The phone rang twice before she answered. "Hello?"
"I can't see you today," I said.
"What? Why not?" She sounded annoyed.
"I have to go to Boston to help my dad with some Foundation stuff," I told her, trying my best to convey my own annoyance.
"John, it's almost Christmas," she protested.
"I'll be home at noon on Christmas Eve," I reassured her. "I promise."
She sighed. "When are you leaving?"
"I'm on my way to the airport right now. I'll call you when I land."
"OK," she said. "I love you."
"Love you too. And Abby? Give Bry a kiss for me, OK?"
***********************************
"So when am I gonna get to meet this little girl of yours?" Dad asked.
I grinned. We had just finished our last board meeting and were walking through Boston to Dad's apartment. "I dunno," I said. "Depends when you come to Chicago."
There was a pause. "How's Abby?" he asked.
"She's good," I said.
Dad grinned. "When are you gonna get your act together and marry that girl?"
"I'm working on it," I said. And it was true. I was working on it. I was trying to come up with a really orginal proposal. Something that hadn't been done, something amazing, something unforgettable. Something she wouldn't be able to refuse.
*******************************
"Don't you have a plane to catch?"
I opened my eyes to see my father standing over me. The clock on the night stand said 9:03. My plane was at 10:00. I sat bolt up right. "Shit!"
"I'll call you a cab," Dad said as he left the room.
********************************
Forty-five minutes later I was running as fast as I could through the airport. I couldn't miss this plane. It was the last one until the day after Christmas.
As I rounded a corner, my gate came into view. I slammed my boarding pass onto counter and breathlessly asked, "Am I too late?"
*******************************
"God, that just looks horrible," Susan said. We were sitting on my couch watching the news. There had been some sort of plane crash.
"It's official," the reporter was saying. "There are no survivors from flight 546, from Logan Airport in Boston to O'Hare in Chicago. We will have a passenger list momentarily.
My heart froze. Boston to Chicago? It couldn't possibly be . . .there was no way . . . Carter hadn't been on that plane . . . had he?
Susan's voice drew me back to reality. "Abby?" I looked at her. "Was that. . .?" She couldn't even finish the question. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to ask the question I didn't want to hear. "Was that Carter's plane?" she asked me.
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "He didn't give me any of his flight info." I stared at the screen. Rescue workers were scurrying around the wreckage. I didn't know why they were bothering if there were no survivors.
"Abbott, Mary. Ashcroft, Bill. Barkley, Jessica." The reporter had started reading out the passenger list. Thank God he was at the beginning of the alphabet. Susan grabbed my hands.
"Mommy?" Bry had woken up from her afternoon nap. I shushed her.
"Bernard, Mark. Bush, Kelly. Calvin, Thomas. Carter, John. . ."
I stopped listening. He was dead. After everything, John died in a fucking plane crash.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" Bry asked. That was when I realized that tears were streaming down my face. "Mommy, why are you crying?" Bry sounded scared.
I looked at her. I didn't know what to say. How do you tell your four-year-old daughter that her father is dead?
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"I can't see you today," I said.
"What? Why not?" She sounded annoyed.
"I have to go to Boston to help my dad with some Foundation stuff," I told her, trying my best to convey my own annoyance.
"John, it's almost Christmas," she protested.
"I'll be home at noon on Christmas Eve," I reassured her. "I promise."
She sighed. "When are you leaving?"
"I'm on my way to the airport right now. I'll call you when I land."
"OK," she said. "I love you."
"Love you too. And Abby? Give Bry a kiss for me, OK?"
***********************************
"So when am I gonna get to meet this little girl of yours?" Dad asked.
I grinned. We had just finished our last board meeting and were walking through Boston to Dad's apartment. "I dunno," I said. "Depends when you come to Chicago."
There was a pause. "How's Abby?" he asked.
"She's good," I said.
Dad grinned. "When are you gonna get your act together and marry that girl?"
"I'm working on it," I said. And it was true. I was working on it. I was trying to come up with a really orginal proposal. Something that hadn't been done, something amazing, something unforgettable. Something she wouldn't be able to refuse.
*******************************
"Don't you have a plane to catch?"
I opened my eyes to see my father standing over me. The clock on the night stand said 9:03. My plane was at 10:00. I sat bolt up right. "Shit!"
"I'll call you a cab," Dad said as he left the room.
********************************
Forty-five minutes later I was running as fast as I could through the airport. I couldn't miss this plane. It was the last one until the day after Christmas.
As I rounded a corner, my gate came into view. I slammed my boarding pass onto counter and breathlessly asked, "Am I too late?"
*******************************
"God, that just looks horrible," Susan said. We were sitting on my couch watching the news. There had been some sort of plane crash.
"It's official," the reporter was saying. "There are no survivors from flight 546, from Logan Airport in Boston to O'Hare in Chicago. We will have a passenger list momentarily.
My heart froze. Boston to Chicago? It couldn't possibly be . . .there was no way . . . Carter hadn't been on that plane . . . had he?
Susan's voice drew me back to reality. "Abby?" I looked at her. "Was that. . .?" She couldn't even finish the question. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to ask the question I didn't want to hear. "Was that Carter's plane?" she asked me.
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "He didn't give me any of his flight info." I stared at the screen. Rescue workers were scurrying around the wreckage. I didn't know why they were bothering if there were no survivors.
"Abbott, Mary. Ashcroft, Bill. Barkley, Jessica." The reporter had started reading out the passenger list. Thank God he was at the beginning of the alphabet. Susan grabbed my hands.
"Mommy?" Bry had woken up from her afternoon nap. I shushed her.
"Bernard, Mark. Bush, Kelly. Calvin, Thomas. Carter, John. . ."
I stopped listening. He was dead. After everything, John died in a fucking plane crash.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" Bry asked. That was when I realized that tears were streaming down my face. "Mommy, why are you crying?" Bry sounded scared.
I looked at her. I didn't know what to say. How do you tell your four-year-old daughter that her father is dead?
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