Come Fly With Me (3 page)

"I'm
sorry
to
hear
about
your
father.
We're
all
stunned,"
Scott,
her
father's
long-time
pilot
said
to
Allison
as
she
walked
up
the
short
ramp
to
board
the
RossAir
IV.
She
nodded
and
sat
down
in
a
forward-facing
camel-colored
leather
seat.
How
ironic
that
she
hated
to
fly
and
her
father
owned
one
of
the
premier
luxury-jet
companies
in
the
United
States.
She
remembered
how
she
had
sat
bare-knuckled
on
her
first
short
hop
to
Florida
when
she
was
ten
years
old.

"Allison,
get
up
and
run
around
the
cabin
like
your
brother,"
her
father
boomed.

She
shook
her
head
vigorously.

"You're
not
afraid,
are
you?
That
just
won't
do.
How
will
you
run
the
company
when
you're
older?"

"Me?
Let
Jeremy
do
it."

"Jeremy?
You're
the
strong
one."

Ella,
the
flight
attendant,
stepped
forward
and
spoke
in
soothing
tones
as
she
offered
Allison
chamomile
tea
and
words
of
comfort.
She
accepted
both
gratefully.
As
they
headed
toward
Stewart
Airport
in
upstate
New
York,
Allison
shored
up
her
nerve
for
the
upcoming
scene
at
her
father’s
bedside.
She
felt
numb,
actually,
and
as
she
thought
about
it,
she
didn’t
think
it
was
just
shock
taking
effect.
It’s
as
if
I
expected
this
to
happen—tragedy
seems
to
follow
me.

It
was
well
after
three
AM
when
she
ran
from
the
limo
that
had
taken
her
through
the
rain-slicked
streets
toward
All
Saints
Hospital
in
Nyack.
She
pushed
open
the
door
to
the
room
and
saw
her
mother,
Jeremy,
Uncle
Martin,
and…
Jesus?
Her
father
had
never
been
an
observant
Jew,
but
the
sight
of
the
cross
hanging
over
his
bed
during
the
last
moments
of
his
life
on
this
earth
struck
her
as
odd.
She
was
glad
her
Zeidy
was
not
alive
to
see
this.
The
others
seemed
oblivious.
They
usually
were.

Allison
rushed
forward
and
put
her
arm
around
her
mother
who
turned
toward
her
and
sobbed
deeply
into
her
shoulder
as
if
she'd
been
holding
it
together
until
her
arrival.
After
a
short
while,
her
mother
pulled
back,
glassy-eyed
but
more
composed—her
beautiful,
blonde
hair,
always
so
neatly
coiffed,
standing
up
comically
in
spots.
Allison
stared
at
the
stray
hairs
intently,
anything
was
better
than
looking
at
the
still
figure
in
the
bed.

Finally,
she
did
turn
towards
the
bed,
where
her
once
vital
father
lay,
bruised
and
lifeless.
And
soulless—as
if
his
inner
self
had
already
departed
to
fulfill
a
higher
purpose,
shedding
the
trappings
of
physicality.
Her
father
had
been
distinguished
looking,
with
a
full
head
of
graying
hair
and
a
still
fit
body.
He
ran
daily
and
said
he
came
up
with
his
best
thoughts
on
his
early
morning
runs.
His
energy
had
been
in
his
sharp
blue
eyes
that
missed
nothing.
Allison
inherited
those
eyes
and
his
keen
intellect
along
with
it.
She
took
a
deep
breath;
she
realized
she
could
summon
up
no
emotion
for
the
man
in
the
bed
masquerading
as
her
father.

“Good-bye,
Daddy.
Give
my
love
to
Uncle
Joey.
Please
forgive
me.”
She
ran
out
into
the
hallway
with
Jeremy
right
behind
her.

“You’re
done?
One
minute
and
you
said
good-bye?
Go
stand
by
his
bed
for
a
few
minutes,”
Jeremy
urged
her.

“No,
I
can’t.”

“If
you’re
sure,
then
I’ll
get
the
nurse.”

“Don’t
you
have
to
consult
with
a
Rabbi
or
something?
I
always
thought
we
had
very
strict
laws
about
preserving
life.”

“Yeah,
I
already
spoke
to
someone
about
it.
It’s
all
being
done
by
the
book,
so
to
speak,”
he
said
grimly.
“My
hands
are
shaking.
I
mean,
geez,
I
deal
with
death
every
day..."

"I
know,"
Allison
whispered.

"But
when
it
happens
to
someone
you
love."
He
ran
his
fingers
through
his
short
hair
and
over
his
eyes.
He
took
a
long,
shuddering
breath
and
walked
down
the
hall
to
summon
the
nurse.

Their
mother
came
out
a
short
time
later,
and
Allison
walked
over
to
hug
her
again.
There
was
nothing
to
say,
and
they
stood
in
the
embrace
for
a
few
minutes.