“We’ve known each other for such a short time. I’m not convinced that what Dan feels for me is love. I wake up at night and think I’m living in a dream world. With all the women he has known, it’s unreal that he would have chosen me.” Casey’s eyes took on a strange far-away look.
“Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” Casey’s mind jerked to the present. “Only almost everything. How can you look at me and ask?”
Marge twisted her coffee mug around and around in her hands. “I could have clobbered that spoiled child of Lucy’s the other night. I wanted to say something, but decided the least said the better.”
“I was mortified at first,” Casey admitted. “But you can’t blame the child. I never really thought I was vain, but I guess I am. It does something to my self-esteem knowing that some people find my looks offensive.”
“Because the scar is on
your
face it seems to you bigger than life. Not one of my children mentioned it. I don’t think they even noticed. And Casey … you only have to live with it for a few months. Dan said the plastic surgeon can remove it almost completely.” Marge looked at her hopefully.
Casey shook her head. “It isn’t only my face. I’m
one solid scar from my shoulders to my knees. Scars that can’t be fixed. My breast is all lopsided … and ugly. My stomach and thighs are covered with puckers and ridges. No man, not even Dan, who thinks he loves me, could think of seduction when he looks at my body.” Tears, that had come so easy since the accident, filled her eyes.
The two looked at each other with despair. “You’re wrong if you think it will matter to Dan. If a man really loves you he’ll settle for less than perfection. Real love is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing, and forgiving. Love makes all sorts of allowances for human frailties and weaknesses.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Casey said quietly, the despair still in her eyes. “It’s a problem I’ll have to face as soon as Dan returns. I shouldn’t have let the relationship develop, but somehow it did.” Casey stared into her cup.
“Give Dan a chance. Believe me, Casey, the Murdock men are strong. When they love, it’s with all their hearts.” Marge’s eyes pleaded with her, they were filled with concern.
“Dan is a very … physical man! Oh, Marge, you should see my breast and you’d understand!” She looked white and shaken. This was the first time she had voiced her despair.
“And … you should see where mine … was.” The words came out quietly and there was not a hint of impatience in her voice.
“Was?” Casey looked shocked. Then, “Oh, Marge!”
“Don’t look so horrified. I had a mastectomy four years ago. Also my child-bearing years are over. But the sexual part of our lives has never been better.” Her dark eyes took on a shine. “I was worried at first, but Fred said our love made up for any missing parts either of us would ever have. We are closer than we’ve ever been, because we don’t take each other for granted anymore.”
“What can I say?” Casey smiled through her tears. She was crying for Marge now, not for herself.
“Don’t say anything.” Marge looked at her watch. “Gotta go pick up Jayne. My vacation is over for the week.” She rinsed her coffee cup and turned it upside down on the drain board. Her eyes were twinkling. “I’ve got my heart set on having you for a sister-in-law. Don’t you dare let me down!”
Later Casey walked over to Aunt Bea’s. The two women had a quiet dinner and Casey returned to the house before dark. Tomorrow Dan would be back. The thought pounded through her head. When I get back we’ll talk about it, he had said. Imprisoned in her thoughts she locked the doors and went upstairs to her bedroom, and lay on the bed she had shared with Dan. Long before the evening was over she was convinced that once he returned and they had their talk the relationship would be over. Regardless, she reasoned, I can’t go on like this much longer. She rehearsed what she was going
to say, schooled herself for a rejection, and mentally planned for the shop that would be her sole source of support once the operations were over.
Her troubled mind refused to allow her a restful sleep and she rose tired and listless, a sense of tragedy consuming her so that she wanted to weep. She moved about the quiet house in robe and slippers; fed Sadie, replaced magazines, and picked up newspapers.
When the car skidded to a halt on the front drive and two doors were slammed shut almost simultaneously Casey hurried to the door to look out. Fred and Aunt Bea were coming up the steps. She quickly opened the door.
“Oh, Casey …” Aunt Bea gasped.
Casey almost froze. “Aunt Bea … Fred … what is it?”
Fred stood there, his eyes full of fear. “Dan’s plane has been hijacked. There’s a crazy on board with an explosive strapped to his waist and he says he’ll blow up the plane if it doesn’t take him to Cuba.”
Casey sagged and gripped the wood frame of the doorway. “A bomb … on Dan’s plane?”
“It was on the morning news and I checked Dan’s flight and made sure he was on the plane before I came over.”
“Can’t they just fly to Cuba and let the crackpot off?” Aunt Bea looked years older this morning.
Her cheeks were wet with tears and her usually neat hair was in disarray.
“They don’t have the fuel to fly to Cuba. They’ve got to land and he swears he’ll blow up the plane if they attempt it.”
Casey felt sick. Aunt Bea saw her sway and rushed forward to put a strong arm about her waist. “Are you sure it isn’t a hoax?” Her voice sounded as if it came through a tunnel.
“It isn’t a hoax, Casey,” Fred said firmly. “Damn … damn the lunatics of this world!” He pounded his fist against the door.
Casey fought for control and lurched toward the stairs. “I’m going to Portland. I’ve got to be there….”
“Stay here, Casey. Fred’s going. He’ll call as soon as he finds out anything.” Aunt Bea hurried up the stairs behind her. “You’ll be better off waiting here. There won’t be a thing that you can do in Portland.”
“I’m going! I’m going!” Casey turned on the stairs. “Fred …?”
“There’s a plane waiting for me at the airport. They’re diverting all aircraft from the International Airport, but we can land at a small private field and drive over. I figure you have a right to be there, so hurry.”
During the short flight to Portland Casey’s mind never seemed to stop its constant whirring:
You’re my Guinevere
…
I’m your Lancelot
…
we made love in the back of the wagon coming across the plains, my Clementine. We’ve been together for at least a thousand years, we’ll make it another fifty
. Was this the end of their time together in this life? Would they meet again in the distant future on some far away planet or on a space station riding high above the earth? Fear closed like a wall around her. She shut her eyes against the thought of not seeing him again and saw his image on the screen of her mind; broad shouldered, masculine, standing in her bedroom door, his thumbs hooked in the elastic top of his jockey shorts. In that moment she experienced such a surge of despair that reason almost left her.
Casey climbed down out of the aircraft and walked on stiff legs to the car waiting to take them to International Airport. The driver told them the big Boeing 747 was within thirty-five minutes of the airport. The hijacker boarded the plane at Honolulu, and had immediately made his demands known to the pilot.
“That’s all I can tell you. The officials are being pretty closemouthed.”
The name Murdock was their passport through the checkpoints set up at access roads. The police had thrown up a tight network around the landing field, allowing only authorized personnel and emergency vehicles to pass. They got out of the car and passed through the crowd of Army personnel, uniformed police, TV cameramen, and press people. They were taken to a room set aside for the frightened relatives of the passengers aboard the plane. Worried looking airline officials were evasive when
Fred questioned them for news. No one wanted to commit himself, or raise false hopes. A TV monitoring screen had been set up in the lounge and people sat quietly watching, waiting, praying, weeping softly. A serving cart passed among them passing out coffee and cold drinks. Casey silently shook her head when offered a drink, but Fred reached for two paper cups of cola and pressed one into her hand.
“You’re going to fall apart if you don’t let go a little. Drink this. It’s something to do.”
Feeling panic stricken, Casey could hear her own heart pounding in her ears. During the whole agonizing flight from Bend and the ride to the airport she hadn’t thought even once about her face, or the fact that she hadn’t brought her head scarf. Her hand went to her cheek, now, and she fingered the rough skin, not knowing or caring that she was drawing attention to it. Then a crisp voice flowed into the room and a tremor went through her as she sat forward to concentrate on the screen.
“The Channel Eight News crew are now set up at International Airport to bring you the latest information about the hijacked Boeing 747 with one hundred and forty-three passengers and crew aboard. It has been confirmed that several notable passengers are aboard, including Daniel Murdock, well-known international rugby player, and Claudia Wells, screen and stage star. The airport here in Portland is locked in and all planes are being diverted to Vancouver or Seattle. Our latest information
being relayed from the control tower is that the pilot is stalling to allow as much fuel as possible to be consumed in order to convince the hijacker that the plane must land at Portland to refuel. Stay tuned to this channel. Our camera crews have set up on the runway and you will be first, through Channel Eight News, to see the plane land … that is if it lands.”
A hum of voices rose when the face of the announcer disappeared from the screen and the camera began scanning the sky. Casey slumped back despairingly.
A woman began to weep.
Casey wasn’t aware she had grasped Fred’s hand until he gently disengaged it. “I’ll go see what I can find out.”
She nodded. She had become a robot, an automated body without a mind; functioning, but she couldn’t understand why. All she could think of was Dan—big, gentle, laughing.
There was a feverish quality about the way the waiting relatives, stood in small groups and held on to each other. The room was quiet except for the voice on the monitor repeating things about mobile cameras, security positions, making small talk in order to stay on the air until the plane arrived. Each time the news commentator came on all eyes swiveled in the direction of the screen.
“We have a news brief just relayed from the communications tower. The hijacker has agreed to allow the plane to land. He has also agreed to allow
the women and children to leave the plane. He is still determined, however, to destroy the aircraft if it is not refueled and allowed to take off. Stay tuned to Channel Eight News.”
Fred slipped into the seat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I called Marge and told her to watch the news. She said it’s on the national and she’s seeing what we’re seeing.”
A gabble of voices broke out and people rushed for the windows. “There it is! It’s coming in.”
Casey heard the roar of the jets and saw the huge, blue and silver plane swoop low out of the clear sky and aim for the long runway. She whispered a fervent prayer as the landing wheels touched down, bounced softly, and rushed down the stretch of concrete. Her heart was beating,
darling, darling, darling
. The plane slowed to a crawl, turned, and taxied to the far end of the field. The people in the room stood almost spellbound at the windows and watched.
A vehicle with a lone man standing in the back with his arms held high above his head drove slowly toward the plane. The voice of the commentator filled the room.
“The officer is trying to persuade the hijacker to allow him to bring out disembarking equipment so the women and children may leave the plane. We’ll know if he succeeds in just a few minutes.”
For a long while following this announcement, there was silence. Visible strain and a tremor of fresh panic rippled among the waiting people.
“The bastard could blow up the plane at any time,” a middle-aged man with a red face and a large belly that hung over his belt commented.
The remark caused a young woman to bury her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Fred moved over beside the man. “Knock it off!” he said angrily. “We’ve got enough to deal with without you spelling it out.”
Casey scarcely heard the announcer’s voice when he explained excitedly that the door of the plane was open and the disembarking equipment was in place. She could see all of this for herself. A gasp of relief came from behind her when a woman leading a small child came down the steps and ran toward the terminal building. As the woman left the plane people in the lounge, some crying with relief, hurried down the corridor to meet them.
Casey kept her eyes riveted to the door, hoping beyond hope that when the last of the women had disembarked the men would start filing out, but it didn’t happen. The portable stairway was moved away and the door closed. The common bond of fear and dread among the less than two dozen people left in the lounge kept them silent. Casey felt as if all the air in the room had been sucked out; it was difficult to think, to see, to breathe. She thought for a moment that she would be sick, but she swallowed repeatedly and went on standing beside the window, watching the closed door of the plane.
A close-up of the commentator, holding a fist
full of notes, appeared on the monitor. Casey almost dreaded hearing what he would have to say. The camera moved back to bring in the image of a young woman standing beside him.
“The lady with me is Miss Claudia Wells, star of the Broadway hit,
Dawn of Passion
. According to Miss Wells, the man responsible for talking the hijacker into letting the women and children leave the plane was Dan Murdock, well-known rugby player. Can you tell us, Miss Wells, how you felt when you were told the plane was being hijacked?”
The camera moved in close. “Scared! Damn scared! If it hadn’t been for Dan we would have all panicked. He was marvelous. So calm and practical about the whole thing. I promised him I’d wait…”