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  Sam opened a cabinet, pulled out two dinner plates, and began dishing up the roasted meat and vegetables. When he turned around, Nash was standing in the doorway with his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

  “Sam,” he hissed. “There are two military policemen at the door asking for you. What the fuck is going on?”

  “MPs? I have no idea. They didn’t say?”

  “No, they want to talk to you. They’re setting up a laptop computer out there.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. Why on earth would military police need to talk to him? Even if some piece of that fucking, fucking airplane had washed up at this late date, he doubted family would be pointedly notified, let alone paid a personal visit. No, it couldn’t have anything to do with that old tragedy.

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” He straightened his shoulders and walked to the living room. Hopefully he wasn’t about to be arrested for something he couldn’t even understand.

  “I’m Sam Greene, how can I help you gentlemen?”

  The two visitors glanced at each other, then the thinner man with the sharp nose and clear blue eyes clarified, “Samuel Miller-Greene?”

  “Well, yes, technically. I never changed it back after my husband died. I use the full name for signing documents. I just tend to shorten it these days for casual use.”

  The men shared another glance and seemed satisfied with that reply, giving each other barely perceptible nods. The man with the round face and warm brown eyes spoke. “I’m Major Johnson and this is Sergeant Rosings.” Sam nodded and they all shook hands. “May we all sit at your table here, Dr. Miller-Greene? We have some images to show you, and I think you’ll find this news rather unsettling.”

  Sam felt the blood drain from his face. Unsettling. That sounded like it might be a softer way of saying awful. He took a deep breath and asked, “May my fiancé join us? I get the feeling I’m going to want the moral support.”

  Major Johnson’s lips twitched a bit at the question, but he quickly recovered his composure and replied, “Of course.”

  Nash moved to Sam’s side, introduced himself, and they all sat down.

  Major Johnson cleared his throat, took a quick look at Nash, then returned his focus to Sam. “Dr. Miller-Greene, a discovery was made this morning during a drone training exercise in the Pacific.”

  Fucking hell. A “discovery” in the fucking Pacific Ocean. Apparently a grisly discovery rather than a simple chunk of fuselage to warrant a personal visit like this. Sam stiffened and felt Nash’s hand slip into his.

  Major Johnson continued. “Some people were spotted on a remote and insignificant island. They were determined through initial surveillance to be stranded there. When the drone descended to make itself known, the individuals communicated with it by writing in the sand. They identified themselves as survivors of the TransOceanic Flight 3012 plane crash and wrote out their names.”

  Sam sat rigidly and held his breath as Major Johnson paused. Survivors? Could it really be possible? These men wouldn’t be here making a personal visit to inform him, would they, unless…?

  “Dr. Miller-Greene, we’d appreciate it if you would give a positive identification of the man who indicated he was your husband, Henry.”

  Time seemed to stop as Sam stared into the man’s eyes, trying to comprehend what he’d been told. Nash’s hand crushed his.

  “Henry’s alive?” His voice broke with just those two words, and that’s all he was able to manage.

  * * * *

  Chapter 1: Irony and Dignity

  Day Zero

  “Call me when you land, okay, Henry?”

  “It’ll be something like six-forty tomorrow morning, your time,” I replied. The summer class Sam would be teaching started tomorrow, but he still wouldn’t need to get up that early.

  “Humor me. Please?”

  I’d been infected with the travel bug years ago when I’d taken my first research trip as a graduate student. If there was an antidote, I didn’t want to take it. Now that I was married, I admitted that the weeks-long separation from my husband put a damper on my spirits for work-related travels, but it wasn’t strong enough to make me want to stop. It was just a few weeks, after all.

  “I love you, you know.” I stared into his captivating blue jean-colored eyes and smiled, squeezing his arm in a manner I hoped was comforting. “Yes, I’ll call. I know you’ll worry if I don’t.”

  Sam blushed and grinned sheepishly. “I know it’s dumb, but I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the security queue. “The line’s growing. I’d better jump in.” Turning back toward Sam, I added, “Thank you for coming in and helping me with the luggage.”

  “It’ll be six weeks before I see you again. Of course I came in.”

  “We’ll Skype tomorrow. Compare notes on Fiji’s weather with the rain we’re expecting here in Seattle.”

  I got the laugh I was trying for out of Sam. “I know. It won’t be the same, though.” Then he sighed. “Well, I hope you can get some decent sleep on the plane. Thirteen hour flights are no fun.”

  I nodded in agreement, then stretched up to kiss my husband goodbye. I knew Sam wasn’t big on overzealous public displays of affection. Hell, neither was I, but I needed one last taste before leaving him for so long. It was an airport goodbye kiss, not a make-out session, so fuck anyone who was still bigoted enough to be “offended” by the sight of me giving my husband a farewell kiss. Much as I looked forward to this research trip, since I was heading back to the South Pacific—as opposed to Greenland, where I’d spent time two summers ago—I was not looking forward to the long separation from Sam any more than he was.

  My younger, pre-Sam self would’ve fake-gagged at the sight of the two of us simpering and continuing to make eye contact as I threaded my way through security, but clearly I wasn’t that man anymore, since I didn’t give a damn right now what anybody thought. But eventually, with a final wave, blown kiss, and glimpse of Sam’s beautiful grin, I headed to my departure gate.

  I thought of Sam again as I settled into the aisle seat directly behind the exit row over the right wing. He’d insisted that I get a seat as near as possible to one of the emergency exits. I always indulged his phobia even though I felt it was pointless.

  I nodded at the businessman across the aisle from me as he settled into his seat and pulled a tablet out of his small carry-on bag. He dipped his head in return and gave me a friendly but rhetorical “How’s it going?” before turning to the screen in his hands.

  I wondered what was bringing a man in a suit to Fiji, not that the idea was unheard of. Hell, I was heading there for work, myself, but I just didn’t need to wear a suit. More than likely he was getting off in Los Angeles, anyway. But he didn’t seem interested in real conversation, so I didn’t ask.

  I closed my eyes and caught an early nap for the shorter Los Angeles leg of the flight. I dreamed of Sam and how, once we’d exhausted ourselves last night, I’d spent what had seemed like hours caressing his torso, carding my fingers through the flattened sandy blond hairs covering the gorgeous muscles of his chest, and following the trail up and down his taut abs, until finally his larger hand had stilled mine, and we’d fallen asleep.

  We were opposites in so many ways, and yet perfectly matched. His quiet, thoughtful personality meshed seamlessly with my outgoing speak-before-you-think persona. My smaller, lean frame fit exquisitely against his larger, bulkier, muscled physique. I loved the way the dark hairs on my arm contrasted with the light sprinkling on his when he wrapped his strong arms around me, and the gentle smile he’d wear while combing his fingers through the springy dark mat on my chest.

  In L.A., the businessman did not get off after all. We nodded again to each other when we saw we were each staying on board, but he turned back to his tablet, apparently making the point he wasn’t interested in generating small talk with strangers.

  No problem. I stood to let an older couple into my row, then turned my attention to people watching and concocting stories about why they were on this flight to Fiji.

  I decided the businessman was a tropical produce importer and was meeting with suppliers on the islands. I imagined that the older couple who’d sat next to me was enjoying an anniversary trip to their original honeymoon spot. I could have asked them, but, like the businessman, I didn’t want to open the door to a conversation that might end up being more than I bargained for.

  I pretended the two women in front of me, who were clearly traveling with each other since they had their heads together giggling, were celebrating their respective divorce settlements with the dream vacation their ex-husbands never took with them. Then I admonished myself for creating such a mean-spirited history and changed it to fancying them as a lesbian couple on their own honeymoon.

  The young man next to the window sitting by the “lesbian couple” seemed to be traveling alone, although he glanced around the plane a few times like he was searching for certain people, so I concluded he was traveling with others who’d bought their tickets separately. His story, I originally decided, was that he was a rich kid traveling on a whim with his trust-fund buddies. He just didn’t give off that vibe, though, so I changed it to being a college kid on an athletic scholarship, still traveling with his buddies, but using money he’d saved over the years from part-time jobs, and maybe some birthday and graduation gift cash.

  That was as far as I got before the flight attendants called our attention to the standard safety procedures, and the plane taxied to the runway. I thought of Sam again as the plane took off. Take-off and landing were the worst parts of flying for him. He’d sit rigidly in his seat, clutching the arm rests with his eyes closed. He’d done that on our way to the Solomon Islands on our first trip together back when we were merely colleagues. By the return flight, he’d gripped my hand instead.

  I recognized that take-off and landing really were the most dangerous parts of the flying experience. I didn’t have Sam’s phobia, though, so I was relaxed as the plane took off, as well as for the next couple hours as I flipped through the in-flight magazines stashed in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me. I didn’t even have any trouble eventually falling asleep.

  I liked to think of myself as a realistic optimist, or perhaps, more accurately, an optimistic realist. I recognized we were bound by the rules of nature, that facts and statistics were what they were whether I liked them or not, and life wasn’t necessarily fair. At times it could be exceedingly unfair, sometimes in my favor and sometimes against. I knew this from personal experience. So the realist in me said that flying was safer than driving. I’d certainly heard that statement enough times. I was pretty sure I’d even been guilty of using it on Sam.

  I jerked awake when loud booms and clanking noises reverberated from somewhere behind me, and were echoed by a couple more bursts from the front. My ears popped painfully as the plane decompressed and the air rushed out. I froze in terror as it occurred to me that at least in a car you had some control over your own destiny, whereas in a plane you were likely totally fucked when something catastrophic happened.

  That feeling was confirmed as the plane careened into a very steep, rattling, angled dive toward the ocean, far below. The oxygen masks dropped, and I instinctively reached up and fumblingly put mine on.

  A brief strangled sob-like noise escaped me before I was able to choke it back. My fists clenched, and I fought to suppress the nausea churning in my gut.

  I did my best to remain calm, and by that I meant retain some semblance of dignity in my final moments of life by not totally freaking out. That was no easy feat when surrounded by hundreds of screaming people as we all accelerated toward certain death.

  The “life flashing before your eyes” thing we’ve all heard about was real. At least it was for me, although “flashing before my tightly closed eyelids” was probably a more accurate description. Moments from throughout my life raced through my mind, but I forced my thoughts to focus on Sam. I wanted to be thinking of him as I died.

  I thought of the first time I’d told him I loved him. I sent a renewal of that love out to him and wished him happiness. I thought of a promise we’d once made to each other and hoped Sam would remember it, too, then my mind zipped back to the pathetic marriage proposal I’d made and apologized to him in my mind, because he deserved so much better.

  I was hoping the end would be quick and painless, when awareness that the plane was levelling out broke through the trance. My first thought was “damn,” because I figured we were doomed regardless, but the quick and painless prospect was looking less likely if we hit at a shallower angle. I briefly regretted my reflexive grab for the oxygen mask, figuring that passed out might be a better way to go into the crash than fully conscious, but that regret was short-lived because having the opportunity to say my mental goodbyes to Sam was worth whatever I would face.

  Hope surged through me as the pilot somehow managed to bring the plane back to a fully horizontal position. The plane rattled and shook alarmingly, so unless we were near land we were still probably screwed, but the realist in me was overpowered by the optimist for now.

  The screams lessoned, then stopped, although several babies still howled. I held my hands together against my belly to stop their shaking. Whiny moans of various pitches and volumes still arose from all directions, punctuated occasionally by hysterical shouts to shut up. As grating as all of these reactions were—making an already stressful situation even more so—I wasn’t going to judge anyone’s natural response in such extraordinary circumstances.

  No instructions came over the speaker system, but the flight attendants yelled from their seats, basically telling us to remain in our seats with our seatbelts fastened, and to put on—but not inflate yet—the inflatable life vests that were under the seats in front of us.

  I did that, then noticed the older couple next to me doing the same. They’d managed to get their oxygen masks on. How pathetic was I, not even thinking of them after securing my own mask? Too late now. They were no longer necessary and were being removed so the vests could go on.

  I reached out to touch the old lady’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  They appeared calm and accepting of whatever their fate was going to be. They nodded, and the old woman said, “Yes, we’re fine.”

  Then the old man stretched his arm across to pat me on the leg. “We’re okay, sonny. Don’t you worry about us. We’ve had a good and long run, and if this is it, then at least we’ll get our wish to go together.”

  I glanced at my wedding ring. As much as I wanted a mental connection with Sam right now, I was glad he wasn’t actually with me. If I survived another fifty years I’d likely be in agreement with that sentiment.

  “You, on the other hand,” continued the old man, “have got most of your life ahead of you.” He nodded toward the exit in the row ahead of us. “Don’t you dare throw away your chance, if you get one, by delaying to try to help us. I don’t want that on my dying conscience.”

  “Nor do I,” said the woman. “Please just take care of yourself.”

  My eyes widened. “I don’t…”

  “No sonny, you listen. We refuse to get between any of these young people around us and that exit. We wouldn’t last two minutes in the water if that’s where we end up anyway, so it wouldn’t make any sense.” He lifted his hand off my knee and pointed at my face. “Promise me right now that you won’t hold back to help us. I want your word on that.”

  I hated the thought of not helping people who might need assistance, but I also understood their argument, which went back to my earlier concern about dying with dignity. The woman dipped her head in agreement with her husband’s words. They had the right to make that choice for themselves. I gulped, then nodded.

  “Say it,” he insisted.

  I took a deep breath before answering. “Okay. I promise.”

  “Good man,” he said, then relaxed into his seat and took his wife’s hand in his. I saw him give her hand a squeeze as they both closed their eyes.

  I closed my eyes again, too, and tried to shut out the noise, and regulate my breathing. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. There wasn’t anything I could do to change it, so I went back to thinking of Sam in an attempt to remain composed. I figured my odds of survival were no longer as completely non-existent as they’d been minutes ago, but they were still stacked against me, and dammit, I was going to die with dignity.

  I mentally reviewed my life with Sam and renewed my sad attempts at telepathy, sending out apologies for things I regretted and would likely never be able to correct or tell him in person. I sent out more declarations of love, and I thought again about how Sam had been looking over my shoulder when I’d made my seat selection and had pointed out the seat I now found myself sitting in. It occurred to me that it was possible in these unique circumstances that his phobia would actually save my life.

  Probably not. Most likely the impact when we ditched would kill us all, but I couldn’t help myself from picturing the possibility.

  I wondered what time it was and how near or far we were to land. How long had we been rattling our way across the ocean at this lower elevation? I didn’t wear a watch because I always had my mobile phone with me and could look at it for the time. Except that mobile phone was in my carry-on pack in the overhead, so maybe “always” wasn’t quite the correct word after all.

  I opened my eyes and dared to look out the window. It was raining. Lightening flashed and I saw how close we were to the water. “Scary close” was the answer to that question. I still had no idea how near we were to land, but figured the odds of a water landing—or ditch—were much greater. The way the plane rattled and shook, it had to be incredibly crippled.

  Were we still on the original flight path? We’d definitely been angling to the right during that steep dive, and I didn’t know if the pilot had been able to adjust his course after pulling out of it.

  My sense of time was screwed up so I also had no idea how long we’d been traveling in this new direction. Was the radio working? The overhead speakers weren’t. There’d been bangs from the front as well as the back. I was by no means an expert, but that seemed to me to indicate foul play, and radios might very well have been a target to add mystery to the plane’s demise.