CHAPTER 32
Cate
After I agreed to go to Peter and Genevieve’s wedding with Joe, I tried to put my emotions on hold, telling myself I just needed to get through the week without overthinking things. It was impossible not to be sad, knowing what would be coming afterward, but one thing at a time.
For the next three days, I pretended that I was only headed to a modeling shoot—and prepped accordingly, just like the old days. I got my eyebrows waxed, my highlights touched up, and my nails done. Then, on the evening before we left, I went to Bergdorf and bought a black off-the-shoulder, silk crepe dress from Rive Gauche, the ready-to-wear line from Yves Saint Laurent.
Curtis, who insisted on going shopping with me and was still in denial about the breakup, pushed back on the idea of my wearing black. He said that black was a downer for a spring wedding by the water, and the dress was way too “drapey” for my body.
“It looks like a potato sack,” he said.
I told him that was the point. The dress hit the right understated note, and the less people noticed me, the better.
“Because you don’t want to upstage the bride?” Curtis eagerly asked.
I rolled my eyes but smiled, thinking that everyone should have a cheerleader as big as Curtis. “No, honey. Because I’m on the way out the door. Better to blend into the woodwork,” I said, thinking that I also needed to avoid the wedding photographer, lest I end up in too many of Genevieve’s photos.
Curtis stuffed his fingers into his ears, closed his eyes, and shouted, “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!”
I waited until he was finished, then said, “You’re ridiculous.”
“No, you’re ridiculous. And I refuse to believe I won’t be doing your wedding makeup later this year.”
“Wait a second. Is this about my relationship ending—or you not getting to do my wedding makeup?” I smiled, determined to keep the mood light—or at least not heavy.
“Both,” he said. “Oh! That reminds me—I picked up a new MAC lipstick for you. It’s called Russian Roulette. You’ll love it.”
“Well, the name feels somehow appropriate, but I’m not wearing red lipstick this weekend.”
“Why not?”
“I told you. I’m going for understated. Neutral.”
“Red is a neutral.”
“Still. It’s too bold.”
“C’mon, Cate. If you’re going to insist on black, can you please just do a red lip?”
“I’m not sure why you care so much. But sure. Whatever,” I said, throwing him a bone.
“Personally, I don’t care,” Curtis said with a smile. “But Joe loves your red lipstick.”
—
The plan was to meet at Joe’s place at two, then ride out to the Essex County Airport together. But around noon, he called and told me that his meeting was running late, and that it might make more sense to link up at the airport. I told him that was no problem, then asked what time I should arrive.
“Let’s say four,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, knowing that for Joe, that meant closer to five. “As long as we’re not flying in the dark,” I added, starting to get a little anxious about the flight. Like a lot of people, I had a thing about small planes, and it didn’t help that I knew how much his mother and Berry feared his flying.
“Daylight savings, baby! Sunset’s not till seven-something,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you at four.”
—
As predicted, Joe jogged into the terminal a few minutes past five.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” he said, out of breath. “The traffic was insane.”
“It’s fine,” I said, closing my magazine. I stood up and put on a soothing face.
“Man—” he said, shaking his head.
“What?”
“Nothing…It’s just…you’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s been a long time.”
My stomach fluttered a little—because I loved seeing his face, too. But I played it off with a laugh and said, “I just saw you four nights ago.”
“Yeah. But I was drunk as shit four nights ago.”
“You were?” I said, suddenly wondering if Berry had been drinking, too. I’d replayed our conversation many times, feeling both guilty and angry about everything she’d said—and not said.
“Yeah,” he said with a shrug.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not ‘drunk as shit’ now.”
Joe laughed, but the second the words were out of my mouth, I thought of my father and what he’d done, and felt a wave of nausea. Drunk driving—or flying—was nothing to joke about.
I pushed those thoughts away as two men escorted us out to the tarmac. The older, obsequious one was in a suit and tie; the younger guy, in an orange vest, carried my bag.
“What do you think?” Joe asked, beaming proudly as we approached his red and white plane. I knew, from hearing him talk about it, that it was a Piper Saratoga.
“It’s very pretty,” I said, wondering if that was the proper adjective for a plane. “Or should I say handsome?”
Joe chuckled and said, “Pretty. She’s definitely a girl.”
“How can you tell?” I asked, playing along.
“ ’Cause she’s that beautiful,” he said with an amorous sigh.
I smiled, but I could feel myself getting more nervous by the second. The plane looked smaller than I’d expected—and decidedly less sturdy—almost like a toy plane with low, skinny wings and a three-blade propeller in front.
As I watched the orange-vest man take Joe’s duffel from him, then climb a rinky-dink staircase and load both of our bags onto the plane, it crossed my mind to abort the mission. Fear of flying was the perfect excuse. And bonus: his mother would be on my side. I wondered if she even knew what he was up to today.
I played it out in my head, thinking that it would be embarrassing, but so what? I reminded myself that the game was over; I didn’t have to pretend to be the cool, adventurous, fearless girl anymore. If anything, it was better to give Joe something to talk to his next girlfriend about. I could hear him now, telling her how skittish I’d been about everything. Boats, swimming, skiing, airplanes. All the stuff he loved.
But I knew what would happen if I backed out. Joe would stay with me, and I’d be messing things up for him. We’d have to rebook commercial flights and wouldn’t be able to get to Maryland until tomorrow morning, which meant he would miss his round of groomsmen’s golf. I had no choice but to suck it up.
Trying to make light conversation, I asked, “How many passengers does she hold?”
“Six!” he said with the proudest grin. “But it’s just two today, babe!”
“So…no copilot?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. Joe had told me before that the plane was certified for a single pilot—and since he’d passed his final flight test, he always flew solo.
“No. I don’t need one. This is a cinch,” he said, shifting his gaze from the plane to me. “You’re not worried, are you?”
“No,” I lied.
The man in the suit, who had been pretending that he wasn’t listening to us, now turned around and said to me, “This is a very high-performance aircraft, miss. It can practically fly itself.”
I smiled, relaxing a little as Joe said to the man, “You forgot the part about me being a hell of a pilot!”
The man laughed and said, “Yes. The very best, sir.”
“Monty, if you call me sir one more time…” Joe said, raising his fist in jest.
“Sorry, Joe. Habit.”
Joe smiled and whistled, looking up. “Blue skies the whole way to Annapolis!”
At that point, we were at the foot of the stairs, and Joe motioned for me to climb aboard. “Ladies first!” he said.
I took a breath and climbed the few steps up, ducking into the plane when I got to the top. The cabin was tight and stuffy.
“Have a great flight!” the two men yelled up at us in unison, waving.
I waved back as Joe bellowed out a thank-you. Then he pulled up the stairs, latching the door shut. Still crouched down, I asked him where I should sit.
“Next to me!” he said, pointing to the copilot’s seat.
I sat down and put on my seatbelt, watching as Joe went over a meticulous checklist, talking to himself as he fiddled around with levers and buttons and various laminated papers. After several minutes, he put on a headset, flipped on a radio, and started talking to the control tower, rattling off letters and numbers. Joe was the most competent man I’d ever met, and I felt a sharp pang, wondering how I could possibly give him up.
After a few more exchanges with the tower, Joe turned to me and offered me my own headset. “You want to put this on?”
“Do I need to?”
He smiled and said, “Only if you want to listen in.”
“Sure,” I said, nodding and taking the headset. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“The life vests are right behind us,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “Under the first-row seats.”
“No other safety features?” I asked. “Oxygen? Stuff like that?”
Joe gave me a reassuring smile and said, “There’s no need for oxygen, honey. We won’t be going that high. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. And the view!”
I nodded, putting on my headset and forcing a smile back.
He gave me a final thumbs-up, then turned on the engine, still flipping switches. A few seconds later, he began to drive, steering the plane toward the runway, where we waited in line behind two other planes. I watched as they took off and we crept closer to the front of the line.
Then it was our turn. Joe’s face lit up more and more as the noise of the engine and the propeller got louder and louder, groaning and whirring at once, until we were finally taking off, surging up and into the air. It was terrifying but also exhilarating, reminding me of the time Joe took me out on his boat.
As we gained altitude, the vibrations and noise lessened, and I felt myself start to relax. It was smooth sailing through bright blue skies, the sun still well above the horizon. I wondered what I had been so worried about. It really was a piece of cake for Joe, and at one point, he even flipped open a tin of Altoids and offered me one. I smiled, shook my head, and pointed at the sky as if to say stay focused. He nodded, looking back at the horizon.
As we cruised along, I began to daydream, thinking of all our happy times together, refusing to contemplate the end. Not yet. At some point, the droning of the propellers, the warm sunlight, and all the vibrations of the plane lulled me to sleep.
I’m not sure how much time passed, but when I woke up, the sun was beginning to set and we were approaching a body of water that must have been the Chesapeake. The view was breathtaking. We were getting close. As I sat up in my seat, Joe looked over and smiled at me. I smiled back, feeling a wave of pure love. I told myself to stay in the moment—to cherish this time together.
Then, suddenly, the engine made a weird sputtering sound. In the next second, I saw smoke outside my window. I glanced over at Joe, praying that he’d appear calm. Instead, I saw panic etched all over his face and watched as he began frantically flipping switches and talking adamantly over the radio. I didn’t follow what he was saying, but it didn’t sound good, nor did the loud bang that followed.
Joe jumped and screamed fuck as our propeller slowed, then ground to a sickening stop. Meanwhile, the plane quickly lost altitude, dropping and gliding while Joe continued to steer and maneuver. “Don’t worry! We’ll be okay!” he yelled without looking at me.
I nodded, believing him. He could do it; he could do anything. But we kept falling, and Joe looked more terrified by the second. My heart pounding in my ears and my throat constricting, I closed my eyes. Fearing that this was the end, the Kingsley curse crossed my mind. It was something Joe and I had never talked about—something I dismissed as ridiculous. In every family there was tragedy, especially in a big family like Joe’s. Yet here we were.
When I opened my eyes, Joe was looking at me, shouting, “We’ve lost power! We gotta land on the water!”
Terrified and now starting to hyperventilate, I stared at him and nodded.
Seconds felt like hours as Joe kept yelling into his mic, sweat pouring down his forehead and cheeks. I began to pray, then silently recite the Lord’s Prayer—at least the words I could remember. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done echoed in my head until I heard Joe begin to shout.
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!
It was a word I’d only ever heard in movies, and I suddenly understood what people meant by an “out-of-body experience.” I felt as if I were somewhere else, watching a disaster unfold, and I could only vaguely hear the man on the other end of the radio who was trying to help Joe land his plane on the water.
A second later, static filled the airwaves and the radio went silent. We were on our own.
“Fuck!” Joe yelled, ripping off his headset and throwing it to the floor between us. From there, his lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and I wondered whether he was coaching himself or praying.
“Grab the life jacket behind the seat,” Joe yelled at one point, his eyes still on the horizon.
Feeling paralyzed, I couldn’t move.
“Now, Cate! Life preserver! Now!”
I took my seatbelt off and followed his instructions, grabbing my life jacket and putting it on, my hands shaking.
“Sit down! Head down! Brace for impact!” Joe yelled.
I got back in my seat while we continued to sink, gliding downward, careening toward the water. I realized we were going to crash and maybe—probably—die. Meanwhile, Joe kept steering, concentrating, swearing. His lips never stopped moving.
In those final few seconds before we crashed, the cabin was eerily quiet, and my thoughts scattered. I pictured my mother and then my father, forgiving them both. I saw Elna, then Curtis and Wendy. Mostly, though, I saw Joe and me together, a hundred scenes and memories flashing through my mind.
Then we hit the water. I screamed and closed my eyes, but we didn’t die. Instead, the belly of the plane skipped across the surface, once, twice, three times. Unscathed. It felt like a miracle. Then we hit the fourth time, and the wing on Joe’s side dipped into the water, and we were thrown violently sideways. Water surrounded us, and instantly began seeping in everywhere. I looked over at Joe and saw blood on his forehead, his eyes closed.
I screamed his name, but he didn’t answer or open his eyes. He couldn’t hear me. Nobody could hear me. I was alone. I told myself that I had to calm down and focus, that I didn’t have much time. The plane began taking on more water, and I could feel us sinking. I took off my seatbelt, then reached over and unlatched Joe’s. I shook him, trying to wake him up, still calling his name. He was breathing, but motionless, and didn’t respond. I pulled him free from his belt with all my strength, then stood and reached for the latch to open the door. I heard it click, but it didn’t open, so I kicked it as hard as I could and it finally released, more water pouring in. I scrambled back to Joe, dragged him from his seat, and pulled his body toward the door. The water in the cabin was now knee-deep, which helped me get him to the door, as by then he was floating. I looked out, straight into the Chesapeake, which was still rushing into the plane. We had to get out—or sink with the plane. It really was sink or swim. I pulled the cord on my life jacket, relieved when it inflated. Then I took a final deep breath and paddled out into the freezing water, pulling Joe behind me.
It was almost dark by then, and so hard to see with waves hitting my face. I looked around and noticed that one wing of the airplane had broken off and was floating nearby. Shivering uncontrollably, I struggled to swim over to it while barely holding Joe’s head above water. After a few strokes, I was exhausted, and it suddenly felt hopeless. The wing was too far away, and I was getting numb. I told myself I had to keep going. I had no choice. Somehow, I got us there, reaching out to grab the wing with one arm, gripping Joe’s head with the other. As I turned to look back, I watched the plane disappear, becoming completely submerged in the bay.
The next few minutes got colder and darker and more hopeless, and I began sobbing as uncontrollably as I was shivering. It was the end, and I knew it. I told Joe that I loved him, hoping he could somehow hear me.
At some point, I was completely numb—so numb I could no longer feel the cold. Then, just as I started to fall asleep, I heard an engine in the distance. I tried to yell but couldn’t—I was too exhausted. I had no voice—and no free hands to wave. So, I just prayed they would find us. The last thing I remembered was an incredibly bright light shining in my eyes.
—
Days later, I would learn exactly the way things happened. How Joe’s Mayday to the tower was relayed to the Coast Guard, who immediately dispatched a boat to save us. At the same time, witnesses saw our crash landing, and news reporters were immediately on the scene, our rescue broadcast all over the country and world.
But that night, when Dottie rushed into my hospital room, I was unaware of any of that. I pictured a much different scenario—that she’d been quietly summoned from her hotel in Annapolis, the public unaware of the accident.
“Oh, darling,” she said, her heels click-clacking on the floor as she crossed over to my bedside. “Thank God you’re okay!”
I caught the nurse staring at us for a beat before she closed the door, giving us privacy, and it suddenly occurred to me that Dottie and I had never been completely alone before. I’d also never seen her so disheveled, including in the photos taken the day her husband died. Her hair was mussed, her eye makeup smudged, and her lips bare.
“Have you seen Joe?” I asked. My voice was hoarse and sluggish, like it wasn’t my own.
“Yes, dear. I’ve seen him. He’s going to be fine. Just fine,” she said in a soothing voice. Nurses had told me the same, but I’d feared they weren’t telling me the truth—and I knew there was no way Dottie would lie to me about her son. I felt a final surge of relief.
“Can I see him?”
“Soon,” she said. “They’re keeping you both overnight—out of an abundance of caution. Joe got a pretty good knock on the head.”
“I know,” I said, welling up with tears, remembering everything.
Dottie reached out and patted the heavy heated blankets that were pulled up and tucked around my chin. “Sweetheart, he’s fine. I promise.”
I nodded, blinking back tears. She swallowed, then added, “Thanks to you, Cate. You saved his life.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He saved mine. That landing…I don’t know how he did it. I thought we were going to die.”
“Cate,” she said, her voice suddenly strong. “He would have died without you. The Coast Guard told me what happened…how you were holding on to him.”
I felt my chin quiver, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Shh—shh, sweetie. Please don’t cry,” she said. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling, pulling my arms out from under the blankets, taking the handkerchief, and wiping my nose. “I shouldn’t have let him fly….”
“Nobody can stop Joe from doing what he wants,” she said, smiling through her own tears. “Not even you.”
I nodded and said, “I know.”
We sat in silence for several long seconds before Dottie cleared her throat and said, “You can’t leave him, Cate.”
I stared at her, wondering what, exactly, she knew. She spelled it out for me. “Berry told me you were coming to the wedding just to be nice…before you end things for good….”
“I love him so much,” I said. It felt like the truest statement I’d ever uttered until my next one. “But I just want what’s best for him.”
“I know you do, honey,” she said. “And I hope you can see that you are what’s best for him.”
Thinking of my father, and that horrible accident from long ago, I shook my head and said, “I don’t think so, Dottie. I wish I were…but I don’t think so.”
“Yes. You are,” she said, nodding emphatically. “You are.”
“There are things you don’t know…” I said, my voice trailing off.
Dottie pressed her lips together, inhaled through her nose, then sat on the edge of my bed, taking my hand in hers. Her skin was cool, just like it was that day in the Hamptons when she shook my hand in her backyard. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Cate,” she said, gazing down at me. “I need to tell you something—and I want you to listen very carefully.”
I nodded, blinking, waiting.
After several more seconds of silence, she said, “I know about your father. I know about his prison sentence and that he’s out now.”
Stunned, I asked her how she knew.
She took a deep breath, then said, “Your mother told me everything.”
“My mother? When?”
“After your argument with Joe in the park. She assumed it was about this…. She couldn’t get ahold of you—so she came to my apartment.”
I stared at her in disbelief. It was so much to process. “I didn’t know about my father until just recently. I thought he was dead,” I finally said, wanting her to know that I hadn’t lied to Joe.
“I know. Your mother told me that, too.”
“Does Joe know?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t think it was right to tell him for you. It’s your story to share.”
“Thank you,” I said, too emotional and exhausted and overwhelmed to muster anything else.
“Joe’s right,” she said, looking into my eyes. “You’re a good person. And I pray that you will marry my son. I want you to be his wife, and I want you to be my daughter-in-law. My daughter.”
The moment felt like a miracle—the second of the night.
“You do?” I said, getting choked up.
“Yes. I do,” Dottie said. “Cate, you saved his life. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“You just did,” I said, smiling through my tears.