Goodbye, Miss February Read online

  And JoAnn. I need to include her. After all, we’ve been close friends, almost like sisters, for nearly thirty years. I’ve admired her strength as she steered me through crises ranging from air travel to death. But you know that. I’ve told you often enough.

  At the doorbell’s chime I gave my mental checklist a quick run-through and opened the door for JoAnn. You must remember us talking. She reached for my tote bag and said, “Here, let me carry one of those. My lord, what do you have in here?”

  I told her just clothes because I didn’t know what I’d need so I took everything.

  JoAnn said I could have crammed all my stuff in a backpack and not have to check anything. Then she changed the subject and asked if I’d talked to my sister after we bought the plane ticket. I told her we talked just long enough for me to let her know when I’d arrive. She said to come as soon as I could.

  I didn’t tell JoAnn too much, did I? I hated not telling her everything but Andy doesn’t like me talking about her private life. Hope the tears that crept into my eyes as I rechecked the appliances and water faucets didn’t give me away.

  JoAnn cleared her throat and in a soft voice said she hoped everything was all right. “It could be bad,” I admitted. The thought made my heart go cold and brittle.

  JoAnn told me not to borrow trouble and rested her hand on my arm, startling me. In all the years I’d known her, she’d touched me just twice before—when Chris left for college and when Marvin died.

  Then the tender moment passed and she was back to her usual matter-of-fact self, telling me I could only worry about one thing at a time. “First, you have to concentrate on the flight; then you’ll be there and Andy will say everything’s okay, her call was just a way for you to see her new house.”

  To be honest, I wasn’t certain replacing worrying about Andy with worrying about flying was a good thing.

  JoAnn told me to stop fussing and get in the car. “We need to leave now if we’re going to get to the airport six hours before boarding. You know California freeways.”

  I definitely know California freeways. They were the reason JoAnn was taking me to the airport. With Marvin gone, I’ve been forced to drive more, but merging remains beyond me. You and JoAnn are the only ones who know but you’ve both promised to keep my secret.

  Now I’m on the plane, waiting for it to crash. Mommy will watch you from heaven and adore you forever.

  All my love,

  Mommy

  P.S. Would you rather live with Andy or JoAnn? You’ll love Iowa summers. The winters aren’t quite as warm but Andy can explain that.

  I checked the plane’s wings. The pilot was doing a good job of keeping them attached. I could keep writing.

  Dear JoAnn,

  I’m bequeathing custody of Thelma to you although I’m giving her the option of choosing between Andy and you. I know you’ll adore her as much as I do.

  “Miss February is the prettiest.” I’d said that to Thelma this morning when we were looking at the calendar in the kitchen. After Andy’s call I was beside myself with worry but Thelma consoled me. When she jumped on my lap and purred, the part of me that wasn’t frantic knew she was trying to cheer me up. I buried my face in her fur and said I knew something was terribly wrong when Andy called on her art class night. Thelma meowed and I agreed. “You’re right, sweetie. Things probably aren’t as bad as they sound.” I told her we had to be brave, and her tail twitched in a thumbs-up sign.

  I nudged her off my lap and poured Friskies into her food dish, the new pink one shaped like a fish, even though it wasn’t completely empty. Yes, I know the veterinarian wouldn’t approve. We’ve discussed Thelma’s weight problem several times but I keep telling him she’s just fluffy. Remember, Thelma will be upset while I’m gone so it won’t hurt to give her an extra treat.

  I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us. Like today, you were such a help getting me to the airport and then through the whole check-in maze. One thing though--why didn’t you warn me about the security checkpoint? I mean, everyone knows you have to go through a metal detector in case you’re carrying a loaded gun or a cattle prod, but why didn’t you tell me I’d have to take off my shoes? I would have worn a pair without straps. Since the conveniently provided benches were filled with other passengers and their belongings, I had to drag my feet halfway across the airport with my shoes flapping wildly until I could sit down and fasten the cute little buckles.

  Well, never mind. I got through it. You’re probably anxious to hear what happened until the plane was ready for me.

  With four hours and twenty minutes until takeoff, the waiting area by my assigned gate was nearly empty. Only three other passengers: an overweight man doing toe-touch exercises (too little, too late) and a father-son combo rigged out in matching Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses.

  A disembodied voice warned me to keep my baggage with me at all times. How could I when they’d already taken it away? The aroma of fresh coffee tempted me. A cup would be nice but what if I spilled it on the boarding pass? Oh, the heck with it. I followed the scent to Starbucks.

  I was nearing the front of the coffee line when the overhead voice said, “Attention, flak gwak eek plash dum.”

  “What? What did it say?”

  The skinny boy standing behind me shrugged. Didn’t he know the announcement could be important? What if there was a problem with Thelma? Maybe she’d used her ninth life. Or what if there was a problem with my ticket? I’d known that piece of paper they called a boarding pass was worthless.

  I abandoned the line and hurried to the airline desk to get the woman manning it to repeat the message. She asked if I was flying standby, groaned when I said I didn’t know, and told me my plane would be boarding in twenty minutes.

  Twenty minutes! No time for coffee.

  I stood alertly by the gate until they called my flight.

  The airport didn’t connect the terminal to the plane with a little hallway that tricked you into thinking you were entering the next room to watch television. Instead, we walked across the tarmac and climbed steps to the aircraft—like the President. On board, I noticed a lack of similarity to the Air Force One I’d seen in movies. For starters, this plane was less roomy. My seat was about halfway back, and I had to be careful not to hit people with my purse as I walked down the aisle.

  When everyone was settled, the flight attendant whipped through her spiel on emergency procedures but absolutely no one else paid attention. Now the plane is crashing and I’ll have to help all these people with their oxygen masks because she rattled off instructions too fast for anyone to catch the details.

  Remember Thelma likes warm weather so don’t move to Alaska.

  Your forever friend,

  Jane

  I was getting the hang of the iPad but I needed to hurry. Thoughts were crowding to get out. Hard to believe how many last-minute words I had.

  Dear Chris,

  Bet you’re surprised to learn I’m on a plane. Me too. But Andy is sick and asked me to help her—yes, you read that right--so I was headed to Iowa. The pilot won’t say anything but the plane has hit a storm and is in serious trouble. We’re about to crash.

  When you moved across the country after your father died, I felt as if I’d lost the two people I loved most in the same year. I know you were very close to your father. He always spoiled you, did everything for you. I was afraid you wouldn’t be strong enough to live on your own, you’d always be dependent on others.

  But it wasn’t just you. After his death I realized how much he had spoiled me, how dependent I was on him. I know I’ve told you how your father came to my rescue after my high school boyfriend died. Other boys were afraid to date me and, by myself I didn’t fit in. When I finished high school we got married. My parents didn’t approve so we eloped. Wish I’d known I’d never see them again. Things have a way of not turning out th
e way you planned. Life’s funny that way. But I ended up with a good husband and the world’s best daughter.

  Now you’re on your own, living on the other side of the country, successful at an important job. If I hadn’t died in this plane crash I’d have visited you. We had a lot of catching up to do. I never told you how proud of you I am. You’re the kind of person I always wanted to be—someone strong people look up to.

  With your father spoiling you, I had to be the bad guy, always saying no. But I loved you, don’t think I didn’t. I still love everything about you--and always will.

  I never got around to writing a will. According to the law, you’ll get everything. Or maybe Andy does. Either way, I’m sure you’ll share with Thelma.

  After much thought, I’ve decided to leave Thelma to JoAnn or Andy. While Thelma will love Iowa summers, Andy will have a hard time explaining the winters. Oh, I forgot, you’ve never lived there. Well, they’re cold. North Carolina has wonderful weather but if you took Thelma you’d have to promise to keep those huge rats in the tobacco barns away from her. You can see why JoAnn is the best choice. Or maybe Andy.

  I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you, but if I survive the crash I’ll make up for it. And bring Thelma.

  Love,

  Mom

  P.S. You don’t still have that dog, do you? Does he like cats?

  Three

  Two and a half tense hours later, we landed--safely. Denver morphed from patchwork squares into streets with cars into—oh God, would we stop before we hit that building? While we were taxiing, I thanked my seatmate for her help. “The plane didn’t crash,” I said. “What about my letters? They won’t be sent, will they?”

  “Not right now but you can send them later.”

  “Hmm. Guess I was being silly.”

  “Don’t feel bad. Perfectly understandable on your first flight.”

  How did she know?

  Once on the ground, my fellow passengers ignored the order to remain seated and crowded into the aisles, snapping open overhead bins. The woman in front of me handed me a carry-on so she could get to hers. I tried to grab my coat before I was trampled, but it had been pushed to the back and there was no way I could stretch that far. Finally, the tall man behind me rescued it so we could move ahead. I vowed once again to come back taller in my next life.

  I spent most of the allotted fifty-five minutes between planes on moving sidewalks. The voice of my guardian angel cautioned me to watch my step at the end of each. I hated to distract her from making sure the airline transferred my luggage to the right jet.

  The terminal was like a mall with planes—I was mere feet from shopping opportunities. No time for browsing, but I must admit I did slow down in front of the Rocky Mountain Fudge Factory.

  Now a seasoned traveler, I located my departure gate and decided I had time to eat. I was starving. I looked around for a place to get food but was sidetracked by a kiosk jammed with cute things demanding my attention. As I reached out to pick up a little purse with a pink elephant on it, I bumped the arm of a woman reaching for the same thing. “It’s you,” she said after we’d both apologized. “Is this your flight?” she pointed to the closest gate.

  “No, I’m over there but it would be something if we were together again, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, something.” She looked a little faint. I hoped she wasn’t air sick. I had some of those pills in my bag--somewhere.

  She dropped the little elephant purse and hurried off with the explanation that her plane was about to leave. I bought the purse for Andy to cheer her up and continued my food search. Two gates down I saw my friend reading a newspaper. The posted departure time was an hour away. She must have forgotten the time. She’d been so helpful to me I decided to do something nice for her. A quick U-turn took me back to her gate where I held out the cute little elephant purse. I’d get something for Andy later.

  “I thought you said you weren’t on this flight,” she said.

  “I’m not but I wanted to give you this as a thank you for all your help on the plane. Something to remember me by.”

  She insisted that wasn’t necessary, she’d definitely remember me. I told her I had to find something to eat, and we both said goodbye. She might have had tears in her eyes.

  I was running out of time and hungry so chose the B&D Deli as my food source. Two young men with big smiles and white aprons seemed delighted to see me. I ordered a roast beef sandwich with lettuce and tomato and a small Diet Coke. After one had collected my money, the other began assembling the sandwich.

  Slowly. Very slowly.

  He split the bun and selected a knife for the mayonnaise

  My friend wandered by and I held up my arm to wave but heard the man with her saying, “Is that the woman you were telling me about? The one who thought the plane was crashing?” They both laughed and my seatmate held out my gift. “Look what she gave me.”

  “Oh, it’s kind of cute. You can give it to Tressie. Her third birthday is coming up.”

  My arm quit waving. Nothing I did was right. I hadn’t been able to buy a plane ticket alone, I upset all the passengers on the plane by screaming about crashing, my former seatmate was laughing at my gift, and I picked the slowest sandwich line in the airport. Heaven knows what I’d do to Andy. Maybe I should go home.

  FLIGHT 307 TO DES MOINES NOW BOARDING. Oh dear, decision time. Do I go to Iowa and help Andy or wimp out and find a train to California? I thought of how disappointed Andy would be, not to mention Thelma and JoAnn. And me. Okay, back on the plane.

  Still smiling, B&D had worked their way to the final translucent layer of roast beef and were selecting the proper tomato slice. Lettuce waited in the on-deck circle. Did I want sprouts? Dill pickle?

  NO! What I wanted was to get my food. “Wrap up the sandwich. My plane is boarding.” Holding my lunch, I sprinted for my gate as fast as a full-figured woman in two-inch heels can run.

  Back on board and buckled in, I finally had a chance to eat. One bite and squirt, splat—mayonnaise and tomato were oozing down my chin onto the front of my jacket while lettuce shreds spewed across my lap. Another thing the seasoned traveler learns: Don’t eat anything messier than plastic. I dabbed at the spot on my lapel and wondered whether Andy would notice it. Andy. At least the hubbub had taken my mind off her for a few minutes.

  Since the pilot had his hands full hitting every pothole in the sky between Des Moines and Denver, I again kept a watchful eye on the plane’s wings, ready to alert him of any sign of trouble. What was taking so long? Were we even moving? I was sure we’d passed that white cloud before. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, we landed safely.

  Thankful, I retrieved my stuff and followed the other passengers off the plane and through the terminal, past a sign that read WELCOME TO DES MOINES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT 6 DEGREES F. Wasn’t that below freezing?

  Four

  As I rode down the escalator, I scanned the waiting crowd for Andy. The bulky man behind me, the one who’d nearly run over me when I wobbled onto the steps in heels, poked my arm and said, “Lady, that’s your phone ringing.” Phone? I’d forgotten I had it. JoAnn had talked me into buying one a week ago, just a simple flip top whose only function was letting me communicate with another person, nothing smarter than me. This was my first call. What if it had rung during the flight? After issuing all those warnings about not using electronic devices, they’d have thrown me off the plane. I fumbled through my purse while keeping an eye on the escalator steps. I hadn’t heard from my guardian angel since Denver. How did one answer a cell phone? Too late. Probably a telemarketer anyway.

  I trudged toward the baggage return, my eyes still searching for Andy. While I waited for my luggage—please, please let it be there—I spotted what had to be the Marlboro Man watching me. Same rugged good looks with skin that spent a lot of time in the sun and wind. He wore comfortabl
e-looking Levis, brown cowboy boots, and a red western shirt with pearl snaps under an open sheepskin jacket. Only the seed-corn cap was different.

  He walked over to me. “Jane? Bob Stone,” he mumbled. “Andy asked me to meet you.” My stomach clenched with fear. Was she too sick to travel?

  “Had to come down to Des Moines anyways. Didn’t she call you?”

  I shook my head and then thought of the ringing cell phone. Oh.

  “Do you smoke?” I asked.

  “Huh? He gave me a funny look. “Uh, nope, gave it up.” It figured. Even the Marlboro Man had quit smoking.

  My luggage arrived—thank you, Lord. Bob snatched it off the carousel, and I followed him out of the terminal, skirting the limousine parked at the door. The cold wind caught my breath but once we were in the comparative warmth of the parking ramp I could breathe again.

  “What did you say your name was? Fred?”

  “Nope. Bob,” he said, trying to cram my luggage and the two of us into the little elevator.

  “Oh. I know a Fred Stone. No, wait, that’s Flintstone. Fred Flintstone, that’s who I’m thinking of.” I heard myself giggle. “Bob will be easy to remember. I had a cat named Bob. He died.”

  The door opened and Bob hustled out with me scampering behind him, trying to keep pace with his long strides. He tossed my things into the back of his aging Dodge Ram, faded red with rust overtones, parked between a bright blue BMW and a paler blue Corvette. He jabbed his thumb toward the passenger door, and I flung it open, anxious to get out of the cold. The gray vinyl seat was a mile off the ground but on the fourth try I hiked up my skirt and managed to vault onto it before Bob drove out of the airport.

  “How far is it?” I asked.

  “Fifty miles, give or take.”

  “About an hour’s drive?”

  “’Bout.” Bob seemed to have acquired his conversational skills from Gary Cooper movies. The heater gave off warm air that smelled like dust and gasoline, and a guitar twanged on the radio. Snow from my shoes melted on rubber floor mats. The bouncy ride jostled my vital organs but if I turned slightly the seat massaged the sore spot in my back. Bob drove without fuss—no swearing or counting seconds at red lights. Once the city was behind us, he kept the speedometer needle fixed on sixty, five miles an hour over the speed limit.