Golden Girl(65)

The plane hit weather somewhere south of Boston—Plymouth, maybe. Carson always tried to pick landmarks out on the ground to mark their progress, but all she could tell before they hit the squall was that they were somewhere over Route 3. The plane bounced around and the rain sounded like gravel hitting the window. They were “in the cotton ball”—all Carson could see out the window was dense, dark cloud. The woman sitting behind the pilot reached for her barf bag. Carson was unconcerned. It was kind of fun, actually, like an amusement-park ride.

Sure enough, the plane emerged from the clouds into clear sky, the ground once more visible beneath them. Carson saw the skyline of Boston in the distance. Everyone relaxed.

The pilot turned east, out over the water.

Carson was jolted awake when the plane slammed down so hard that Carson thought they must have landed—but no, they were still in the air, back in the cotton ball. The turbulence was unlike any Carson had ever experienced. It felt like the plane was a cup of dice God was shaking. Carson’s bag flew forward, the man to her left lost his file folders, the woman in the front seat puked again. The plane tipped sideways and went into a nosedive. They were plummeting and bouncing; Carson watched the pilot fight the wheel to raise the nose.

The plane was going down. They were going to die. She reached forward and, almost involuntarily, grabbed Zach’s hand.

“It’s okay,” he said. “He’ll get us down. And if I see him get in real trouble, I’ll assist. I can land this plane.”

Carson was only somewhat comforted by this. She bent her head forward against Zach’s seat back and let a stream of profanities fly. She thought of her mother, her father, her brother, and her poor sister, who had just miscarried for the second time. They would never recover. But that was only part of Carson’s anxiety. The real meat of her fear was that she was so young and would never get to do so many of the things she wanted to—live alone for three weeks in the city, eat at Pammy’s, get her bartending certificate so she could be a boss at the Oystercatcher the following summer. She wanted to travel to London at Christmastime, ride a motorbike across Thailand, see Serena Williams play in the Australian Open. She wanted to earn enough money to buy a little speedboat that she could take over to Coatue whenever she wanted. She had just turned twenty-one and had a lifetime of drinks to legally buy. She wanted to fall in love. Getting married and having children and sending out an annual Christmas card with her family’s names printed in script across the bottom held zero appeal, but she liked the idea that someday she would find a man to be both friend and lover. So far, her men had been either one or the other.

The plane tilted so far to the left that Carson was afraid it would start to spin.

Zach said, “We’ve caught the edge of a funnel cloud.”

“A tornado?” Carson said. She could feel how unstable the air was around them. She was holding on to Zach’s fingers so tightly that she feared she might break them, and yet she could not let go. His wedding ring, made from a dark metal, pressed into her skin.

The man who had lost his file folders was saying a prayer in Spanish.

“Fix this,” Carson said to Zach. “Can you?”

The plane was rumbling like a truck over a bumpy road and bouncing not only up and down but sideways as well. The woman up front was crying. The pilot punched buttons and moved levers; Carson could see his lips moving. He was talking to the control tower in Boston.

“I think he’s got it,” Zach said—but just then the plane dropped and everyone was bounced out of his or her seat. Carson’s head grazed the ceiling. She started crying, too, and praying. She saw her life end in fiery ruins or in a drowning when they crashed into the ocean. Please God, let this end. I’ll go back to school, I’ll study, I’ll contribute to society, I’ll be a good person, I’ll win citizenship awards.

Suddenly the runway appeared in front of them, and the plane, although still wobbly, headed right for it. The plane lowered. They were going to land.

“He’s got it,” Zach said. And the plane touched down smoothly after all that.

Carson released Zach’s hand. All of her muscles were coiled so tightly that relief couldn’t flow like it should. But then, yes—good energy flooded into her bloodstream and she felt dizzy with it. The tension in her neck eased. She was alive. They were taxiing to their gate. She was going to put her feet on planet Earth; her plans would resume. But make no mistake—Carson was changed. She would never take anything for granted again.

The pilot removed his headset. “Sorry about the bumps,” he said.

“Sorry about the bumps?” Carson whispered to Zach.

When they climbed the stairs to the terminal, Zach said, “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

“Hell yeah,” Carson said.

“I would suggest walking down to Legal and doing a shot, but it’ll be packed. What time is your class?”

“Starts tomorrow,” Carson said. “I’m free today.”

“Let’s have a drink at my hotel,” Zach said. “My treat.”

Carson thought to decline. She kind of wanted to get to Savannah’s; she could go to any one of dozens of bars in Back Bay by herself. But she remembered her vow to be a contributing citizen and she wasn’t sure what she would have done if Zach hadn’t been there to calm her.