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"Forest Park" a young woman answered

"Oh, hello" Olivia said nervously, "I'd like to speak to Marge O'Connell"

"Wow, that's amazing" said the woman, who was eating, Olivia thought, chewing gum "This is Marge's third call today and she hasn't gotten called in, oh, six months, anyway."

The woman made a sucking sound, as if draining a drink with a straw.

"And in any event" the woman continued "Mrs. O'Connell can't come to the phone. She isn't well enough to leave her room and adding in addition to her other problems, she can't hear very good either, so a phone call is really out of the question."

"How is she?" Olivia asked

"About the same."

"Oh" Olivia said. She hesitated. "I was just trying to remember..." she added "when it was exactly that Mrs. O' Connell entered the nursing home."

There was a silence at the other end.

"Are you a relative?" the young woman asked warily

Olivia pondered the question, was she a relative? James, for reasons of his own, had chosen not to acknowledge that his mother was alive, and, so for all intents and purposes, she hadn't been-certainly to Olivia or to Julia. And Olivia wasn't at all sure to what end Marge O'Connell should be resurrected. Was it shame that had made James lie about his mother? Had he and his mother and an irreparable falling out?

"No, I'm not a relative," Olivia said "There's going to be a memorial service for her son, and I wanted her to be informed."

"Her son died?"

"Yes."

"What was his name?"

"James. James Dean O'Connell."

"Ok."

"He was killed in a plane crash." Olivia added

"Really? You mean that American Airlines crash?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God, wasn't that awful? What kind of man would commit suicide and take all those innocent people with him?"

Olivia was silent.

"Well this is the first I've heard of Mrs. O'Connell's son being on the plane" the woman said "You want me to try to tell her? I can't promise she'll understand."

"Yes" Olivia said calmly "I think you should try to tell her."

"Maybe I'd better talk to my supervisor first. Well listen, thanks for telling us, and I hope you didn't have any relatives yourself on that flight."

"I did, as a matter of fact."

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry."

"My husband was the pilot." Olivia said

In the days following her meeting with the priest, Father Greg and Olivia spoke often, and twice the priest drove to her house to visit. At the first meeting at the rectory, Elliot had stressed the need for security, and Father Greg had seemed not to think this was beyond his ken, although in this, as it happened, he was overconfident. Repeatedly, Olivia herself could get little farther than the word honor, though Father Greg did not demand much beyond that, and for that she was grateful. When she thought about Father Greg now, it was with a shudder of relief, for if it had not been for his firm hand, the memorial service would have been a fiasco beyond all proportions.

As it was, she and Julia had had to go to the church ahead of time to insure that they would have a clear passage through the streets, which later would become so clogged that nothing, not even an ambulance, could get through. Olivia wore black pants that fit her to the ankle, and a black long sleeve fitted shirt, with a black blazer. Elliot had worn a black suit, his family trailing behind him in black. Kathy had showed up as well, as she wanted to respect the dead. She may have thought the two were having an affair, but that doesn't mean she didn't like Olivia, or her family. She may be divorced now, but she still wanted to support Elliot and his partner. Afterwards, Olivia stood up from the pew and turned to face the back of the church and saw the rows upon rows of pilots and cops in dark suits, pilots from many airlines, most of whom had never met James, and then rows of cops from the one six, other precincts, her squad, even attorneys. She had then walked the length of the aisle, Elliot trailing next o her, his hand on her back, and Julia attached to Olivia's side. She had thought this was possibly the longest walk of her life. For as she walked, she had the distinct sense that when she reached the door of the church and slipped inside the black car that was waiting for her outside, her life with James truly would have ended.

The next day, in the newspapers, there was a photograph of Olivia emerging from Saint Malachi's, she she was surprised not only by the repetition of her image on the front page of several papers in the stand outside nearly every shop, but also by the image itself. Grief transformed a face, she saw, carved hallows and etched lines and loosened muscles, so that the face was almost unrecognizable. In the picture, clutching her daughter's hand for support, Olivia looked dazed and stricken and years older than she was.

She winced now to think of that picture, and of others, the most unfortunate being that of her and Elliot in her house, accused of having an affair and being corrupt. She could hear Elliot shouting at the press about the article. That they would even think of slaughtering a decorated officer of the NYPD.

After that day, she had stopped looking at newspapers or televisions. A visit to Elliot's that was only meant for a few days went beyond a week. Olivia could not enter her own home until it had been cleared of any artifacts that might send her spinning out the door. Only once, had the television been left on at Elliot's, where Olivia soon realized what was happening, she found herself looking at an animated rendition of the events following the explosion of the cockpit of American Airlines flight 270. According to the sequence, the cockpit broke away from the body of the plane, which itself disintegrated into smaller fragments during a second explosion. The animation showed the trajectory of the various parts as they fell into the ocean. According to the reporter, the descent would have taken approximately ninety seconds. Olivia could not move her eyes from the screen, her eyes followed the arc of the small animated cockpit to the water, where it made a little cartoon splash and sank.

Elliot had driven her to her home, where she left him in the kitchen and she headed upstairs to James' office. She was determined to begin the cleaning now. She turned from the window to the door and found Robert, where she was surprised that it wasn't Elliot.

"I called Elliot. He said you guys were here."

He had his hands in the pockets of his sports jacket. He looked different in jeans, his hair was windblown, and though he had just combed it with his fingers.

"I'm not here officially. I have a few days off. I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm glad to see you" she said, surprising herself

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, looking around at the open drawers and messy office.

"I'm trying to avoid having to clean all this up, I just can't bring myself to it. What are you doing here?"

"I have a few days off"

"And?"

He looked away before he looked back at her.

"James didn't spend his last night in the crew compartment" he said

In the room, the air went thick and heavy.

"Where was he?"

"Before the plane was set to land, two of the crew members went to rest, but we do know that James went into the compartment and made two phone calls through the call phone. One to you, and one to a restaurant for a reservation in London, England. Apparently, the Safety Board has known for some time. It will be on the news today. At noon."

Olivia sat down at the chair behind James' desk. She hadn't been home when James had called, and he'd left a message on the machine. Hi hon, he'd said. I'm going to land in a few hours. Did you call Alfred? Talk to you soon.

"I didn't want you to be taken by surprise." he said "I didn't want you to be alone."

Her mind felt pushed, compressed. It wasn't like James, she wanted to tell Robert. That wasn't him at all.

"It wasn't suicide" she felt compelled to say the least, she felt it absolutely

He reached over and put his hand on hers. She felt the instinct to pull away but he held onto her hand. She didn't want to ask, but she had to, and she could see that he was waiting for the question. She sat up slowly.

"The reservation was for how many." she asked as casually as she could

"For two."

She pressed her lips together. It didn't mean anything necessarily she thought. It could of easily been for James and a member of his crew, couldn't it? She saw Robert's gaze flicker to the window and back. Which member of the crew? she wondered

"How did you keep in touch with James when he was away?" Robert asked

"He called me" she said "It was easier that way, because my schedule was always the same. He'd call me through their phone as soon as he got to the crew compartment. If I had to reach him, I would leave a message on his voicemail. We had arranged it that way because I could never be sure when he was trying to get some sleep."

She thought about that arrangement. Had it been her idea or James'? They had done it for so many years, she could no longer remember when it had begun. And it had always seemed a logical system, too practical to question. Odd, she thought, how a fact, seen one way, was one thing. And then, seen from a different angle, was something else entirely. Or perhaps, not so odd.

"Obviously, we can't ask the crew." she said

"No."

Olivia stood up and walked over to the window. She had on an old sweatshirt and a pair of jeans with shot knees that she had been wearing for days. Even her socks weren't clean. She hadn't thought she would see anyone today. With grief, she thought, appearance was the first thing to go. Or was it dignity?

"I can't cry anymore." she said "That part is over."

"Olivia..."

"My God" she said

She put her hands over her eyes. It was impossible not to see, if only for an instant, the horror of the copilot as he watched his captain kill himself, the terrified bewilderment of the passenger in the cabin as they felt the sudden descent.

"When will they release the tape?" she asked "James' tape"

Robert shook his head. " I doubt very much that they ever will." he said "They don't have to, the transcripts are exempt from the Freedom of Information act. When tapes have been released, either what's on them isn't sensitive or else they've been heavily censored."

"So I won't ever have to listen to it?"

"I doubt."

"But then, how will we ever know what happened."

"Thirty separate agencies in three countries are working on this crash." Robert said "Believe me, the union hates the accusation of suicide more than anyone, even the hint of suicide. Every congressman in Washington is calling for stricter psychological testing of pilots, which from the union's point of view is a nightmare. The sooner the case gets resolved, the better."

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