face without screaming.

  “Chief Quinn ordered me to stay, so that’s what I’m going to do.” The firmness of her voice took me by surprise, and my face must have showed it. “It’s only my first month,” she added apologetically. “I don’t want to get in trouble with the boss.”

  “I see.” I turned and braced myself against the sink. I practiced breathing. It felt important that I didn’t let her see me cry. Pull it together, Margaret. For the love of God, pull it together. I don’t know how long I stood there. A minute? Ten?

  Then she spoke. “You know what?”

  I turned to her. I could tell by her face that she had seen it, the fissures.

  “I’ll wait just outside the door, but if you need anything, shout. When Mrs. Quinn comes I’ll be on my way, I promise.”

  It was a kindness, and I took it. “That’s fine,” I said.

  She stepped outside, leaving the door ajar with an apologetic “Regulations, ma’am.”

  I had read enough books to know that this first moment when I was alone with my thoughts was the moment I was supposed to sink to my knees and wail a primal scream. I sat there and stared into nothing and waited for the phone to ring. It dawned on me then that I might be waiting forever.

  Allison

  The flat plain stretches out in front of me, an endless carpet of scrub grass and wildflowers. Fat bees drone lazily as they make their way from stem to stem.

  In the distance, the mountain looms large. No matter how far I walk, it doesn’t seem to get any closer. A cloud of gnats whine around my head.

  I think of the view from the plane, a patchwork of green intercepted by the occasional expanse of rock and snow. I try to imagine how I look from above, up there in the blue, cloudless sky.

  These mountains are the land of gods and giants. Their sole purpose is to remind you that you’re nothing but a speck, that your time on earth is short and fleeting, and that these rocks were here eons before you were born and will continue to stand long after you’ve turned to dust.

  For a single second, I feel something other than terror.

  I feel relief.

  It doesn’t last long. I know what’s coming for me.

  “Cover your tracks. If he finds out, he’ll come after you.” His eyes had bored into mine as he said it. “They all will. You have no idea how powerful they are. Do you understand?” I’d nodded. “Listen to me very carefully. You need to be prepared to run. If you think for a second that he’s on to you, you need to disappear.”

  The phone. Shit: I still have the phone. I pull it out of my bag and throw it onto the ground. My heel comes down on it once, twice, until the plastic casing comes away. My fingers scramble to find the chip. I throw the remains of the phone in one direction and the chip in the other. I watch it wink in the sunlight as it spins into the brush.

  Maggie

  �
��A Maine native is missing following a plane crash. Allison Carpenter, thirty-one, was last seen boarding a single-engine aircraft at Midway airport in Chicago. The plane sent out a distress signal several hours later, and is believed to have crashed somewhere in the Colorado Rockies. Rescuers are searching for signs of the wreckage. The pilot, believed to be operating the plane under a private license, has not been identified. Coming up next, Doctor Alan Phillips will be here to answer our questions on the virus currently sweeping through Bolivia, and will answer the question we’ve all been asking: Will it make its way here?”

  I reached over and switched off the radio. After all these years of watching other people’s lives dragged out across the news, their tragedies turned into spectacle and sport, I remembered the pity I’d felt and also the relief in knowing it wasn’t me or any of mine . . . and now it was.

  Linda would be here any minute, I thought. I could hear the rumble of her car, rounding the corner a quarter of a mile away. She’d bought it off a former Mary Kay rep a decade earlier. Jim hated it, couldn’t wait for it to give up the ghost so he could get her into a nice, sensible Lincoln, something that befitted the wife of the chief of police. But the pink Cadillac, like Linda, proved indomitable. It was still kicking, with an engine so loud and a transmission so shot you could hear her from halfway across Maine. The front door swung open and she appeared in the doorway, blond hair still damp from the shower.

  “Maggie.”

  It was enough. I felt myself crack open. The howl I’d kept pressed down inside my rib cage came out. She was on me in a second, holding me in her arms. I don’t know how long I sobbed for, but as my tears tapered off, I heard an engine start and a car pull out of the driveway. The little officer was true to her word.

  I opened my eyes and Linda crouched in front of me. “What do you need me to do?” She wiped my tears away with the backs of her hands.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.” I looked up at her. “Where is she, Linda? Where is she?” All I could see was Ally lying among twisted shards of metal. I wondered if I was going to be sick.

  “Shhh. They’ll find her, they’ll find her.” We sat like that for a while, Linda stroking my hair. Eventually I could breathe again.

  “Now,” said Linda, “I brought drugs to help you sleep and drugs to take the edge off things when you’re awake.” She rummaged around in her enormous handbag and pulled out two orange pill bottles. “These are the nighttime ones,” she said, shaking one of the bottles. “Ambien, they’ll knock you right out—and these are for the daytime.” She leaned in. “Valium,” she whispered, as though someone might overhear, “left over from when Jim had his slipped disk.”

  I took them without looking and placed them on the counter behind me, where I knew they’d remain untouched. I had never been one for taking medicine, not even Advil for a headache. Charles used to tease me about it, ask if I’d converted to Seventh-Day Adventism without him knowing. I just didn’t like the feeling that I wasn’t in control of my own body.

  “What else can I get for you? Have you eaten? I wrapped up half a banana loaf I made earlier if you want, or I could make you a sandwich?”

  The thought of food made my stomach turn. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Thank you.”

  She patted the back of my hand. “I’ll make us both some tea.” She got up and put the kettle on the burner.

  “You don’t have to stay,” I said, my back still turned to her. “I’m honestly fine on my own, not that anyone seems to think so.” I was suddenly embarrassed by letting her see me cry like that. She was my best friend, sure, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t like anyone to see me cry. Not even Charles, when he was still here.

  “What are you talking about?” she tutted. “Why would I be anyplace other than here?”

  I listened to the sounds of her making tea and stared at a crack in the wall. When had that appeared? I felt the urge to get up and fix it right there and then, to trudge down to the basement for a tub of Spackle and a putty knife and fill it in. It would be good to do something productive. Anything.

  She set a mug of tea in front of me and sat down at the table with her own. We sipped in silence for a few minutes. Barney leaped onto the table and nudged my cheek with his nose, and I stroked his long orange fur. He stayed for a moment, purring happily, before jumping down and snuffling at his empty food dish. I got to my feet and bent to refill his bowl.

  “Did you know she was traveling this weekend?” Linda asked.

  I shook my head.

  “What do you think she was doing in Chicago? Do you think she had business there?”

  I felt my shoulders stiffen. “I don’t know.”

  “And on a private plane, too. I don’t know many people who travel on private planes. Maybe it was owned by a client?”

  “Linda, please. I told you I don’t know.” The anger in my voice cut through the room.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. She stared down at her tea. “I don’t know what got into me, asking you all those questions. Of course you don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  It was true, I didn’t want to talk about it, but it was more than that. I didn’t know the answers to any of Linda’s questions because I didn’t know anything about Ally’s life.

  What I knew, but Linda didn’t, was that I hadn’t seen or spoken to my daughter in more than two years.

  The Man stood on the bluff and gazed out at the mountains. The afternoon sun was strong, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes.

  The mountainside was smeared with twisted metal, and the air was heavy with the smell of gasoline. He saw the body resting inside the cabin, at peace if it weren’t for its lack of a face. The seat next to it was empty, the seat belt coiled on the leather like a snake.

  He walked the perimeter, pulled a scrap of fabric from a branch, scuffed the clawed earth with his heel. There wasn’t much left, but there was enough for him to know.

  He took out his phone, dialed.

  —It’s me. I’m here. He’s dead.

  He looked behind him. One body in the plane. One bag on the ground, open, contents scattered. A pair of silver high heels, spikes pointing up like steeples. No sign of her.

  —I’m sure.

  —No, no sign.

  —Yes sir. I will.

  He lit a cigarette, tossed the match into the cracked fuel tank. Acrid smoke filled his lungs, and he began to cough.

  One last look at the wreckage, now starting to smoke.

  Time to go.

  Allison

  I hike through the day without a break. The grass merges into a field of flat rock that reminds me of a photograph of the moon’s surface, pockmarked and barren. I’m pursued by the thrumming buzz of greenbottles, which swarm and bite every time I stop to wipe the sweat off my face with the edge of my T-shirt. The sun beats down relentlessly. I ration the water in tiny sips, letting each one dissolve on my tongue. I scratch at the bites on my arms until I draw blood. The wound on my leg catches on the fabric of my leggings. The air is so still that all I can hear is the steady creak of the leather straps on my bag as it shifts on my shoulders and the crunch of gravel underfoot. Adrenaline courses through me in waves, electrifying me one moment and depleting me the next. I walk. I walk. I walk.

  By the time I make it across the moonscape, the sun is setting. I want desperately to make a run for the woods in front of me, to use the last of my energy in a frenetic burst toward the trees and shade and the illusion of safety, but I force myself to maintain the same steady, plodding pace I’ve walked all day. I don’t have enough food or water for sudden bursts of energy. I barely have enough for plodding.

  The grass sprouts up again in brownish-green patches at first and then grows lusher. Soon there are the trees, huge towering beasts that arc over me and block out what remains of the sun’s heat. The air feels fresh now, alive, and I breathe it in.

  My vision narrows and blurs. There is a faint humming coming from the cente
r of my skull, and I wonder if it’s audible to the outside world or localized in my own head. I stare at birds and insects and the occasional scurrying hare for clues. Can you hear it? I want to ask, but there’s no one here to listen to the question, let alone the hum. If a tree falls . . .

  A swoon comes over me.

  His eyelashes. Each thick black strand curved, the thin membrane of his eyelid pulsing in sleep. I would lie next to him at night and marvel at those eyelashes, as long as a newborn’s and swooped up to the sky. What are you dreaming about? I would whisper. Are you dreaming about me? The waves below beat time with the rise and fall of his breath, and the question would roll in and out of me, rhythmic and steady and always unanswered.

  Are you dreaming about me?

  My foot catches on a branch and I stumble.

  I can’t afford to remember. Not yet.

  On and on into the forest, until the trees circle around me. I find a clear stretch of ground and lay out the canopy cover, spread the blanket over me, and am asleep before the last of the light dies out. I don’t dream. The blankness is a gift.

  Maggie

  Linda finally left at dinnertime. Once the light began to fade, she started looking out the window in a nervous way—she didn’t like driving at night, her cataracts played up—and I told her to go on home.

  The silence that settled in when she left was a blessing at first, but after a few hours of the ticking of the clock and the pad of Barney’s paws on the stone floor, I started feeling claustrophobic. Everything, absolutely everything in the house, reminded me of Ally. This was where she had placed her muddy soccer cleats. That was the corner of the hutch that had held her bronzed baby shoes. That was the mug she had given Charles for Father’s Day, unused these past two years now. There was the coat closet and in that closet was a scarf she’d knitted me, inexpertly, her first year out of college, when she was low on money but too proud to take a little extra from us. There, through the glass of the back door, was the flagstone patio where she’d split her chin when she was four and I had held her, sobbing, against me, the blood trickling through my fingers as I’d whispered into her chestnut hair, Breathe. Breathe. She was a brave little thing and stopped crying almost immediately, but I kept whispering it. I had needed the reminder, too.