Part 55 (1/2)

”Oh Greta,” Matthew said with disgust, ”you're so pathetic.”

He released his grip on the bowl...and the misfortune that directly followed his letting go lasted only seconds.

With great force the bowl crashed into Greta's chest and propelled her backward.

Instantly seeing what his letting go would cause, Matthew dove forward with outstretched hands. His fingers grazed the bowl's surface.

Flying backward, Greta let go of the bowl and thrust her hands behind her to try and break her fall. However, it was her not her bottom that crashed first, but her head, into the wall behind her.

Her body dropped to the floor in a lifeless heap, legs splayed at an awkward angle.

Matthew, in midair, felt the bowl's cool underside brush his fingertips and he squeezed his hands together. But it was too late.

The base of the object struck the hardwood floor. It shattered with a resonant ring, and shards of gla.s.s blasted in every direction.

He closed his eyes as he sailed to the ground and landed in a pile of gla.s.s between his wife's unmoving legs.

Then, perfect silence.

He lay there for a moment before opening his eyes, grateful at once that his vision had escaped the shrapnel. The first thing he saw was blood. He panicked, and gla.s.s crunched beneath his arms as he raised himself up on his elbows. He was aware of many stabs along the undersides of his arms and blood started gus.h.i.+ng from his palms.

Then he saw her. He quickly brushed the largest broken pieces away with a folded box. He leaned close to her face, squeezed her cheeks between his b.l.o.o.d.y fingers. ”Greta,” he shouted. ”Wake up!” He looked from her face to her chest for evidence of life, pressed her stomach, tried to make her breathe. He squeezed her lips between her fingers and put his lips on hers and blew, felt nothing in return. Had he killed her? He let out an agonized groan, how could this be happening when everything was back to the way they had planned?

He crawled up between her legs. He pulled her head to his chest, and with his other hand he searched for her pulse.

”Oh Greta,” he moaned, gazing with disbelief at the fragments.

Where was her pulse?

”I'll fix it,” he whispered, probing for her heartbeat with his b.l.o.o.d.y fingertips, all the while staring with bedazzled eyes at the brilliant shards twinkling in the light, searching in vain for one that might contain the etchings of the salmon fish.

But he found none, for their arduous journey had come to its fated end, lost forever in the frozen crystal bits.

Once the plane reached cruising alt.i.tude, William reclined his seat and closed his eyes, musing over an idea that had flashed in his mind the instant Matthew had asked for his promise.

Now, after dozing on and off through half the flight, half-consciously dreaming up the specifics of his new plan, he was ready to put down the particulars. He opened his notebook on the tray table and went to work. He drew various boxes and connected them together. He penciled his name in the uppermost box, and filled in the others.

A flight attendant appeared at his seat. ”Sir, you slept through the meal. Can I bring you a snack or a beverage?”

He looked up from the chart. This was cause for celebration.

”How about a Sa.s.sy Screw?” he said, a little embarra.s.sed saying the c.o.c.ktail's name, but in want of one just the same. He continued drawing, completely filling the page with little squares and lines.

The flight attendant returned and placed the drink on a napkin beside his notebook. As he put the finis.h.i.+ng touches on his work, a few bubbles fizzed from his drink and settled on the page, staining it with tiny dots.

As he stared at the little dots speckling his work, an awfully funny thought entered his mind. A short laugh burst from his lips, and a few pa.s.sengers in nearby seats glanced curiously his way.