Saint Louis

November 2011

The water was freezing, shocking the air from my lungs as we started the frantic swim for shore. At least I thought the shore was this way. The fog wasn’t exactly doing us any favors, and neither was the current, dragging us downstream with the rest of the passengers as we fought our way toward the bank.

The reactions around us varied from stoic to downright hysterical, and I did what always worked for me when shit went down—narrowed my focus to one goal. Right now, that goal was keeping Isabeau alive.

“You okay?” I asked Izzy, only losing sight of her between the waves of the Missouri as the plane submerged fully behind us, a rush of air bubbling up from the fuselage.

Holy shit, that just happened.

“Never swam in shoes before,” she answered with a teeth-chattering grunt and more of a grimace than a smile.

“It’s a day for firsts.” I swam closer to her, my heart thundering as we fought for every foot against the current.

Off in the distance, I heard someone cry for help, and another passenger answered. Hopefully the rafts could pick up more of us, especially the ones who couldn’t swim, but I was grateful that the people around us all seemed to be forging forward.

Some of my panic eased when the shore came into view through the fog, dense with trees. “It’s right there,” I told Izzy, keeping up with her, stroke for steady stroke.

“Thank God.” Her face contorted and she gasped, but she kept pushing forward.

“What’s wrong?” My chest tightened as the vision in my left eye went red and blurry. A quick swipe of my forehead came away bloody. Awesome. “Other than the whole plane-crash scenario?” She forced a sarcastic, staccato smile through the shivers. “I’m okay, just some pain in my ribs.

I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re the one bleeding.”

And she was the one with the blown pupils. I’d been knocked around enough to know the signs of a concussion.

“The blood is probably just bluster. Let’s get you to shore.” My stomach twisted, and I got that sinking feeling that sometimes came over me, the one that told me to pay attention, that there was more to whatever was happening on the surface of any given situation. I’d always had good instincts. They were the only reason I’d survived nineteen years under my father’s roof.

Ahead of us, a few of the passengers dragged others up the bank to safety. The father and son were upstream, almost there now, but I couldn’t see the mother and baby.

Just focus on Izzy.

My feet found purchase on the rocky bank, and I immediately swept my arm across Izzy’s back, pulling her against me until she could reach the bottom. It was an act of God that we’d found a portion of the river with a sloped shore. Then again, just about everything about today was miraculous.

Careful of her ribs, I pulled us up the embankment, and then the two- foot rise to the wooded area. Where the hell were we?

“Help!” a kid screamed from behind us.

I looked over my shoulder to see one of the women rushing forward from shore to pull a kid in an inflatable yellow life jacket.

“Thank you.” Izzy shot me a watery smile as I sat her at the base of the nearest tree. “I can help,” she argued, her hand cradling the left side of her rib cage.

I hit my knees beside her, praying the bluish tinge to her lips was just cold. “Can I see?” I asked, reaching for her vest.

She nodded, water droplets streaming down her face as her head fell back against the tree.

With numb fingers, I somehow managed to unzip her vest and lift the side of her shirt. Then I muttered a curse. “There’s no blood, but it’s a hell of a contusion. I wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the ribs.”

“That would explain the pain. I think I did something to my shoulder too.” She brushed her hand over my forehead and into my hair. “You have a nasty cut just beneath your hairline.”

“That’s okay. It will just increase my appeal. Chicks dig scars, you know.” I studied her blown pupils, which were consuming way too much of those beautiful brown eyes.

“Help!” someone else shouted. Izzy lurched forward.

“Nope. You stay right here.” I leveled my best stare on her. “I mean it.

Right. Here. I’ll be right back.”

“Just . . . don’t die.” She fell back against the tree.

“Not planning on it.” I jumped down the bank and started helping pull others up, and I couldn’t help but sigh in absolute relief when the mom and baby made it to shore. It took all of ten minutes to get everyone out of the water, with the exception of the rafts that had floated farther downstream.

By the time I made my way through the stumbling, crying crowd of passengers and got back to Izzy, my muscles shook with cold and the aftereffects of the adrenaline.

“See?” She lifted her right hand and gifted me with a wan, shivering smile. “Still right where you left me.”

“Good. I’m not in any condition to chase you.” I sat down beside her and pulled her under my arm, tucking her uninjured side against me. The visibility was improving, and I could even see halfway across the river now. “Let’s get you warm.”

“We survived a plane crash.” She leaned in, resting her head in that sweet spot right above my heart.

The beat of my pulse changed, slowing, steadying.

“We survived a plane crash,” I repeated, cupping the side of her face with my hand and bending my head toward hers. “Now all we have to do is wait for rescue.”

“We can’t be that far from the airport. They’ll be here soon.”

“Yeah.” Other passengers sat down near us, all in various states of shock from crying softly, to crying loudly, to . . . not crying at all, just staring straight ahead.

“Just think. If this was a book, we’d be in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, or the lone survivors, forced to share an abandoned cabin.”

A laugh rumbled up through my chest, despite . . . well, everything. “Don’t forget, it would be conveniently stocked with all the supplies we’d need.”

What the hell was wrong with me? I’d just taken my first plane ride and survived my first plane crash, and yet here I was, making jokes with a woman I’d just met, curled up with her like we’d known each other for years.

She snorted when she laughed, which made me grin, but then she tensed, and my smile faded. “I don’t . . . I don’t feel well.”

I dropped my hand from her face to her neck, finding her pulse, and my brow furrowed. It was going a mile a minute. Not that I had any clue what to do with that knowledge, but I figured it couldn’t be good, not with the pale skin, concussion, and general plane-crash issues. “Just hold steady. They’ll be here any minute.” Sirens sounded in the distance. “See? I bet that’s them. Let’s just hope there’s a road around here.”

“Are you tired?” she asked, leaning into me. “I’m just really tired.”

“You need to stay awake.” Fear dripped down my spine, colder than my soaked clothing. What were more of those icebreaker-question things? I had to keep her talking. “If you had to choose between popcorn and M&M’s, which would it be?”

“What?”

“Popcorn or M&M’s?” I repeated. “Both.”

Interesting. “If you could live in any state, which one would it be?” Her head bobbed.

“Izzy. Which state?” “Maine.”

“Maine?” I searched for the source of the sirens, but no luck.

“No one in my family lives there,” she mumbled. “No expectations.”

I looked over my shoulder and around the tree as the sirens approached. “They found us.”

A police car came to a stop, and the officer jumped out, speaking into his radio. “We’re getting help here, folks! Ambulance is four minutes out!”

The father of the little boy rushed forward to the cop, his son’s arm bent at an unnatural angle, and several others took his lead.

That feeling hit again, like an anchor on my chest. “Izzy, what’s your blood type?”

“O positive,” she muttered. “Is that your idea of a pickup line?” Her words slurred.

“I wish,” I whispered. Not that a guy like me would’ve ever had a chance with a girl like her. Even her babbling reeked of class. “What about allergies?”

“What?”

“What are you allergic to?”

Another set of sirens sounded like they were coming closer. “Shellfish. What about you?”

“I’m not allergic to anything,” I answered. “Is that it? Just shellfish?” “Oh, um. Penicillin.” She tilted her head back and looked up at me

with glazed eyes. “Would you like my medical history too?”

“Yes.” I nodded, and my heart started to race the closer the sirens sounded.

She looked at me like I was the one slurring my words. “I broke my arm once when I was seven. But that was a trampoline thing, and Serena—” Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Izzy!” I shook her gently. “Wake up.” Her eyes flew open.

“Tell me more about Serena.” I stood, forcing my legs to work, and lifted Izzy into my arms as the first of two ambulances arrived. “What’s she like?”

“Perfect.” She sighed, her head flopping against my chest. “She’s beautiful, and smart, and always knows what to say.”

“Must run in the family.” I didn’t even bother with the first ambulance, which was already getting mobbed, and headed straight for the second.

“Nate?”

“Hmm?” I stood right in the middle of whatever path there was, forcing the ambulance to stop.

“Don’t leave me, okay?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper over the blaring sirens.

“I won’t.” The paramedics killed the sirens and climbed out of the rig, and I locked gazes with one of them. “I need you to help her!”

She went limp in my arms, her eyes closing.

“Bring her back!” The paramedic jogged to the back of the rig as the doors burst open and someone brought down a stretcher.

“Put her here,” the paramedic ordered, and I laid Izzy on the white sheets. “What’s the problem?” She jumped in, pushing me out of the way to start her checks.

“She said her ribs hurt.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “And she has a huge bruise there, and her pulse is—”

“Shit,” the paramedic whispered, taking her pulse as another one slapped a blood pressure cuff on her.

“—racing,” I finished. “She started slurring her words, and . . .” Damn it, what else had she said? “Her shoulder hurt. Her left shoulder.”

“She’s hypotensive,” one of the paramedics noted, and the two shared a look that couldn’t be considered good under any circumstance. “We have to go.”

“What’s her name?” one asked me as two of them strapped Izzy to the gurney and loaded her into the ambulance.

“Izzy,” I answered, fighting every urge to push someone aside so I could climb in next to her. “Isabeau . . .” What was it? What the hell was it? “Astor! She’s allergic to penicillin, and she’s O positive.”

The driver raced around me to get back to the wheel.

“Relatives only,” the paramedic in back said, already hooking her up to something. “I’m assuming you’re her . . .” He glanced up.

Don’t leave me.

“Husband.” I moved, climbing up into the rig in one step. “I’m her husband.”

Ruptured spleen. That’s what they told me four hours ago.

Four very long hours, in which all I did after changing into a dry set of scrubs and calling my mother to assure her I was okay was to sit in this waiting room and alternate between watching the media coverage of the crash on a national network and the second hand tick by on the large clock above the door.

Oh, and completely, utterly ignore the clipboard in front of me, because how was I supposed to know who her insurance provider was?

Because you said you were her husband.

The surgery was only supposed to take about ninety minutes, which made me start shifting my weight in the world’s most uncomfortable chair about two hours ago.

What if I’d made it worse by picking her up? Or when I pulled her out of the river?

“You’re sure I can’t get anything else for you?” a representative from the airline asked, concern and panic in her eyes. Guess we were all a little out of our depth here. She’d taken our names when we’d first arrived—I’d given her Izzy’s, and she’d hovered around the dozen or so of us who’d been sent here ever since.

According to the news, there were passengers at three of the local hospitals.

“I’m fine,” I assured her. There hadn’t been much more to do for me than the eleven stitches in my forehead.

“Okay.” Her smile was an attempt at reassurance. “Oh, and a representative from the army said they’d send someone local to get you, but that was a few hours ago.”

I tensed. I’d promised I wouldn’t leave her.

“You are”—she glanced at her clipboard—“Nathaniel Phelan, right?

The one who was headed to basic training?”

I nodded, flipping my sodden wallet over in my hand. “I’m sure everyone has their hands full right now.”

She gave me an awkward shoulder pat and moved to the next passengers, while I watched the clock for another ten minutes.

“That’s him,” a nurse said, pointing to me, and my brows shot up, hoping it would be a doctor next to her, but it wasn’t.

The woman was a little taller than Izzy, with light-brown hair and worried brown eyes. The family resemblance was unmistakable.

“You’re Izzy’s husband?” she said, charging my way like a bull who’d been shown red.

I stood. “You must be the sister. Serena, right?” She nodded, swatting a single tear off her face.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m just the guy who was sitting next to her.

We’re not married.”

“Obviously,” she whispered back. “I think I’d know if my baby sister was married.”

“I lied because I promised I wouldn’t leave her, and then I may have

. . . forged a document agreeing to the surgery.”

Her eyes flew wide. “Surgery? All they told me when I showed up to the reunification site was that she was here. It took me about an hour to realize it was her flight, and then I’ve been running everywhere.” She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath, reopening them when it seemed she had some control. “Tell me what surgery.”

I gestured to the chair next to mine, and we both sat. “She ruptured her spleen in the crash and broke two ribs, along with getting a concussion. She was bleeding internally.”

She nodded, absorbing the information with a calm I respected. “Okay.

And you signed for the surgery?”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I handed her the clipboard. “I’m hoping you’ll know most of that.”

“I can do this.” She stared at the forms like they were in a foreign language. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“I hope so. She was conscious right up until I handed her to the paramedics.” I resumed flipping my wallet in my hand and watching the clock.

“Oh God, she’s allergic to—”

“Penicillin,” I finished for her. “She told me. They know.”

She sat back in the chair and stared at the door, the one the surgeons had been coming in and out of the last few hours. “Lucky she was sitting next to you.”

“I’m not sure I’d call anything about today lucky, except that we’re somehow alive.”

“That’s the luckiest you can be.”

The door to the left swung open, and two uniformed men walked in wearing camouflage. My stomach hit the ground.

“Nathaniel Phelan?” one of them asked, scouring the room. “That’s me.” I lifted a hand and stood.

“Hell of a day you’re having. Are you cleared by medical to leave?” one of them asked.

I nodded. “Just needed stitches.”

“Good. Let’s get you out of here.” He motioned to the door.

Picking up the clear bag of my personal items, I walked over to them. “Is there any way we can wait? The woman I was sitting next to is in

surgery.”

They shared a look, and I knew it wasn’t going to go my way. “Is she your wife?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Mother? Sister? Daughter?” the other asked. “No. I’m just worried about her.”

Sympathy knit his brow. “I’m sorry, but we’re tasked with getting you out of here, and if she’s not next of kin or a blood relative, we really need to go. Orders are orders.”

My chest tightened, and I nodded. “One second.” Serena was still filling out forms when I reached her. “I have to go.”

She looked up at me, her eyes a shade lighter than Izzy’s. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Just . . .” I shook my head. Fuck my life, I couldn’t even ask her to call and tell me if she made it out all right. “Just tell her that I didn’t want to go, but orders are orders.”

“I will. Thank you.” She reached out and took my hand, squeezing it. “Thank you. I can’t say that enough.”

“Nothing to thank me for.” Taking a deep breath, I walked back toward the soldiers, then followed them out.

Isabeau would be okay. She had to be. I refused to believe that fate, or God, or the cosmic energy of the universe would make her go through all of that and not come out of it alive.

But I would never know.

“We can get you on another flight, or a bus if you’re not . . . you know

. . . keen on flying at the moment. Or I’m sure they’ll give you a waiver, and let you postpone basic,” one of the soldiers said as we made our way out of the hospital.

“No.” I gripped my bag harder. Everything I owned was now in it, and I had absolutely nothing to go home to. “No, I’m ready now.”