Running Away With You (Running #3) (2 page)

Cynthia is holding it together, but only barely.  “I just got off the phone with Lucas.  He’s a mess,” she tells me.

“Has he heard anything?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she explains.  “We didn’t talk long.  We both want to keep our phone lines open in case a call comes in.”  She looks away and takes a deep, cleansing breath. 

I introduce Evan to the Deegans and they escort us into the kitchen.  Nancy is making a pot of coffee.  It’s going to be a long night.

We take a seat around the table and everyone places their phones on the table.  Every once in a while, someone checks his or her phone to make sure it’s still turned on and fully charged. 

Evan breaks the painful silence first.  “You know, the first time I met Auggie, he threatened me?”

Everyone’s eyes grow wide.  “I’m sorry, Mac, did you just say that my son James threatened you?  Physically?” Glenn repeats.

“I did.  Juliette was making us dinner and Auggie pulled me aside and told me that I had better be a straight-up guy with his girl or he would have to kick my ass from here to Timbuktu.”  He chuckles as he retells it.

“I remember that night,” I tell him.  “I thought you two were off talking about sports or something.”

“My brother?  Talking about sports?” Christina blurts out.  “Doubtful.”

“He loved you, Juliette,” Nancy answers.

“Loves.  He
loves
Juliette, Mom,” Christina corrects her.

All that does is make Nancy and Cynthia cry harder.

“Hey, Cyn – remember that time when Augs was about eight years old and he was trying to scare us by jumping through one of our sliding glass doors, except that the door was still closed?”

Cynthia finishes the story. “And instead of leaping through it and surprising us, he slammed into the glass at full force and bounced backward, landing on his ass.”

Glenn has a story of his own.  “Do you girls remember when we signed James up for driving lessons?  The instructor told me James was doing really well but that he needed to start stopping sooner when he approached a red light. When I asked James about the lesson, he told me, ‘You're not going to believe this, Dad, but every time I go to stop, the car just stops by itself.’  He didn't realize the instructor was pushing the brake on the passenger side.”  We all laugh a little at the thought.

Evan asks, “Juliette, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the story of how you and Auggie first met.  Do you remember?”

“I do,” I tell him.  “It was the first day of kindergarten.  Auggie was crying because he didn’t want his mother to leave, so the teacher assigned me to be his very special friend.  I held his hand and I told him I would stay with him all day until his mother came back.  He stopped crying.  Just like that.”  A few tears fall from the corners of my eyes, so I grab a tissue to dab them away.  “Some years I held his hand. Other years, he held mine.”

We cry and reminisce for the next few hours.  I hear family stories I’ve never heard before. 

Glenn tells tales of trying to get Auggie to play baseball or soccer in elementary school, then finally giving up and letting him take piano lessons.

Nancy shares her fondest memories of shopping with Auggie.  How they spent hours together in the mall and he helped her choose curtains, pillows, and pictures for the walls.

But my favorite stories come from his twin sisters.  For the first time, they tell us how they used to play dress-up with Auggie when Nancy wasn’t around.  They put him in tutus and princess gowns and convinced him to have tea parties with them.  I doubt they had to try very hard.  Nancy had no idea.

When the house phone rings, everyone freezes, stock still.  Nancy jumps from her seat and rushes to answer it.  We are all on the edges of our seats, listening carefully.  “No, Dolores, I haven’t heard anything yet.  Listen, I have to go.  I have to keep the line open.”

I look at Cynthia.  “Mom’s sister, Aunt Dolores,” she explains.

I nod.  Everyone is worried.  Not just our little group.  I think about Reese and wonder what she’s doing.  I wonder if anyone is comforting her right now.  Derek is there with her.  Surely he’s keeping close.

I send her a text just to let her know we’re still in the dark.  Maybe no news is good news.  I can’t help but think that if he were on the passenger list, the authorities would most likely have called by now. 

Right?

Or are these the stories we’re going to be telling at his memorial service?

Silence once again takes over as Nancy walks around, refilling coffee mugs.  Everyone is thinking the same thing I am.  I can see it in their eyes.  The more time passes, the less likely it is we’re going to hear from him.

If Auggie were here, I could just picture him Googling the statistics on all sorts of things.  How likely it is to survive a helicopter crash; how long it takes to notify family of an accident; causes of helicopter crashes in Alaska.  He would have his iPad in his hand and he would be working hard to find some sort of factual information he could share to make everyone feel a little more hopeful. 

But he’s not here.

Again, the house phone rings,  but this time Glenn gets up to answer it.  We all take a deep breath and wait to hear something.  Anything.

Glenn’s jaw drops and he says nothing.  Not a word. 

“Dad?” Cynthia asks.  “Who is it?”

He hands the phone to his wife. “Nancy, it’s your son, and he wants to talk to you.”

Live to Tell the Tale

T
hree months later...

There are no other cars on the road as we drive north.  It’s early, several hours before the sun will rise.  Despite the darkness, I can see the fullness of the autumn trees that line the parkway.  The full moon is still visible, hanging low as it descends beneath the tree line and out of sight.  “Where are we going?” I ask.

“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.”  There is a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  “All I can tell you is that we will be crossing off number twelve from my bucket list today.”

It has been three months since surviving the house fire that nearly claimed my life.  Once a month, we celebrate Alive Day, and it’s a day I have come to cherish.  Last month, I planned a trip to the Bronx Zoo.  It was my turn to pick a bucket list activity, and I selected number seventeen – ride a camel.  Of course, when I wrote it, I imagined an exotic trip to a faraway land, perhaps recreating the scenes from the Sex and the City movie where Carrie and the girls take an extravagant trip to Abu Dhabi.  But the sensible part of me thought better of it, and instead I settled for the Bronx.

I look around as we drive farther north, and I’m stumped.  I thought that perhaps we were heading toward Manhattan to see the sunrise from atop the new One World Trade Center or maybe ring the bell to open the New York Stock Exchange, but we’re moving away from the coast and toward the Delaware Water Gap. 

My mind races with the possibilities.  I’m a beach girl and I’ve never been to this part of New Jersey before.  I know this area is the perfect spot for tubing, rafting, kayaking, and canoeing, but since it’s November, I eliminate those as likely options.  Of course, there’s a chance that he’s planned a daylong hike along the Appalachian Trail.  But then I remind myself that today is about our bucket lists, and I know it’s got to be something on a much bigger scale. 

My stomach begins to rumble rather loudly, reminding me that I’ve been awake for several hours but we haven’t eaten a thing.  “Well, whatever you have planned, I hope it includes breakfast.  I’m starving.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all taken care of.”

I look around and we’re in the middle of farm country – nothing but trees and cultivated farmland for miles and miles.  The navigation system tells us to make the next turn, but all I see is a one-lane dirt path.  It in no way qualifies as a road in my book, but we obediently execute the directions called out to us by the confident and knowledgeable voice.

We pull up to a farmhouse with a sign that proudly states,
Welcome to Skyship Air Ventures
.  There’s an empty field behind the farmhouse and I think I’ve solved the mystery.  “Are we going for a balloon ride?” I ask hopefully.

“Very good, Jepetto.  We’re going to see the sun rise above the Appalachian Mountains.  After we land, we’ll have a Champagne breakfast.”  Auggie pats my hand gently, and I cannot help but smile.  It’s his Alive Day, too, and I’m more than grateful to be able to share it with him.

“I’m so glad it’s just the two of us,” I tell him honestly.  “Sometimes when we talk about our experiences, I feel like we’re just depressing the hell out of everyone else.”  Part of our Alive Day ritual is to talk about the darkest, most frightening part of our ordeals.  Each time we talk about it, it becomes less personal.  It feels more like I’m telling a story, and less like I’m reliving the most traumatic event of my life.  With each telling, some of its power over me is lost.  I’m nearly able to tell the entire story without shedding a tear. 

I try to make my memory of the fire more about my inner strength and less about my victimization.  We all have episodes in our lives when we feel like we are helpless against the circumstances surrounding us and unable to control events as they unfold.  But it’s how we handle these situations that reveal our true character.  I discovered that I am a fighter, unable to surrender, unwilling to give up, and undeterred in my desire to survive and thrive.

After we check in, Auggie and I are led to an open field where a small army is busily unraveling what appears to be miles of colorful nylon.  Tethered to the nylon is a large wicker basket, no larger than a Ferris wheel kart. 

Fortunately, Auggie’s found one of the few hot air balloons with bench seating in the gondola, but once we’re in the air, there’s no way I can sit down.  I want to see it all, from every possible angle. 

Our pilot, Greg, is a wonderful tour guide.  He entertains us with factual information about the balloon, points out geographical landmarks, and tells tales of his most memorable balloon adventures.  “So what brings you two here today?” he asks as he masterfully controls the burners that keep us afloat.

Auggie looks at me and smiles before he responds.  “It’s kind of our anniversary,” he explains.  “We call it our Alive Day.  We celebrate by choosing one item from our bucket list, and today it was my choice.”

“Alive Day, huh?” Greg replies thoughtfully.  “Did you two serve together or something?”

We both laugh aloud. “Um, no.  I have certain qualities that the army doesn’t ... appreciate,” he explains.  “Our Alive Day celebration marks the day we both survived a near-death experience.  For me, it was the day I got bumped from a doomed helicopter ride.  For my friend here,” Auggie motions toward me, “it marks the day she survived a horrific house fire.”

“So you’re telling me you were supposed to be on a helicopter that crashed?” 

Auggie nods.  “Everyone onboard died a fiery death.  There wasn’t a single survivor.  Unless you count me, that is.”

“Wow.  You’re a very lucky man.  I remember a few months back, there was a helicopter crash in Alaska.  Some big hotshot reporter for that Celebrity News Network died.”

“That was the girl who took my seat.  Her name was Laci Keilani.  Laci was scheduled to interview the stars of C.O.P.S., filming on a glacier in Alaska.  The network paid the pilot extra to put her on the next flight out. She took my seat. Since I was the last to buy my ticket, I was the first one kicked off.” 

“My fiancé is one of the actors and I was on my way to the set.”  Auggie pauses for a moment before continuing.  Greg is hanging on every word.  “At first I was mad.  The next flight wouldn’t be until the following day, and I’d waited a long time to see him.  I was so mad, in fact, that I threw my phone against the wall and it shattered into pieces.  I don’t usually react so violently, but you can’t imagine how upset I was.”

I jump in at this point.  “We had no way of getting in touch with him,” I tell Greg.  “We all thought he’d died.  It was all over the news – nonstop coverage for hours.  They kept showing the wreckage live on television.  I could barely breathe.  I thought I’d lost my best friend.”

Auggie wraps his arms around me and holds me tight for a moment.  “Everyone back home knew about the crash before I did.  I was sitting in a bar feeling sorry for myself when I saw it on the news.  I had no idea.  While I sat there drinking and wallowing in self-pity, everyone I love and care about was mourning for me.  I can’t stand the thought of it.  That’s what bothers me the most.”

“How did you call your friends and family without a phone?” Greg asks Auggie.

“The bartender let me use his phone to call my parents. Tears me apart to think about them sitting around for hours without knowing I was okay, thinking about what might have happened and preparing for the worst.”

Memories of that awful night cover me like a thick blanket, weighing me down and blocking out everything around me.  But I shake it from me and remind myself that he’s here and neither of us has ever been happier.

Greg notices the heaviness in the air among us, and expertly changes the topic to the view below us.  We are now gliding above the Appalachian Mountains and the view is spectacular.  Even though it’s mid-November, it’s quite warm in the balloon, no doubt thanks to the open flame shooting from the propane burner.  The sunrise is positively breathtaking as we float tranquilly alongside the endless mountain chain, over towns, farmhouses, fields, lakes, streams, and treetops, enjoying the stunning sights.  The vibrantly colored autumn canopy is a vision of beauty as we soar above trees, viewing the panoramic vistas of the Kittatinny Mountain painted in rich colors of plum, crimson, and gold.