Dana Mentink - Turbulence

With a sharp crack, the window fractured and pulled loose. Paul shielded Maggie’s body with his.

It could not be true that she was sitting in a crashing plane and the device that would save her father’s life was going down with it. Not now, not when she had a chance to fix things.

She peeked behind her at Paul. He had his eyes closed, his lips moving.

He was praying to a God she used to know, a God that let little children die in pain and adults live in agony.

She wished in that moment she still had someone to pray to, to help her with the fear that choked the breath out of her.

“Paul, are we going to die?”

He pushed his hand through the gap between the chairs and squeezed her hand. “We’ll make it.”

She was grateful for the lie.

lives in California with her family. Dana and her husband met doing a dinner theater production of The Velveteen Rabbit. In college, she competed in national speech and debate tournaments. Besides writing novels, Dana taste-tests for the National Food Lab and freelances for a local newspaper. In addition to her work with Steeple Hill Books, she writes cozy mysteries for Barbour Books. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at www.danamentink.com.

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Do not let kindness and truth leave you;

Bind them around your neck,

Write them on the tablet of your heart,

So you will find favor and good repute

In the sight of God and man.

—Proverbs 3:3–4

To my own little ones,

who carry my heart around with them

wherever they go.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

The box was plain metal, the color of tarnished silver.

Maddie Lambert watched as Dr. Wrigley slid it carefully onto the bench seat of the jet her father had chartered. He fastened it down with bungee cords. Odd, she thought. The box was so painfully ordinary. She’d imagined it would be more impressive somehow.

Wrigley checked his watch and took a seat on one side of the box, the cabin lights shining on his bald head as he peered at the screen of his phone.

Stomach knotted, she shouldered her bag more firmly and squeezed down the aisle to greet him.

“Dr. Wrigley.”

He looked startled. “Ms. Lambert. I had no idea you would be on the flight.”

The man hunched on the other end of the bench seat straightened abruptly.

“Paul?” She gasped, momentarily forgetting about Dr. Wrigley and his cargo.

“Maddie.”

Two syllables and in them she heard a lifetime of anguish. Maybe the grief was not in his voice, but still ringing in her own ears after a year going on eternity. A wave of emotion shuddered through her so strongly she bit her lip to keep from screaming. They’d agreed to stay out of each other’s lives. There was too much pain; the past would forever be an impossible wedge between them. She fought to keep her voice steady. “What are you doing on this plane, Paul?”

Dr. Paul Ford stood, tall and lanky, and shook away the hair that perpetually hung in his eyes. Wrigley eyed them both as if they were a couple of live grenades just rolled down the aisle.

Paul raised his hand slightly, as if he meant to take her cold fingers in his.

She tightened her grip on the bag, nails digging into the nylon strap, and forced herself to stare into his gray eyes.

Paul shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his gaze roving her face as if he had left something there long ago. “I wanted to be here, unofficially, to escort Dr. Wrigley, in case he needed anything.”

The pilot stepped into the cabin. The copilot peered in from behind him, a concerned look on his face, and holding a carton with two coffees. “Ms. Lambert? Is there a problem? This gentleman showed proper hospital identification. I was told two Bayview employees, a gentleman from the Heartline Corporation rep and you.” He looked around. “Nobody from Heartline yet?”

“No,” Dr. Wrigley said. “I’m still not certain why the company needed to send someone to accompany their device anyway. The Berlin Heart is a mechanical marvel. There’s no way we would let anything happen to it.”

“My father and I expected the hospital director.”

The pilot looked again at her. “Shall we delay takeoff?”

Focus, Maddie. Do whatever you need to to get this plane in the air.

“No, there’s no problem. I guess the director changed plans.”

Paul shrugged. “He canceled.”

The pilot excused himself and returned to the cockpit.

Dr. Wrigley looked sharply over his wire-rimmed glasses. “Canceled? Since when?”

Paul seemed not to hear the question. He took a step into the aisle, closer to Maddie. “I didn’t think…” He cleared his throat. “I assumed you would have already flown out to be with your father prior to the surgery.”

She refused to move back a pace, though his nearness, the musky smell of his cologne made her head spin with too many emotions to name. She felt the bittersweet shadow of lingering tenderness and fought to shut it down. “You think I should be with my father? To say goodbye in case it doesn’t work?”

Paul exhaled. “No, to comfort him.”

“My sister’s there. I wanted to fly with…” She looked at the secured box. “I wanted to be on this flight.” She could not stop herself from adding, “After all my father’s been through, I thought someone should be there every step along the way.”

Paul’s face twisted. He looked toward the cockpit, his chin shadowed by dark stubble. The tiny muscles in the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. She looked into his gaze, those gray eyes that used to dance with laughter, and yes, a touch of arrogance, too. They were flat now, as if some internal light had been extinguished.

Dr. Wrigley stood and rested a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Maddie? We’ve not had a chance to talk in a while. I’m honored to be a part of this. We certainly had to navigate some massive red tape to get hold of a Berlin Heart. Heartline has only made a few of their artificial hearts this year. Your father picked the best surgeon in the country. I know they had to apply for a compassionate-use permit, since it’s not yet cleared by the FDA. If everything goes well, and I’m confident it will, this may be the procedure that ensures FDA approval. It could save many thousands of lives every year.”

It was the time for diplomacy, for a conciliatory tone toward a person so much higher up the ladder she could hardly see him. Instead, she felt the ugly truth spill out. “Dr. Wrigley, I don’t care if the Berlin Heart ever gets cleared by the FDA and I don’t care about the reputation of the hospital. The only thing on my mind is whether that piece of plastic will save my father’s life.”