In the Unlikely Event (41 page)

For some crazy reason Daisy's gift made him cry. Maybe because it meant somebody did know him, after all.

By Henry Ammerman

JUNE 23—It is with some sadness that I write this, my last story for the Daily Post. I have been privileged over the past six months to report for you on the terrible series of airplane tragedies that has brought this city so much pain and unwanted national attention. As I leave the place of my birth for a job in a new one, the editors have invited me to offer some final thoughts.

The investigations of the Civil Aeronautics Board have now been completed. The results will be annoying and maybe disbelieved by those who saw sinister forces conspiring to bring about the three crashes in rapid-fire succession. Each plane failed for a different reason, and none of them indicate any pattern of sabotage or nefarious activity.

Dec. 16—The Miami Airlines non-scheduled C-46 that crashed in the Elizabeth River suffered engine failure, apparently from poor maintenance, which led to a catastrophic fire. The pilots had not been adequately trained to shut off fuel to a damaged engine.

Jan. 22—American Airlines Flight 6780, a Convair 240, was an incoming flight in poor weather conditions. The weather could have caused carburetor ice. While the plane had heaters to preclude this, it is possible the heaters were not activated. But without definite evidence, the CAB was mystified as to the probable cause of the crash.

Feb. 11—National Airlines Flight 101, a four-engine DC-6, suffered a sudden and unexpected reversal of its No. 3 propeller. Attempting to correct this, the pilot mistakenly feathered (shut off and locked) his other right-side propeller. With both the right-hand engines out, the CAB concluded “the aircraft did not maintain altitude and settled rapidly.”

In both crash number one and number three there was a confluence of mechanical problems and mistaken action by the pilot. Perhaps if the Miami Airlines pilot had shut off fuel to the failed engine sooner, or if the pilot of the National plane had feathered the correct engine, they could
have recovered altitude and made it back to the airport. Crash number two is more problematic but there remains a possibility that pilot action to overcome icing might have made a difference.

The one lesson we can surely learn from these events is that airplanes are complex machines, operating in a precarious environment—the air—where any emergency, be it from mechanical failure, human error or weather hazard, is fraught with peril. The risk is especially great when it occurs at low altitude, giving pilots little opportunity to take corrective action.

As if to underscore this point, just after midnight on Feb. 11, at almost the same time as the final doomed Elizabeth plane was going down, a Pan American airliner from Idlewild Airport lost an engine just after takeoff. But that pilot was free to maneuver over the Atlantic Ocean, unconcerned with multistory buildings or thousands at risk on the ground, and returned to the field in safety.

Every effort must be taken to safeguard heavily inhabited areas from takeoffs and landings. Let us hope the Port Authority will take this lesson to heart before reopening Newark Airport.

34

Miri

She was sure they would drive.
See the U.S.A. in Your Chevrolet
, even if their Chevrolet was an Oldsmobile. But she was wrong. They were going to fly.
Off we go into the wild blue yonder…
she couldn't keep songs about flying out of her head. And especially the ending of
that
song—
live in fame or go down in flame
—not that she'd lived in
fame
but still…she'd seen what it was like to go down in flame. And she didn't want any part of it. That was putting it mildly.

“I really don't want to fly,” she told Rusty.

Rusty said, “I understand.”

“If you understand, why would you make me do it?”

“I don't want you to spend your life avoiding travel. I want you to see the world.”

“I'll drive.”

“You can't drive across the ocean.”

“I'll take a boat.”

“Everyone will be flying, Miri.”

“That doesn't mean I have to be like everyone else.”

“No, but you don't want your fears to limit your possibilities.”

“That sounds like something Dr. O would say, not you.”

“But it makes sense, doesn't it?”

Miri shrugged. Did it? “Christina and Jack are driving to Las Vegas.”

“Are you saying you want to go with them? Because I don't think that would be appropriate.”

Before her world fell apart, Miri might have begged to go with them, Mason surely would have been along. She hadn't seen Christina or Jack since the breakup. She hated that word.
Breakup
. It reminded her of Henry's description of the third crash—
Like a swollen cream puff that had broken apart
. She felt as if she, too, had broken apart.

“I still don't see why we can't drive.”

“The sooner we get there, the sooner we can establish residency.” Rusty was losing patience, Miri could tell. “It takes six weeks before you can get a divorce. And we can't get married until the divorce is final.”

Married
. She sometimes forgot that her mother was going to marry Dr. O. He would be her stepfather. He'd be there for dinner at night, asking about her day, like a real father. But what about
his
kids? How would that make them feel? Sometimes, she didn't blame Natalie for hating him.

Christina

It didn't hit her until they made it to Las Vegas in Jack's truck, how far she was from home. She cried for two days when she saw the dusty road stop of a desert town with a couple of motels and flashy signs spelling out
CASINO
or
BAR
, surrounded by brown and red mountains, mostly untouched by vegetation. She expected green, not brown, and
summer flowers, not cacti. She couldn't get out of bed. She wouldn't eat. Jack enlisted Daisy's help. Daisy had arrived before them to start setting up the new office. She'd been there a week when Jack and Christina finally made it. Daisy came to the cheap motel where Christina and Jack were staying until they found an apartment to rent, urged her out of bed, helped her into the shower and chose a sundress for her to wear to lunch at the Flamingo, a swell hotel with a pool, owned by some of Dr. O's friends.

“What have I done?” Christina asked Daisy, once they were seated with menus in front of them. She let Daisy order for both of them. “What am I doing here?”

“I'd say you're homesick, sweetie, but that will pass. Remember, you can always go back. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to buy an open ticket on a plane from here to New York and keep it in my office drawer. It's yours, anytime you want it.” Daisy reached across the table and touched Christina's hand.

“Thank you, Daisy. I don't know what I'd do without you.” She picked up her burger and took a bite. She'd forgotten how hungry she was. “Um…good,” she said.

Daisy laughed and took a bite of hers. “It is, isn't it?”

After lunch Daisy said, “I have something to show you.” They drove in Daisy's new white Ford convertible to a long, low building, just out of town. “Welcome to the Las Vegas Medical Arts Building,” Daisy said. Inside, she walked Christina through the hall to a large, almost finished suite of offices. “This will be your new home-away-from-home. The dental offices of Dr. Arthur Alan Osner and Associates.”

Christina was overwhelmed by the scope of the project, by the newness of everything.

“We're interviewing dentists and dental assistants every day,” Daisy told her. “All trained at the best dental schools in the country. General dentistry, orthodontia, oral surgery, periodontics, all in one section of the building. It's going to be a big operation. The biggest and best in the area. And you, Christina Demetrious, are my second in command.”

“McKittrick,” Christina said.

“What?” Daisy asked.

“Christina McKittrick. I'm married. Remember?”

“Of course,” Daisy said. “Christina McKittrick.”

There was no office furniture yet. But there were two card tables set up, each holding a typewriter. “This will be my station,” Daisy said, leaning against one of the card tables. “And the other will be yours.”

“I have my own station?” Christina asked. “My own typewriter?”

“You do.”

“Can I try it?”

Daisy passed her a sheet of paper. Christina removed the cover from the new Smith-Corona and rolled in the paper. She stood as she typed
CHRISTINA MCKITTRICK. MRS. JACK MCKITTRICK. CHRISTINA AND JACK MCKITTRICK OF LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
. She wasn't alone, she reminded herself. She had Jack. She had Daisy. And Dr. O and his new family would be here soon. They would be
her
new family. Hers and Jack's. It would be okay. Never mind that Mama had fallen to her knees, wailing, when Christina left. Even though she'd promised to come home for Christmas, just like a college student, Mama cried, “No…Christina…don't go…” It took her father to get her mother to stop screaming. To get her back into the house.

“I hope you're happy,” Athena said, the new baby in her arms. “I doubt Mama will live to see Christmas.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you ever hear of dying of a broken heart?”

“Mama's not going to die.”

“But if she does, it's on your head, Christina.” Athena turned and disappeared inside.

When Baba came back, he hugged her. “I don't know what you're doing but I wish you
Nase kala! S'agapo
. I'll always love you. You'll always be my daughter.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered into his neck. “Take care of Mama.”

“Mama will be all right.”

He pressed five crisp twenty-dollar bills into her hand. She didn't want to take them but he insisted. She longed to tell him she and Jack were married. But she couldn't.

Corinne

Thank god for Cousin Tewky, that's all she had to say. When he heard her on the phone crying and carrying on about Steve, about Arthur, about the whole family falling apart, Tewky flew in and took charge, presenting her with a tantalizing idea.

Come home to Birmingham
. He had his eye on a charming house with a garden just a block from his own. Three bedrooms, plus a maid's, impeccably furnished, for rent with an option to buy. He'd already put a hold on it. He'd scouted out the best private schools for the girls. There was nothing to be done about Steve at the moment. Be proud of him, going off to serve his country. He's young. He's strong. He's smart. He'll go to college when he's out in a few years. Let Fern go with Arthur for the summer. Send Natalie to the dance camp she's begging to attend. If she loses weight the camp will be instructed to call immediately. If need be we'll bring in a doctor to evaluate the situation.

When she'd asked, “And then what?” Tewky had taken her hand. “Then we'll take action. There are rest homes in Birmingham, too. But I'm betting she'll be fine. Give yourself a chance to recuperate, Corinne. When Fern and Natalie get back from summer vacation everything will be set up. They'll be happy because their mother will be happy.”

It was true, she realized. She hadn't been happy in a long time.

“You'll be the belle of the ball, dearest cousin,” Tewky promised. “And I will be your dapper escort. Plus, I'm a very good dancer.”

And just like that she stopped crying. Just like that she was Tewky's little cousin Corinne. He would take care of her and everything else. The house on Shelley Avenue would stay as it was. Tewky would find someone to live in and watch over it. If she wanted to sell in a year or two, they'd sell. For now, no decision had to be made.
No
decision
. Such a relief. She felt very tired but the idea of going home to Birmingham filled her with hope.