Mayday! 
 
Author: JanetD

Email: jdillon@mail.win.org

Rating: PG (language)

Summary: Nick’s plane experiences serious mechanical difficulties.

Author's Notes: 1) For the purposes of this tale I have assumed that Nick is 
allowed to travel out of state as long as he receives permission from his 
probation officer first (which is how I think it really works, anyhow). 2) As I 
was finishing this story, I decided to do a little research on corporate jets. 
In doing so, I realized that these planes probably are required to carry a 
co-pilot, whereas in my story there is only a pilot. But I decided to just 
ignore that revelation. BTW, if you would like to see a picture of the jet I 
used in the story (and a sample interior - mine is a little different), check 
out
http://www.aircraft-charter-world.com/jets/lear45.htm 

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed 
from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any 
resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is 
purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted 
in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.
 
--+--

The LearJet 45 cut cleanly through the air as it descended through the white 
puffy clouds. Its flight seemed effortless. The sleek twin-engine aircraft with 
the distinctive up-tilted wingtips was a beautiful sight against the pure blue 
of the sky. The eight passenger windows on the side of the long, narrow aircraft 
glinted brightly in the sunshine. It was a beautiful day for flying. 

Nick Fallin’s head was bent over the paperwork in front of him. He was deep in 
concentration despite the fact that the pilot had called back a few minutes 
before that they would be landing in Atlanta in about 20 minutes. Putting down 
his pen, Nick raised his head, and rubbed at the back of his neck. A couple 
seats ahead of him, on the other side of the aisle, he could see that one of his 
clients, Pete Reynolds, appeared to be dozing. Nick didn’t know what Pete’s 
partner, Ned, might be doing at the moment, as he was sitting in the rear of the 
plane. From what Nick had gathered, Ned was something of a nervous flyer. He 
chose to sit in the rear of the aircraft for safety’s sake, and preferred not to 
converse during the flight. Otherwise, Nick knew he would be sitting up front 
with Pete. Peter Reynolds and Neddrick Barton had founded R & B Manufacturing 
back in the seventies. From what Nick had observed in the three years he had 
handled their account, they were good friends, as well as business partners. 

Nick and the other two men were headed to Atlanta this Monday morning to start 
talks with Precision, Inc., a company that R & B was interested in acquiring. 
This would be the first meeting between the representatives of the two 
companies, but Nick thought chances were good that they would be able to work 
out a deal that was acceptable to both parties. Precision, Inc. was in the 
market for a buyer, and its acquisition would allow R & B to expand into a 
portion of the manufacturing sector that it didn’t currently occupy. He believed 
it was a good fit all around.

Suddenly, Nick heard a loud thunk, and the whole aircraft shuddered. Almost 
immediately he felt the plane going into a steep dive. “Oh, my God!” he thought. 
He knew something had to be seriously wrong, and he felt his heart begin to race 
as adrenalin flooded his system. “Are we going to crash? Oh God-Oh God!” He 
fought to stay calm. He looked forward, and saw that Pete was now wide awake. He 
was calling up to the pilot to ask what was going on. Nick heard the pilot call 
back through the open curtain, “Everybody stay in your seats. Fasten your seat 
belts!” Nick quickly checked his lap belt, and found it was already buckled. As 
he was sitting on the right side of the plane he had a partial view of the 
pilot. He could see the man struggling to regain control of the aircraft. Then 
he heard him calling for help over the radio, “Mayday, Mayday! This is Hamilton 
Charters 21. We are experiencing an emergency. Be advised we are in a steep 
dive. Mayday!” This was followed by some technical jargon that Nick couldn’t 
really follow, but there was no question that their situation was critical. Nick 
met Pete eyes then, and saw that the other man appeared to be just as frightened 
as he was. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Ned was white as a 
sheet. He appeared to be almost in shock. Nick felt an impulse to comfort the 
other man, and said loudly, “I-I-I think it’s going to be okay. Just, just hang 
on.” Ned acted as if he didn’t even hear him. Nick turned back around, and 
peered out the window on his right. It seemed that the ground was approaching 
awfully quickly. He gulped and closed his eyes. Leaning his head back on the 
headrest, he began to pray. 

Somewhere in the midst of his second or third prayer, Nick found himself 
thinking about his father. He should try to call him. If this was really it, he 
wanted a chance to say goodbye. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, and 
punched the speed dial sequence for his father’s direct line. Nothing happened. 
He looked at the phone. It was dead. Damn! He had seen the battery was low last 
night, and had intended to switch it for a fresh one, but then had gotten 
distracted. He’d totally forgotten about it this morning in his rush to get to 
the airport. Shit! Well maybe one of the other two men had a cell phone he could 
use, but then...that was kind of selfish, wasn’t it? They’d want to be making 
calls to their own family, if that was the case. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask. 
“Has anybody got a cell phone?” he said loudly. Pete immediately turned around, 
and said, “No. Sorry, son.” There was no response from Ned in the back of the 
plane, but Nick hadn’t really expected one. “Okay, thanks,” he said to Pete. 
Dammit! That was that then. 

Since he couldn’t speak to his father, Nick found himself trying to picture what 
he might be doing right now. “Probably sitting at his desk with his head buried 
in a brief or contract,” he thought. If he hadn’t been in such a perilous 
situation, he would have smiled at the thought. If there was one thing Burton 
Aloysius Fallin was, it was a hard worker. That had always been the case. With a 
mental shake of his head, Nick’s thoughts turned back to his current 
predicament. He wondered how Dad would feel if he...if he didn’t make it through 
this. He felt his eyes grow wet, envisioning his dad getting the news that he 
was dead. He knew it would break him up. Despite everything, he knew his father 
loved him...had always loved him. There had been times he didn’t believe that. 
Or at least, didn’t want to believe it, but now he knew it had always been true. 


As Nick was completing that thought, he felt the airplane begin to level out. He 
opened his eyes, and looked out the window. Yes, he was right. They were still 
going down, but at a much, much slower rate of descent. After another moment had 
passed with no new signs of trouble, Nick’s heart stopped pounding and his 
breathing rate slowed. He was just beginning to think that maybe they were out 
of the woods when the pilot yelled back, “We’re going down! I’m sorry. We’re not 
going to be able to make it to the airport. Brace yourselves!”

If Nick had thought his pulse was racing earlier, it went into triple time now. 
His heart was in his mouth, and tears began to fill his eyes. He didn’t want to 
die. Not yet. It was too soon. He rechecked his seat belt again, and then took 
firm hold of the table in front of him. He saw that Pete was doing the same 
thing. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Ned was still sitting as if 
in a stupor. Nick yelled at him to brace himself, but it did no good. The man 
did not move. Facing forward Nick looked out the window again. He couldn’t 
really judge how far up they were, maybe a thousand feet, but they were 
descending into a large wooded area. That didn’t seem good. And he couldn’t see 
any sign of a town or houses. It looked like wilderness.

As he watched the ground approaching closer and closer, Nick began to see events 
from his life flash before his eyes. He saw his father at about forty years of 
age standing in their swimming pool, his arms open wide. He was saying, “Come 
on, son. Go ahead. Jump! I’ll catch you.” Nick had been about four years old 
then, and had recently had a fright about the water. His dad was trying to get 
him back into the pool, and was trying to encourage him with one of their 
favorite games. Dad would stand in about four feet of water, and catch Nick as 
he jumped in from the side of the pool. Normally, Nick just loved this, but 
after his scare, he’d been reluctant to get back in the water. Burton had been 
trying for some time now to coax him in, without success. But this time Nick had 
finally gathered up his courage, and jumped. Dad had caught him, and then began 
to bob gently up and down in the water with him. Nick held on tightly at first, 
but gradually began to loosen his death grip on his father’s neck. “That’s it. 
That’s it,” Dad had said with quiet encouragement. “See? It’s fine. You’re fine, 
son.” 

That image was replaced by one of his mother bending down to hug his 
five-year-old self before leaving him at the classroom door on his first day of 
kindergarten. His mother had had tears in her eyes, but smiled at him tenderly 
before taking her leave. 

From there he flashed forward another three years. He had just hit his first 
home run in Little League. He had been so proud. It was a bona fide homer too, 
not one that just skipped past the outfielder’s legs. His ball had sailed clear 
over the kid’s head. After he crossed home plate, Nick turned to look up at the 
bleachers, and found his mother. She was jumping up and down, and waving madly. 
His father wasn’t next to her, though. Dad wasn’t there. He had promised Nick he 
would try to make the game, but as usually happened, `business` had gotten in 
the way. Nick had felt himself deflate a little after that. He would have liked 
his dad to have seen his homer. Oh, well.

The scene changed again, and Nick was at his mother’s bedside as she lay dying. 
She had been so thin by that point, so weak. Watching her draw each agonized 
breath had been torture. And then, she’d stop breathing, and she was gone. 
Between one second and the next - she was there, and then she was gone. He had 
been devastated, had thought he’d never get over the hurt, and he’d been right.

After that, the pictures came in even faster succession. It was a kaleidoscope 
of the people and places that had been important in his life. Nick felt tears 
rolling down his checks now. “Please, God, I don’t want to die!” was his last 
thought before they hit the ground.

----+----

It was 11:30 in the morning, and bright sunlight was streaming into Burton 
Fallin’s office at Fallin & Associates. Burton and senior associate Jake Straka 
were seated at the conference table discussing a new client that Jake had just 
brought into the firm. The client, Richard Merker--a big player in the 
Pittsburgh business community--was someone who had been on the F&A radar for 
some time now, so Burton was pleased with Jake’s coup. The two men were talking 
about how best to meet Mr. Merker’s immediate legal needs when a knock came at 
the door. “Come in,” Burton said, and looked up to see his assistant Sheila 
sticking her head in the door.

“Mr. Fallin, I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s a Mr. Shelton from R & B 
Manufacturing on the phone. He says it’s urgent that he speak with you.”

Burton nodded. “Okay, Sheila, put him through.” He got up from the conference 
table, and circled around behind his desk. A look of concern appeared on his 
face as he reached to pick up the phone. Nick and the two owners of R & B had 
left that very morning to fly down to Atlanta. R & B was considering making an 
acquisition of a company based there, and this afternoon was the kick-off for 
those talks. 

Jake had stayed seated at the table after Sheila’s announcement, but looked on 
with interest as Burton put the phone to his ear.

In just a moment, Burton heard an unfamiliar voice come over the line. He had 
never met Bradley Shelton, but knew he had recently become a vice-president at R 
& B. He had been recruited from an out-of-state competitor.

“Hello, Mr. Fallin?” 

Burton thought he detected strain in the man’s voice, and answered uneasily, 
“Yes, this is Burton Fallin.” 

“Mr. Fallin, we haven’t met. I’m Bradley Shelton, a vice president here at R & 
B.... Mr. Fallin, I’m afraid I have some very bad news. We were just informed 
that the plane that your son and Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Barton were taking to 
Atlanta dropped off the radar about half an hour ago. There’s been no contact 
with the plane since. I’m afraid.... They think the plane must have crashed. I’m 
very sorry.”

As he had heard the words “dropped off the radar” all the blood had drained from 
Burton’s face. As Mr. Shelton finished speaking, the senior Fallin groped behind 
him with one hand, and located the arm of his chair. He dropped down into it 
abruptly.

“Mr. Fallin?” Shelton was saying. Burton couldn’t reply at first. His mind was 
whirling. “The plane has crashed?” he thought. “Oh my God, Nicholas!”

When Jake had seen Burton turn pale and seek his chair, he had gotten up, and 
walked over to stand in front of the desk. Now he watched Burton with deep 
concern.

“Mr. Fallin? Are you there?” Shelton said.

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” Burton managed to get out. His vision was blurred by the 
tears that were filling his eyes. “Do they know what happened?”

“We were told that the pilot had issued a distress signal shortly before the 
crash. Some kind of catastrophic mechanical failure, apparently. The plane had 
gone into a rapid descent, but the pilot was able to regain partial control 
shortly before they disappeared off radar. He had told the tower he was going to 
have to ground the plane.”

Burton closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said in a 
stricken voice, “When will we know something more?”

“They have aircraft up now to search for...for any signs of wreckage. The plane 
was about 60 miles out of Atlanta when it went down. So I imagine it won’t take 
the search planes too long to reach the area.... Do you have a pen? I can give 
you the direct number for the Head of Operations at the Atlanta airport. That’s 
who contacted us.”

Burton fumbled on his desk for a pen and a piece of paper. “Go ahead,” he said, 
and wrote down the number that Shelton read off.

Shelton continued, “I’m, I’m really sorry to have to be the one to give you this 
news, Mr. Fallin. I pray that they will all come through this in one piece.”

“Thank you,” Burton said slowly. “Thank you for calling and letting me know, Mr. 
Shelton.”

“Well...goodbye, Mr. Fallin.”

“Goodbye.” As Burton hung up the phone, he placed one elbow on the desk, and 
lowered his forehead into his open palm.

“Burton,” Jake said urgently. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

A visible shudder ran through Burton’s frame. He didn’t look up as he answered 
in a pain-filled voice, “It’s Nick... They think the plane he was on.... They 
think it crashed.” 

“Oh my God.” Jake was dumbfounded. After a second he added, “They think it 
crashed?”

“Uh-huh. The pilot radioed the tower that there was trouble, and that he was 
having to...to put the plane down. They’ve got search planes looking for them 
now.”

Jake’s shock and distress were clearly visible on his face. “I’m so sorry, 
Burton.... Nick...my God. I’m so sorry.... Is there anything I can do?” 

Burton raised his head, and studied the younger man. Jake could see tears 
trailing down Burton’s cheek. Drawing in a deep breath, Burton said, “Thank you, 
Jake. I, uh, I have to call down to the Atlanta airport to see if I can, if I 
can get any more information. I’d appreciate it if you...if you could let Sheila 
know what’s happened.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“No. No. Thank you, Jake.”

“Okay,” Jake said, nodding. He seemed reluctant to leave the room, but at last 
repeated “okay” again quietly, and slowly walked out of the office.

As the door closed, Burton rested his head in both his hands. “Nick...Nick. Oh 
my God, Nick,” he said softly, as his tears began to flow in earnest.

----+----

Nick Fallin opened his eyes. He was alive. He couldn’t believe it. The plane had 
crashed, and he was still alive. It was a miracle. He raised his head slowly 
from where it rested on the table before him. “Ahhh!”, he said, as he felt a 
stabbing pain in his chest. He brought his right hand up and gently felt for the 
source of the pain. There was a three inch swath across the right side of his 
chest that was sore to the touch. He thought maybe he’d broken some ribs. 
Sitting up the rest of the way with care, he realized that his left arm was 
throbbing. It was lying on the table in front of him. Moving it experimentally, 
he let out another cry as pain jolted through his arm. “Well that was a 
mistake,” he thought to himself ruefully. Glancing out the window to try to 
determine their situation, he saw nothing but a tree-covered hillside. Suddenly 
he realized that the wing was not blocking his view. It was gone, apparently 
sheared off in the crash. Nick turned then to look around the cabin. He grimaced 
as the movement elicited another stab of pain from his injured ribs. He 
immediately saw that both Pete and Ned were slumped over in their seats. Soft 
moans were issuing from Pete’s mouth. 

Moving carefully, Nick used his right hand to unfasten his seat belt, and then 
slowly stood up. He had to hold on to the table to maintain his balance, as the 
floor of the cabin was now sloping sharply downward and to the right. The 
fuselage of the plane had come to rest partly on its side with the nose 
considerably downhill from the aft-section. This caused the floor of the cabin 
to slope steeply toward the front of the plane and, more moderately, from left 
to right.

Standing where he was for a moment, Nick realized that the pain in his chest was 
still there, but it wasn’t the sharp agony it had been a moment ago. He found 
that it was painful to breathe, however. He then became aware of wetness on his 
right temple and cheek. He brought up his right hand, and felt tentatively 
around his brow. He quickly located a 3/4 inch gash where the eye ridge ended. 
Bringing his hand down, he saw blood on his fingers. He stared at the blood for 
a few seconds, then retrieved his handkerchief from inside his jacket. He held 
it to his head briefly, and then started over to Pete who was sitting two seats 
forward. Nick held on to the tops of the seats with his right hand as he walked, 
trying to maintain his balance on the sharply inclined floor. His left arm he 
held protectively in front of him, bent at the elbow, and resting lightly 
against his stomach. His arms and ribs still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but he 
knew there was nothing he could do about that now, and the other men in the 
plane needed his help. 

The aisle between the seats was so narrow (probably no more than nine inches), 
that Nick had to turn sideways as he passed each set of chairs. Reaching Pete, 
Nick turned to face him, spreading his legs apart to brace himself against the 
angle of the floor. Realizing that his bloody handkerchief was still in his 
hand, Nick stuffed it into his outside coat pocket before reaching out his good 
arm to Pete. He touched him gently on the shoulder while simultaneously calling 
his name. Pete looked up, and attempted to focus on Nick. “Nick?” he said. 
“Wha-what? We crashed didn’t we? We crashed.”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “We did. Are you hurt?”

“I, uh...yeah, my belly hurts...hurts something fierce.”

Nick nodded. “Sit back,” he said gently. “Let me see.” Pete sat back with a 
groan. Nick looked down at Pete’s shirt front, but couldn’t see any sign of 
blood. He did see that Pete’s seat belt was riding up around his middle, rather 
than in his lap, as it should be. Keeping his left arm tight against his body, 
Nick reached forward, and unbuckled the seat belt with his right hand, his ribs 
protesting as he did so. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and said to 
Pete, “Can you unbutton your shirt?” Pete groaned again, but complied. Nick saw 
there was a large red band across Pete’s stomach where the seat belt had been. 
He thought it was possible that the misplaced seat belt might have caused some 
internal injuries, but he didn’t speak this thought aloud. 

“Your head’s bleeding,” Pete observed. At his words, Nick realized that he could 
feel blood trickling down his check and neck. He pulled his handkerchief from 
his pocket, and wiped at the streak of blood, then held the wadded-up 
handkerchief against the gash, applying pressure to try to stop the bleeding. 
While he held the cloth in position, he asked, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“My arm is sore. I think I must have banged it on something.”

“Can you move it?”

Pete picked up his left arm, and flexed it. Then rotated it at the wrist, and 
wriggled his fingers. “Yeah, it seems okay. Guess I just bruised it.” Then he 
noticed how Nick was holding his own left arm cradled against his stomach. “What 
about you?” he asked. “You break that arm?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Nick replied. “It’s okay. Pete, I’m going to go check on the 
pilot. Then I’ll come back and take a look at Ned. I think he’s unconscious. You 
just sit tight, okay?”

“Okay, son.... Ahh! Dammit! Don’t think I could get too far anyway. My gut feels 
like it’s on fire.”

Nick gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I’m sure help will be here soon. 
I’ll be right back.” With that, Nick tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket, 
then turned to face the front of the cabin. But before starting forward, he 
looked out Pete’s window, and saw that the left wing had also been torn off the 
plane. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder whether they should be concerned 
about the possibility of fire. If the wings were gone, the fuel tanks might be 
breached as well, although Nick realized he had no idea where the fuel tanks 
were located on a small jet like this. Aviation was not a hobby of his. He 
sniffed the air, and couldn’t detect any scent of smoke, but he might not be 
able to smell it from inside the cabin anyway. Nick decided the first thing to 
do was check on the other two men in the plane, and then worry about everything 
else. He knew they’d been about 20 minutes out of Atlanta when the trouble had 
begun. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for help to arrive, but first things 
first.

Nick gripped the seat in front of him, and started down the sloping aisle toward 
the cockpit. As he approached he could tell that the windshield was gone. 
Stepping past the curtain that divided the cockpit from the cabin, he could see 
that the whole nose of the plane was smashed-in. The instrument panel had been 
shoved backwards so that it pinned the pilot in his seat. Turning to face the 
pilot fully, Nick blanched, and felt his stomach heave. The left side of the 
pilot’s head had been crushed. There was blood and gray matter visible on the 
man’s shattered skull. Breathing rapidly, Nick fought to control his churning 
stomach, and reached out his good hand to the pilot’s wrist to feel for a pulse. 
There was no pulse. The pilot was dead. 

Nick stood there for a moment in shock. He realized he hadn’t even known the 
man’s name. Barney, was that it? He thought maybe he had heard Pete call the 
pilot Barney. He looked to be in his forties. God, that was young to die. 
Glancing at the pilot’s left hand, Nick saw there was a wedding ring there. So 
he had a wife. Maybe some kids. Nick felt a deep sadness fill him as he 
continued to stare at the man’s wedding band. At last, running his right hand 
down his face, he pulled his thoughts away from the dead man. He still had to 
check on Ned.

Stepping back out of the cockpit, he winced at the pain in his arm and chest. 
Well there was nothing he could do about that. They’d all just have to hope that 
the rescue team got here soon.

As Nick approached, Pete looked up. Seeing the expression on Nick’s face he 
asked quickly, “What is it? How’s Barney?”

Nick hesitated, and then said, “He’s dead, Pete.... I’m sorry.”

“Dead?”

Nick nodded, his face reflecting his extreme distress. “Something must have come 
through the windshield. I don’t know.... There wasn’t anything there now, but 
his head...his head had been crushed.”

Pete nodded, then grimaced in pain, and clutched at his stomach. When he was 
able to speak again he said sadly, “He was a good man, Barney. You know, he has 
a wife and a couple of kids.” He shook his head regretfully.

Nick nodded again, frowning. He glanced back at Ned, and saw he was still 
motionless. “Pete, I’m going to go on back and check on Ned now.”

“Okay.”

Nick walked back the four seats to reach Ned. Walking uphill was not as 
treacherous as the downhill descent had been, and he found he didn’t have to 
hold on to the seat backs to maintain his balance. However, he found himself 
grabbing them despite that in order to help pull himself up the steep incline. 
When Nick reached Ned he observed him closely. He was still slumped over in the 
same position Nick had seen him in earlier, his head resting at an awkward angle 
against the wall of the cabin.

“Ned?” Nick said loudly. “Ned, can you hear me?” There was no response so he 
reached out a hand to Ned’s chin, and lifted up his head. The man was clearly 
unconscious. Leaning the older man back in his seat, Nick gave him a light slap 
on the cheek, but there was still no response. He reached up, and raised Ned’s 
right eyelid. The pupil contracted normally. Letting the right eyelid drop, Nick 
raised the left lid. The pupil was dilated. He knew that wasn’t good. It was a 
sign of a serious head injury. He let out a large sigh, and then brought his 
index finger up to rest on his compressed lips. There wasn’t anything he could 
do to help Ned either. It was extremely frustrating.

Nick walked back up to Pete, and told him that Ned appeared to have a serious 
head injury. Pete was visibly upset by this news. He and Ned Barton had formed R 
& B Manufacturing some twenty-five years ago. In all that time they’d never had 
a serious disagreement. People often said the two of them were thick as thieves. 
Pete found himself offering a pray that his good friend and partner would be all 
right.

“Pete, I’m going to go forward, and see if I can get the door open. Get a better 
idea of what our situation is.”

“Okay. Good idea, Nick. You do that.”

Reaching the door, Nick examined the ten-inch handle. He was sure you pulled the 
handle to the right to open the door, but quickly glanced at the diagram affixed 
to the door panel to be sure. Yes, he was correct. He was thankful that the 
handle did open to the right, as it would have been much more difficult to turn 
the handle to the left using only his right hand.

Moving closer to the door, and turning his torso to the left, Nick grasped the 
handle, and pulled. “Ahhh!” He let out an involuntary gasp of pain as the 
bruised muscles in his chest protested the action. Holding his broken left arm 
closer to his body, he bent over, absorbing the pain. After a moment, he 
straightened, and looked at the door again. The handle was now pointing straight 
up. Nick reached his good hand out toward the door, and pushed. The door moved, 
but it was heavy, and due to the angle in which the fuselage had come to rest, 
Nick was having to push the door uphill. He moved forward, placed his right 
shoulder against the door, and shoved hard. The door moved outward, and came to 
rest in a fully open position. 

Grasping the door frame with his right hand, Nick leaned out as far as he could 
to get a look at the surrounding area (this caused the pain in his chest to 
intensify, but he ignored it). There was nothing but trees as far as the eye 
could see. The plane appeared to have come down in a fairly young grove, as most 
of the trees looked to be no more than eight or ten inches in diameter. The path 
that the plane had plowed through the stand of trees was clearly visible. It 
made an ugly scar across the landscape. Nick sniffed the air, and couldn’t catch 
any hint of smoke, but there was a strong gassy odor that he knew must be 
aviation fuel.

Deciding there was nothing else to see, Nick pulled his body back into the 
plane, and walked back to where Pete still sat motionless. The older man’s eyes 
were closed, but he opened them as Nick began to speak.

Looks like we’re in the woods,” Nick said. “There are trees all around us.... I 
can’t see anything but trees.”

Pete nodded, but didn’t speak. By the strained look on his face, Nick knew that 
the pain must be getting worse. He wished again that there was something he 
could do for the other man, but there wasn’t. Stepping across the narrow aisle, 
Nick attempted to lower himself carefully into the seat. But with the angle of 
the plane and his broken arm complicating things, he lost his balance at the 
last moment, and sat down hard. His injured ribs and left arm both objected to 
this rough treatment, and Nick let out a sharp cry of pain.

“Okay?” Pete asked, concerned.

“Yeah,” Nick answered, with a grimace. “I think I may have a couple cracked 
ribs. But I’m okay.” Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes, and tried his 
best to ignore the pain in his ribs and the renewed throbbing in his broken arm. 
He was not too successful. 

For the first time since they’d come down, Nick found his thoughts turning to 
his father. He wondered how long it would be until Dad learned of the accident. 
He supposed that someone at the airport in Atlanta must have been in contact 
with the charter company by now, and that they would notify the people at R & B. 
He was sure someone at R & B would then call his dad. He knew the news would 
shake him up. After all, he’d have to assume the worst. How many people survive 
airplane crashes? Dad would have to know that the odds were overwhelming that he 
was dead. Nick felt his eyes becoming moist at that thought. He knew his father 
loved him. He had proved that on more than one occasion. And he loved his 
father, despite their often stormy relationship. He didn’t want his dad to have 
to endure the crushing blow of thinking that his only child was dead, however 
temporary. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. He would just have to 
hope that the interval between Dad being notified of the crash and being told 
that he was alive was a short one. That led him back to wondering how long it 
would be before help arrived. He thought Pete must be wondering this too. On 
impulse, he decided to try to give him some reassurance on that front. Opening 
his eyes and looking in Pete’s direction, Nick said aloud, “I’m sure somebody 
will be finding us anytime now, Pete.” But his companion didn’t reply. Examining 
the older man more closely, Nick found that he had gone quite pale, his face 
twisted in pain. Help had to come soon, Nick thought. He knew if Pete was 
bleeding internally he could be dead before the emergency personnel had a chance 
to get him to the hospital.

----+----

About thirty minutes had passed since Burton had gotten the call about the plane 
going down. He had divided his time between pacing around the office and sitting 
with his head in his hands. His ashtray was filled with the butts of the four or 
five cigarettes he had smoked since receiving that ghastly call. Burton was 
going crazy waiting for more news. He knew that normally the chances of 
surviving a plane crash were slim, but he couldn’t give up hope until he’d heard 
a definitive report that Nick was gone. 

His boy gone? God, he couldn’t bear the thought of that! As he had off and on 
for the past thirty minutes, Burton sent up a prayer that Nick would be found 
alive--alive and not critically injured. “Please, God,” he prayed, “Please bring 
my boy back to me safely. Please.”

After finishing the prayer, Burton found his thoughts bouncing back to the other 
thing that had been occupying his mind during this painful interlude--his regret 
that he hadn’t been a better father to Nick, that he hadn’t been able to be 
there for him after his mother’s death in the way he should have been. He knew 
he could never have taken Anne’s place in Nick’s life; that would have been 
impossible. But maybe if he had tried to get closer to the boy, tried harder to 
get past the hurt and resentment Nicholas had felt over his parents’ divorce, 
things would have been different. Maybe he and Nick could have had a real 
father/son relationship all these years, instead of being trapped in this 
stilted dance of awkward courtship. It was incredible when you thought about it, 
but in some ways, Burton felt he didn’t know his son at all, and he imagined 
Nick felt the same way about him. They’d never been able to reestablish the bond 
that had been ruthlessly severed by the divorce. It was the biggest regret in 
Burton’s life, this semi-estrangement from his own son.

He was abruptly brought back to the moment by the ringing of the telephone. His 
heart began to pound as he picked up the receiver. “Yes,” he said.

“Mr. Fallin, it’s the Atlanta airport,” Sheila said. Before Burton could say 
anything, she had transferred the call to his line.

“Hello,” Burton said breathlessly.

“Mr. Fallin, this is Bret Connors again. We’ve located your son’s plane in the 
Chattahoochee Nat’l Forest about 60 miles north of Atlanta. The fuselage is 
intact. That’s all I can tell you at this point, but we’ve already got a chopper 
with a medical team in route to the location, and they should arrive in another 
10 or 15 minutes. We’ll let you know what they find as soon as they get on the 
ground.” 

Burton was nodding as fresh tears flowed down his cheeks. “Thank you,” he said 
quietly. “I’ll be waiting for your call. Thank you, Mr. Connors.”

“I’ll call the second we know anything, Mr. Fallin. I promise you that. 
Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Burton replied. Hanging up the phone he leaned back in his chair, and 
put a hand over his eyes. In a few seconds there was a knock at the door, and 
Sheila appeared. Her eyes were as red-rimmed as he knew his own must be. “Did 
they.... What did they say?” she asked quietly.

Burton let out a long, weary breath, and rubbed at his face. “They said they 
found the plane. The fuselage is intact, but they don’t know if there are 
any,.any survivors yet. Connors said they should have people at the site in 
about fifteen minutes. So...we should know in another fifteen minutes, either, 
uh, either way.”

Sheila nodded, and backed quietly out of the door, closing it softly behind her.

“Fifteen minutes,” Burton thought. Fifteen minutes, and his life might be turned 
upside down forever. Fifteen minutes, and he might lose a part of himself that 
he had never fully possessed. Fifteen minutes.

----+----

Nick heard the sound of an approaching helicopter, and sat up abruptly. He 
regretted it immediately, as it resulted in a sharp, stabbing pain in his 
ribcage. After the pain had passed, he said eagerly, “Hear that? It’s a 
helicopter. They’re here, Pete.” Nick peered out his window, but nothing was in 
view. He stood up slowly. As he did so, he realized that Pete had not responded 
to his announcement. Nick had glanced briefly at the other man prior to 
speaking, and had seen his eyes were closed, but he had just assumed he was 
dozing. Now Nick reached across the aisle, and took Pete’s arm. He shook it 
gently while calling his name. But still he did not respond. Nick realized then 
that he must have lost consciousness sometime since they had last spoken. 
“Shit!” he said aloud. “Come onnn! Hang in there, Pete. Don’t quit on me now.” 
Sighing in frustration, and forgetting his injured ribs, Nick brought his right 
hand up as if to run it down the back of his head. He stopped short of his goal, 
wincing in pain. In his anxiety over the older man’s condition, he had forgotten 
that any significant movement of his right arm was likely to cause him pain. 

Cursing silently, Nick turned his attention to trying to determine if anything 
was visible outside Pete’s window. He couldn’t see anything, but the chopper 
noise was louder now. Carefully, Nick began to make his way to the open door, 
praying that there would be medical people on board the chopper that could help 
his injured companions.

----+----

Burton started when the phone rang. Grabbing for the receiver, he said, “Yes”, 
and when the male voice came on the line he realized that Sheila had just 
transferred the call through without notifying him beforehand. He blessed her 
silently while focusing on what Connors was now saying.

“Mr. Fallin, wonderful news! Your son’s alive. He’s hurt, but apparently not 
critically. They tell me he walked off the plane under his own power.”

Burton was overcome with emotion, a smile breaking out on his face while tears 
streamed anew down his cheeks. Nicholas was all right! Thank you, God! Thank 
you! Burton struggled to force words past the lump in his throat while still 
marveling at the news. His boy was all right! He could barely believe it. “Thank 
you, Mr. Connors,” he got out at last. “What about the others?”

“The pilot was killed, unfortunately--head trauma. The other two passengers 
survived, but appear to have pretty serious injuries. We won’t really know their 
status till they get them to the hospital.”

“I see. What hospital are they taking them to?”

“Grady Memorial, here in Atlanta.”

“Can you give me the number?”

“Just a minute.” 

In the background, Burton could hear Connors calling out to someone to look up 
the number for Grady Memorial. In a moment, he was back on the line. “Here it 
is. 404-616-4307. Got that?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Connors. How, uh, how long before they get them there?”

“I can’t say for certain. It’s about half an hour flight time, but they were 
still at the crash site when I last talked to them. You see, there was no proper 
place close by to land the chopper, so the helicopter hovered over the area 
while the rescue personnel were let down by rope. Now they’re having to lift the 
victims up to the chopper in a wire gurney. I’m sure you’ve seen that done on 
television.... It’s perfectly safe, just a little time consuming. I imagine they 
should be finishing up that operation very soon now. I would say your son should 
be at the hospital in forty minutes, or less.”

Burton was nodding his understanding, and now said, “All right. Well, thank you, 
Mr. Connors. You’ve been very helpful through this whole ordeal. I want you to 
know that I appreciate it. Very much so.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Fallin. I’m glad that your son was able to walk away from 
this one. That’s a real rarity in the aviation industry, you know.”

“I know. Believe me I know.” Burton let out a nervous laugh. “Well, thank you 
again, Mr. Connors. I’m sure you have other calls to make.”

“I do. Good luck, Mr. Fallin...to you, and your son.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Connors.”

“Goodbye.”

As Burton hung up the phone, he wiped at the remnants of his tears with one 
hand. He stood up. He could barely believe the news. Nick had survived. It was a 
miracle. “Thank you, God,” he said below his breath. “Thank you for saving my 
son.” At those words, his tears started afresh, but he ignored them. Coming out 
from behind his desk, Burton crossed quickly to the door, and flung it wide open 
in his haste to tell Sheila the good news. Sheila looked up with a sad, 
apprehensive expression, but when she saw the smile on her boss’ face, she 
smiled in grateful relief, and stood up. Burton rounded the desk, and grabbed 
Sheila in a big bear hug. “Nick’s all right!” he said joyfully to his startled 
assistant. “He’s all right. He has some injuries, but they said he walked off 
the plane.” Burton released Sheila, and stepped back. “So he can’t be hurt too 
badly, can he?” he said, seeking reassurance.

“I, I wouldn’t think so, no.... What about Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Barton? How are 
they?”

Burton’s expression grew serious as he ran a hand across the top of his head. 
“The news isn’t so good there. They’re alive, but their injuries were a lot more 
serious than Nick’s. They said they won’t really know what their condition is 
until they get them to, to the hospital.”

“I see,” Sheila said. “That’s a shame. I hope they’ll be all right.”

“Yeah,” Burton said. Then added regretfully, “The pilot died.”

“Ahh, that’s too bad,” Sheila said sadly. “Did he have a family?”

“I have no idea,” Burton replied. “Look, Sheila, I’ve got to go out for a little 
fresh air. Can you spread the news about Nick?”

“Certainly.”

“And, oh, make sure you tell Jake, okay?”

“I will.”

Burton smiled at his assistant with genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Sheila. 
You’ve been a rock through all this.”

Sheila smiled in turn, but didn’t say anything, fearing she’d get too emotional. 
So she only nodded.

“Okay, then.” Burton felt at his pocket, and realized that he’d left his 
cigarettes on his desk. He’d want a smoke when he got downstairs. “I’ll just 
grab my cigarettes.” Ducking back into his office, he emerged seconds later with 
the pack in his hand. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back in five or ten minutes. I won’t go 
far. If for some reason we hear anything else about Nick, you send someone to 
find me, all right?”

“All right.” Sheila smiled again. “I’m very glad that Nick is going to be okay, 
Mr. Fallin, very, very glad.”

Burton nodded. “I know you are, Sheila. Thank you.” Exhaling a large breath, and 
running a hand over his scalp, he added, “Well, I’ll see you in a little while.” 
Sheila nodded, and Burton turned and headed for the exit. Sitting back down at 
her desk, Sheila contemplated what a narrow escape both Fallins had had.

----+----

Burton stood on the sidewalk, smoking in long drags. It was really a beautiful 
day. Bright sunshine and 75 degrees. To think that Nick could have died on a day 
like this.... He shook his head, as if to banish the thought. He wished that man 
Connors had been able to give him more information on Nick’s condition. He’d 
walked away from the plane, yes, but he could still have significant injuries. 
Broken bones, maybe. Possibly a concussion. He hoped whatever injuries Nicholas 
had he wasn’t in too much pain. He didn’t like to think of Nick being in 
pain.... But his son was alive, that was the important thing. He was alive, and 
in another (Burton glanced at his watch) thirty minutes, or so, he ought to be 
landing at the hospital. Then he’d call, and try to find out what Nick’s 
condition really was, hopefully get to talk to his son. After that, he’d finally 
be able to put his mind to rest. 

Burton walked back over to the building entryway, and stubbed his cigarette out 
in the ashtray above the trash can. In another couple minutes he would head back 
upstairs, but for now he just wanted to absorb the beauty of this day when God 
had answered his prayers, and spared his son.

----+----

Nick lay in a gurney inside the rescue helicopter with his eyes closed. His suit 
jacket and tie were gone. He still wore his shirt, but it had been unbuttoned to 
allow the paramedics to examine his ribs. His right sleeve was pushed up, and an 
IV dripped into his arm there now. Nick had a dressing on the gash at the edge 
of his right eyebrow, and a plastic splint on his left arm. The arm still ached, 
but the throbbing had pretty much subsided. His ribs, however, still hurt each 
time he took a breath. Pete and Ned lay not far away, several paramedics huddled 
around them. Nick could tell from their conversation that the two men were not 
doing so well. That worried him. But at least they were on their way to the 
hospital now. One of the paramedics had said they would be arriving in about 30 
minutes, and that they were being taken to Grady Memorial, but that name didn’t 
mean anything to Nick. Not counting the pilot, there had been six men that had 
come out with the chopper. Two firemen and four paramedics. 

It had certainly been a one-of-a-kind experience being lifted into the 
helicopter on that wire-frame gurney. Nick knew it had to be safe, but he had 
still felt a thrill of fear as they had started the winch that brought him up 
the forty feet, or so, to where the helicopter was hovering. Once they had the 
gurney securely inside the chopper, one of the paramedics had undone the straps 
from around Nick’s upper chest, waist, and calves, and then helped him to sit 
up. As he pulled himself up into a sitting position, Nick had felt a sharp stab 
of pain in his chest. It was the worst pain he had experienced yet. The blood 
had drained from his face, and the paramedic had quickly asked him if he was 
okay. Nick had told the man he just needed a second. After about 10 seconds, and 
with the paramedic’s assistance, Nick had been able to stand up and step out of 
the gurney. With the paramedic walking beside him, he had made his way across to 
the empty gurney that sat on the other side of the cabin. This was a 
conventional gurney with wheels and retractable legs. As he walked, Nick located 
the gurneys that already held Pete and Ned. The other three paramedics were 
working over the two men. Reaching his destination, his paramedic helped him 
first to sit, and then to lay down on the gurney. After that, Nick had breathed 
a sigh of relief. There were just the two firemen left on the ground to 
retrieve, and then they would be on their way. The firemen would not be coming 
up in the gurney, however, but in a pair of ‘britches’. A contraption of strong 
canvas that resembled an over-sized pair of shorts attached to a giant pair of 
‘suspenders’ which were connected, in turn, to the winch on the helicopter. A 
person stepped into the ‘britches’, tightened them around himself with 
industrial-strength velcro straps, and then held onto the ‘suspenders’ as he was 
lifted into the air. It looked rather comical, but was very effective.

They had left for the hospital some ten minutes ago now, so Nick judged there 
was about twenty minutes left in their flight. He had felt a growing discomfort 
for the last several minutes, but hadn’t been able to figure out what the source 
was. Now he realized it was because he felt this strange pressure in his chest, 
and he was having trouble catching his breath. He was breathing rapidly, but he 
still felt like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. It was like the way he felt 
sometimes at the end of particularly strenuous run. He tried taking a couple of 
deep breaths, but found he couldn’t. He could only draw in maybe half the air he 
normally would when inhaling deeply. He knew something must be wrong, and he 
started to get scared. At the moment, all four paramedics were gathered around 
the two critically-injured men. No one was with Nick. He decided he had to get 
someone’s attention. Lifting himself up on his right elbow, and drawing the 
biggest breath he could manage, he said as loudly as he could (to be heard over 
the noise of the chopper blades), “I, I think I need some...help over here.” He 
had to stop halfway through for another breath. “I can’t breathe right.”

Luckily the paramedic closest to Nick heard him, and came quickly over to his 
side. “What’s the matter,” he asked, taking Nick’s wrist to measure his pulse. 

“I can’t.... I can’t catch my breath.... Something, something’s wrong.” Nick was 
grasping for breath at the end of each sentence.

“Okay, okay, just try to relax, Nick. Let’s find out what’s going on here,” the 
paramedic said reassuringly. From his name tag, Nick saw that the man’s name was 
Frank Whitley. Whitley laid his hand gently on Nick’s chest and began to count 
his respirations. Nick tried to relax, but it was impossible. After the 
paramedic was finished he said, “Draw in a deep breath for me, as deep as you 
can.” Nick complied, and once again was stopped far short of filling his lungs.

Turning and reaching behind him, the paramedic brought forward an oxygen tank 
and mask. “Here, let’s put this on you,” he said. “It’ll help.” Nick brought his 
head up, and Whitley slipped the elastic strap of the mask behind Nick’s head, 
being careful not to come in contact with the dressing next to his eyebrow.

“That better?” Whitley said. Nick nodded. He still felt short of breath, but it 
was much better. The paramedic started taking his blood pressure. When he was 
through, he pulled over the radio, and put a call into the hospital. Nick 
listened as Whitley described his current situation and vitals. He heard Whitley 
say he suspected a punctured lung. Nick’s heart rate sped up at that. That 
couldn’t be good. After a couple minutes, the paramedic turned back to Nick.

“Okay, let me tell you what the doctor thinks is going on here, Nick. He thinks 
one of your broken ribs has punctured your lung. That means every time you 
breathe, a little air is being expelled out of your lung, and into your chest 
cavity. That air has built up so that your lungs are having a harder time 
inflating. You understand what I’m saying?” Nick nodded. “Okay. Now what we need 
to do is insert a needle catheter, a very narrow tube, into your chest so that 
we can allow the trapped, pressurized air to escape. Once that’s in place, it 
should keep any additional air from building up. That way, you should be okay 
until we get you to the ER.” 

Nick didn’t like the sound of this “needle catheter”, but kept silent. Whitley 
began to dig in his supplies, while at the same time calling over a second 
paramedic to assist with the procedure. In a moment, the two men were ready. 
“Okay,” Whitley said in a reassuring manner. “We’re going to sterilize the area, 
and then insert the needle, all right?” Nick nodded. The second paramedic began 
wiping at his chest with a soaked cotton swab. In another moment, Nick saw the 
syringe in Whitley’s gloved hand. “This is going to hurt, Nick, but it will be 
over quick. Ready?” Nick nodded, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth. He was 
wishing he was anywhere else right now. He felt the puncture as the needle 
entered his chest, and the paramedic was right. It hurt like hell. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Nick heard Whitley say. He opened his eyes, and saw a tiny 
white tube protruding from his chest. There was something sitting on the end of 
the tube, but Nick didn’t know what it was. The other paramedic, Pochek, was 
still wiping at the blood around the puncture sight. Whitley looked closely at 
Nick. “Does that feel better?” he asked, as he laid a hand on Nick’s chest to 
count his respirations. Nick realized that it was somewhat easier to breath now. 
Not that his breathing was back to normal, by any means, but he didn’t feel the 
same pressure in his chest. He nodded, and said “yes” behind the mask. Whitley 
finished counting his breaths, and rechecked his blood pressure and pulse. He 
relayed these statistics to Pochek who was now on the radio with the hospital. 
In another few seconds, Pochek passed along some additional instructions from 
the doctor, and then got off the radio.

“Okay, Nick,” Whitley said. “I’m going to sit right here with you until we get 
to the hospital. You let me know if you start having problems again. All right?” 


Nick nodded, and closed his eyes. He wanted to try to get his mind on something 
other than his breathing, and he thought that might be easier to do with his 
eyes closed. He thought briefly about his dad. Shortly after the rescue crew had 
arrived, Nick had asked how soon they could let his father know he was okay. 
Pochek had said that someone at the Atlanta airport was in touch with their 
relatives, and they would be notified of the condition of their respective 
family members as soon as the paramedics could finish their initial assessment, 
and relay the information back up to the chopper pilot. Nick had been relieved 
to learn that in just a little while his dad would know he was okay.

Nick’s mind wandered from one topic to another during their remaining time in 
the air, although each thing was connected to the accident in some way. He 
wondered whether Pete and Ned were going to pull through, and couldn’t help but 
speculate what impact it would have on R & B Manufacturing if one, or both, did 
not survive. He wondered whether the pilot, Barney, had had a good life 
insurance policy, and how old his kids were. He hoped they were at least in 
their teens. He wondered how long he’d have to be in the hospital here, and how 
long it would take for his injured ribs and broken arm to heal. He’d never 
broken a bone before, but he thought for things like a broken arm or leg, people 
generally had to wear a cast for 6 to 8 weeks. He wasn’t looking forward to 
that. What a nuisance it would be. Would the sleeves on his suits fit over a 
cast, or not? He thought not. He wondered what kind of damage had caused the 
plane to crash, and how long it would take the NTSB to make that determination. 
It occurred to him that if the pilot’s family wanted to sue they would probably 
have a very strong case for wrongful death against either the charter company or 
the airplane manufacturer, depending on what the accident investigation 
revealed.

Other thoughts flickered through Nick’s mind in rapid succession, until at last 
he was interrupted from his musings by the touchdown of the chopper on the roof 
of the hospital. As the door was opened, and the paramedics set about the task 
of getting the injured men out of the helicopter, Nick realized that, despite 
his present circumstances, it was really very good to be alive.
 
--+--

To the casual observer, the Emergency Care Center at Grady Memorial Hospital was 
the embodiment of chaos. Phones were ringing, men and women in light blue scrubs 
were hurrying here and there, and two new victims from the Salmonella outbreak 
at a local restaurant were just coming through the door. The request for “Dr. 
Lewis to triage” coming out of the overhead speakers could barely be heard amid 
the fervent pleas of the male patient who was urging his fellow men to repent, 
as the world was coming to an end this very day. 

The ECC waiting room was filled to overflowing, mostly with the working-poor of 
the city. These were the people who had no health insurance and couldn't afford 
to visit a regular doctor for their day-to-day medical care so had to seek it at 
the county-run emergency room. Mothers who had been waiting for hours bounced 
fretful children on their laps, while sullen teenagers leaned against the walls. 
A lone child crouching in the corner cried plaintively for his mother.

It was all just another typical day in the largest emergency department in 
Georgia.

Juanita Barajas was working the desk. She was supposed to have been off an hour 
ago, but her relief had been held up. Marlene’s ex had been late in picking up 
their kids, so Juanita was stuck behind the desk until Marlene could make it in. 
The phone rang again for what seemed to be the tenth time in the last three 
minutes. "Grady Memorial ECC," Juanita said into the receiver. Despite the 
trying circumstances, she strove to maintain a pleasant tone. 

"Hello," a male voice said urgently on the other end of the line. "This is 
Burton Fallin. My son Nicholas was in a plane crash north of Atlanta this 
morning. They told me they were bringing him to your hospital. I’d like to know 
if he's there yet, and how he is."

"A plane crash?" Juanita said.

"Yes."

"Hold on please." Juanita held her hand over the mouthpiece, and glanced around. 
"Marcie!" she called to a women in scrubs standing just inside one of the exam 
rooms. "You've been working the radio. I've got a man on the phone that says 
they're bringing his son in from a plane crash."

Marcie nodded, and started her way. "That's right. There are three criticals. 
They just landed on the helipad."

"He wants to know about his son’s condition. Can you talk to him?"

Marcie nodded again. Reaching the desk, she extended her hand for the phone. 
"Hello, this is Marcie Waters. You were asking about the people from the plane 
crash?"

"That's right, Miss Waters. My name is Burton Fallin. I'm calling from 
Pittsburgh. My son Nick was on that plane. I was told he was being brought there 
to your ER, and I'm trying to find out if he's arrived, and if he’s all right."

"The helicopter just touched down, Mr. Fallin. They’ll be bringing your son and 
the others down from the roof any minute now."

"I see.... Is there anything you can you tell me now about my son's condition? 
All I've been told so far is that his injuries didn’t appear to be serious."

"Hold on a moment, please." Marcie reached out and grabbed the sleeve of a 
passing orderly. "Mitch, could you grab the clip board off the radio table for 
me? Thanks."

She waited patiently for Mitch to return with the clip board. Then glancing 
quickly down the top sheet, she brought the phone back up to her ear. "Mr. 
Fallin, your son is 32 years old, is that correct?"

"That's right."

"The paramedics radioed in that he has a broken arm, broken ribs, and that he 
developed difficulty in breathing in-route, most probably due to a punctured 
lung."

"Christ! A punctured lung? That's serious isn't it?" the distressed father asked 
urgently.

"Yes, it can be, but the paramedics administered oxygen, and performed an 
emergency procedure to ease your son’s breathing. He’s stable right now."

"I see.” She could hear the relief in his voice. “Is there anything else you can 
tell me?"

"No. I’m afraid not, Mr. Fallin. Not yet. However, if you give me your number 
I'll have the doctor call you after your son has been examined."

"All right. Thank you. The number is 412-211-7643. I’ll be waiting for the call. 
Thank you very much, Miss Waters."

"You're welcome. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Marcie Waters hung up the phone just as another nurse was calling her name from 
exam room 3. Stuffing the paper with the phone number in her pocket, she made a 
mental note to let the doctor that treated the man’s son know that he was 
expecting a call. Then she hurried over to see what the problem was in exam 3.

Eight hundred miles away in Pittsburgh, Burton Fallin hung up the phone, and 
raked a hand worriedly across the thin hair atop his head. A broken arm, broken 
ribs, and a punctured lung? Those didn't sound like ‘minor injuries’. When Mr. 
Connors had told him that Nick had walked away from the crash under his own 
steam, Burton had hoped that he would have nothing more than a few cuts and 
bruises, maybe a bump on the head. But this? This news about the multiple broken 
bones, and especially the punctured lung, was not reassuring at all. Frowning, 
he reached for his cigarettes, and tried to resign himself to the fact that he 
would have to endure another several minutes of uncertainty about his son’s 
well-being.

----+----

The rescue helicopter sat on the chopper pad atop Grady Memorial Hospital, its 
large blades spinning lazily in the bright Georgia sunshine. The most 
critically-injured plane crash victims, Pete Reynolds and Ned Barton, had 
already been taken out of the chopper on gurneys, and now it was Nick Fallin’s 
turn. Frank Whitley, the paramedic that had been attending to Nick during the 
last part of the flight, rolled Nick’s gurney over to the doorway. Then he and 
another fireman lifted the gurney out of the chopper. As they cleared the door 
frame, Whitley hit the lever to release the gurney’s legs, allowing them to 
fully extend before the two men brought the gurney to rest on the concrete 
surface. In the next second, Nick was being wheeled toward the door that gave 
access to the interior of the building. 

Three doctors had come up from the ER to meet the chopper. The one that now 
walked alongside Nick’s gurney was Dr. Carolyn Vandenberg, a 2nd year resident. 
She was in her late twenties, medium height and weight, with dark hair pulled 
behind her head. She looked down at Nick as the paramedic began to fill her in. 
“Nick Fallin, 32,” Whitley said, “Head lac, broken arm, probable broken ribs, 
probable punctured right lung. Pulse: 110, Respiration: 50, BP: 90/70.” The 
paramedic then ran through the treatment they’d given Nick in the field. When he 
was finished, the doctor fixed her new patient with a reassuring smile and said, 
“Nick, I’m Dr. Vandenberg. We’re going to get you down to the ER, and then we’re 
going to fix you up. Okay?” Nick nodded, while saying “yes” behind the oxygen 
mask.

When they reached the elevator, the doors were just closing. The elevator could 
only accommodate two gurneys at once so Nick would have to wait for the car to 
make the return trip. “Still doing okay there, Nick?” Whitley asked. Nick 
nodded. He was still feeling pretty short of breath, but was managing. He’d be 
glad when they got him down to the ER. He longed to be able to breath normally 
again. Not only was it extremely uncomfortable (and very scary) to be so short 
of breath, but every time he inhaled he could feel it in his injured ribs and 
chest muscles. The paramedics had been unable to administer anything for his 
pain because of the fear that it would depress his respiration. 

At last the elevator doors opened, and they wheeled Nick inside. Placing one 
hand reassuringly on Nick’s right forearm, Dr. Vandenberg said, “Just another 
few minutes, and we’ll be able to do something about your breathing. You’ll feel 
better soon, I promise.” 

Upon reaching the first floor, the doctor and Whitley quickly wheeled their 
patient into an open trauma room. Two nurses in light blue scrubs were already 
waiting inside. Nick’s gurney was placed next to the examination table, and then 
Whitley, Dr. Vandenberg and the two other women all placed their hands on or 
under him. In a second he heard the doctor say, “Ready? Okay, 1, 2, 3!” On “3” 
Nick felt himself being lifted up and onto the table. He grimaced in pain, 
nearly crying out. He saw the paramedic, Whitley, hanging his IV bag on a stand 
while one nurse went to the foot of the table and began to remove his shoes and 
socks. The second nurse was removing the oxygen mask from Nick’s face. She 
placed the ends of two attached tubes into his nostrils, then looped one tube 
around each ear. Then she pulled up the slider that connected the tubes so that 
they came together snuggly under Nick’s chin. She performed this whole maneuver 
so quickly that Nick barely had time to notice the absence of the oxygen flow. 
Next she placed a large, white plastic clip on the end of his right index 
finger. While all this was going on, a worried Nick could hear the doctor 
issuing a stream of instructions. 

The first nurse had now finished removing his footwear, and was taking a large 
pair of snub-nosed scissors to his suit pants. He had a half a second to lament 
the destruction of his Armani before he was distracted by the second nurse 
removing the plastic splint from his left arm. Despite her care, it still hurt 
when she rested his arm back on the table. Things were happening so fast that a 
disconcerted Nick began to feel that he didn’t have control of anything. It was 
not a comfortable feeling.

The nurse with the scissors had finished with his pants, and was moving on to 
his shirt when Dr. Vandenberg came up to stand right next to Nick’s left 
shoulder. Placing her hand above his right eye, she gently pulled his eyelid 
wider open, and flashed her penlight to make sure the pupil reacted normally. 
She then repeated the procedure with his left eye. “Good,” she said, satisfied. 
“Now Nick, I want you to follow my finger with your eyes. Okay?” She extended 
her index finger and moved it slowly left, then right, then up and down. Nick’s 
eyes tracked along with the motion perfectly. “Okay. The paramedic said you 
didn’t lose consciousness when the plane made impact. Is that right?” Nick 
nodded. “You’re sure?” the doctor asked again. “Yes.” Nick said. The doctor 
nodded. “Okay, we need to get a little history before we treat you. Are you 
allergic to any medications?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Do you drink?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you take drugs?”

Nick hesitated. “I-I used to. I don’t anymore.”

“What kind of drugs?”

“Coke mostly.”

“How long’s it been since you last used?”

“Uh, it was, it was around the first of the year, but I’ve been clean since 
then.”

The doctor nodded, and said, “Okay, we’re going to get some chest X-rays now so 
we can take care of that punctured lung.”

In seconds, a technician was rolling a portable X-ray machine up to Nick’s side. 
They took one picture from straight above Nick, then moved the machine down to 
take a lateral view.

After that the doctor appeared by his side again. “Okay, Nick, while we wait for 
the X-rays, let me tell you what’s happened to your lung, and what we’re going 
to do to fix it. The force of the impact to your chest forced your ribs into 
your right lung, resulting in a puncture. That puncture is allowing air to 
escape into your chest cavity every time you breathe. As that air built up in 
your chest it made it harder and harder for your right lung to expand, 
eventually causing it to collapse. Chances are good it’s only a partial 
collapse, but I won’t know that until I see the X-rays. What we have to do is 
withdraw that trapped air, and maintain an escape route for the additional air 
that will leak out of the lung until the puncture heals. So what we’re going to 
do is insert a tube into your chest right about here.” She held her hand above 
the mid-point of his chest, a little to the right. “We’ll attach that tube to a 
vacuum pump. The pump will suck the air out of the chest cavity. We’ll keep the 
chest tube in, and the pump going, until at least 24 hours after the puncture 
has sealed itself and there’ve been no additional leaks. That usually takes 
about three days.” She paused. “Do you understand everything I’ve told you?”

Nick nodded. He didn’t like the sound of any of it, but he had no choice. He’d 
just have to endure it as best he could.

“Good.”

As Nick was still trying to adjust to the thought of the doctor inserting a tube 
into his chest, he heard the nurse near the end of the table say, “There’s no 
blood in the urine, Doctor.” Nick had felt the catheter being inserted up into 
his bladder at some point, but he had done his best to ignore it. Now the doctor 
nodded to acknowledge the nurse’s remark, then turned back to her patient. 
“Okay, Nick, while we’re waiting on those X-rays let’s take a look at that arm.” 


----+----

The chest X-rays were back, and the doctor was able to confirm that his lung was 
partially collapsed, as well as identifying that he had fractures in the 5th and 
6th ribs. Moving back to his left side, she smiled, and said, “Okay, let’s get 
started.” Nick saw a nurse on his right side injecting something into his IV. He 
almost immediately felt the effects of some powerful narcotic spreading through 
his system. He began to feel very relaxed. He could no longer feel the pain of 
his broken arm or ribs. The nurse then asked Nick if he was allergic to iodine. 
When he said no, she wet a swab with dark orange-yellow fluid from a bottle, and 
then began to make circles on Nick’s chest with the swab. She did this over and 
over for what seemed like a full minute, before finally pulling the swab away. 
Now a second nurse handed the scalpel to the doctor. Despite the soothing 
affects of the Demerol, Nick felt uneasy looking at that blade, imagining it 
cutting into his own skin. 

The doctor was speaking again. “Okay, Nick, this is going to be over before you 
know it. You’re not going to feel any pain, I promise you, just some pressure.” 
She nodded to the nurse on Nick’s right (he later learned her name was Nancy) 
who took his right hand in hers, and said, “Look at me, Nick. Just keep looking 
at me, okay?” Nick nodded, and looked into the nurse’s eyes. Out of his view, 
Dr. Vandenberg placed the scalpel on his skin, and made a smooth 3 cm. incision. 
As blood began to well up, she stuck her gloved finger into the incision to 
check for obstructions. When she was satisfied that there were none, the second 
nurse handed her the chest tube. Leaving her finger in place, Dr. Vandenberg 
inserted the tube into the incision. The nurse had already hooked the tube into 
the vacuum pump. Now she turned it on, and the doctor and nurse watched as a 
small amount of blood appeared in the collection reservoir. As the trapped air 
began to be sucked from Nick’s chest, they saw bubbles rising up through the 
pump’s water seal. “Good,” the doctor said. “Okay, Nick, we’re going to stitch 
up the incision around the chest tube, and then we’ll get another set of X-rays 
to make sure the tube is situated properly.”

Nick had kept his eyes firmly fixed on Nancy until Dr. Vandenberg had spoken to 
him. He could tell he was already breathing easier, although the doctor had said 
his lung would probably not re-expand immediately. It would take some time. 

----+----

Dr. Vandenberg had finished her examination of Nick, the new X-rays of his chest 
as well as X-rays of his arm had been taken, and were now developed and hanging 
on the viewing screen. The chest X-ray confirmed that the chest tube was in the 
proper place. And as the doctor had expected, the X-rays of his arm showed a 
fracture of the ulna. The surgeon on-call was now about to examine Nick. A man 
of about 30 with close-cropped red hair and a pale complexion, he glanced over 
Nick’s chart while Dr. Vandenberg provided some additional information about his 
injuries and treatment to-date. The surgeon listened attentively then handed off 
the chart. He walked over, and had a look at the chest X-rays, then returned to 
the exam table. He asked Nick a few questions, prodded his belly in a few 
places, and pronounced him free of any additional internal injury. He left 
without further comment.

The nurse moved to assist Nick in putting on a hospital gown, while the doctor 
was pulling off her latex gloves. “Okay,” she said. I’ll have an intern come in, 
and stitch up that cut on your face, and then we’ll send you down for your cast. 
All right?”

At just that moment, the door opened, and Marcie Waters walked into the room. 
“Dr. Vandenberg, the patient’s father called while you were up on the helipad. I 
told him what we knew at the time based on the paramedics’ report in-transit. 
He’d like you to call him when you’ve finished your exam. Here’s his number.” 
She handed a folded piece of paper to the doctor.

“Thank you, Marcie.” Turning back to Nick, Dr. Vandenberg said, “Okay. I’m going 
to go call your father, and put his mind at rest. Then I’ll be back. Is there 
anything you’d like me to tell your dad?”

The doctor watched as indecision flickered across the face of her patient. 
Finally he said, “Just tell him...tell him I, I’ll call him when I can.” 

The doctor nodded. “Okay. Well, Nancy here is going to stay with you. If you 
need anything, or have any problems, you let her know.” With a final smile she 
said, “I’ll be back,” and then left the room, discarding her gloves and 
disposable gown into the hazardous waste bin before walking out the door.

Dr. Vandenberg used the phone in the lounge to call Nick Fallin’s father. During 
the course of her examination she had learned that her patient was from 
Pittsburgh. He was a lawyer. And he had been flying here in a chartered plane on 
business. She didn’t recognize the area code on the notepaper, so wondered if it 
was Pittsburgh she was calling. Dialing the number, she listened to the phone 
ring twice before it was picked up. A woman said, in a smoothly, pleasant tone 
of voice, “Fallin and Associates. Burton Fallin’s office. How may I help you?”

“Hello. This is Dr. Carolyn Vandenberg at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta. 
I’m calling to speak to Mr. Fallin about his son.”

“Just a moment, Dr. Vandenberg. I’ll put you right through.” 

While she waited for the call to be connected she thought about that “Fallin and 
Associates” she’d just been greeted with. She assumed from the name that it was 
a business founded by the man she was about to speak to, quite probably a law 
firm. In which case, his son, who was a lawyer, very likely worked for his 
father. Hmmm.

Her speculation was interrupted by the sound of a deep, male voice coming over 
the line. “Dr. Vandenberg, this is Burton Fallin. Thank you for calling. How’s 
my son?”

“He’s doing very well, at present, Mr. Fallin. He has a broken left arm and a 
couple broken ribs. He also has various contusions on his face, arms and legs, 
and a cut near his brow that’s going to require stitches. The broken ribs are 
what caused his difficulties on the way in. One of the ribs punctured his right 
lung, which caused air to leak into the chest cavity, gradually causing the lung 
to partially collapse. But we’ve put a chest tube in place with a vacu-pump to 
draw off the leaking air, and he’s breathing easier now.”

“I see. Is Nicholas in a lot of pain, Doctor?”

“He was, but we’ve medicated him for the pain, so he’s a lot more comfortable.”

“Doctor...” She could detect the hesitancy in his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Fallin?”

“Doctor, my son...in case he hasn’t told you...I think you should know 
that...that Nick has a, a drug history.”

“He did tell me something about that, Mr. Fallin, but I was hoping you’d be able 
to provide me with more details.”

The older man sighed perceptibly. She imagined this must be a difficult subject 
for him. She’d seen it often enough in her line of work. Distraught parents 
having to deal with the fact that their children abused drugs. Of course, in the 
majority of cases, the children were teens or young adults. She realized that 
Mr. Fallin was speaking again, and gave him her attention.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to ask Nicholas for the particulars, Dr. 
Vandenberg. I can tell you that he went through rehab last year after, uh, after 
his arrest the previous November for...for cocaine possession.”

“I see. Well, thank you, Mr. Fallin. I’ll discuss this with your son. It may 
very well affect the kind of pain medication I prescribe.”

“That was my thought, Doctor.... How long do you expect to keep Nick in the 
hospital?”

“I think he’ll probably be here for several days. We’ll have to keep the chest 
tube in for at least 24 hours after the air has quit leaking from the lung. 
We’ll get him admitted, and then a staff orthopedist and pulmonary specialist 
will be taking over his care.”

“I see. Will he be able to travel once he’s released?”

“He should be able to, yes. But I would advise against his traveling by air, and 
he may find riding in a car for extended periods uncomfortable.”

“I understand.... I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Burton 
paused, then added, “I’m planning on flying down there this afternoon, Doctor. I 
was just waiting to get more news of Nick’s condition first. When do you think I 
can speak to him, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. He asked me to tell you that he would call you as soon as he 
could. I think we’ll have him up in a room in the next hour or so. He can call 
you from there.”

“All right. Would you let him know that I...that I’ll be looking forward to his 
call?”

“Certainly. You know, Mr. Fallin, considering what your son has been through, 
he’s really a very lucky man. None of his injuries are permanent. He should 
recover completely in 8 to 10 weeks.”

“Well that’s very good to know, Dr. Vandenberg. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else, Mr. Fallin?”

“I...I don’t think so, no. Please just pass my message on to Nick. And tell him 
I’ll see him later today.”

“All right. Goodbye, Mr. Fallin.”

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

As Burton Fallin hung up the phone, he exhaled a long breath. Nicholas sounded 
like he was doing fine now, and that was very good to know. The doctor had said 
Nick would probably call in about an hour. That gave him time to get some things 
done first. Depressing the intercom, he said, “Sheila, could you step in here 
for a minute please?” While he waited, he rummaged around in his desk for the 
office master key. As managing partner, he had one master key, and Monica 
Rialty, the office administrator, had the other. Ah, there it was. Good.

Sheila came through the door, notebook in hand. “Yes, Mr. Fallin?”

“Well, first, I want you to know that the doctor says Nick is doing pretty well. 
He’s still down in the ER, but she expects to have him up in a room in about an 
hour. He’s going to call me then.” 

She smiled. “That’s very good to hear.”

“Yeah. So, I’m going to go by the house and pack a bag, then stop by Nick’s 
house, and pick up some things for him. Have you got that flight information I 
requested?”

“Uh-huh. There’s a flight on Delta at 4:25 or one on US Airways at 5:15.”

Burton thought a second. It was about 1:30 now. If he hurried, he ought to able 
to make the earlier flight, even with the increased security measures. “Book me 
on the Delta flight.” He stood up. “If Nick calls, take his number, and tell him 
I’ll call him back. Then call me, and let me know.”

“All right. I’ve made your car reservations at Avis. And I’ve canceled all your 
appointments for the rest of the week, like you asked. Is there anything else?”

“No. No,” Burton said with a smile. “Not that I can think of. Thank you, 
Sheila.”

She smiled at him in turn, and nodded, and then stepped back out the door. 
Burton grabbed his suit jacket from were it lay on the chair nearby, then closed 
his briefcase, and picked it up. He expected to go straight to the airport from 
Nick’s house. He’d already advised all the other partners that he would be 
flying down to be with Nick. And there wasn’t anything else he really needed to 
take care of here.

Burton walked out of his office, locked it behind him, and exchanged a brief 
farewell with Sheila. Then he headed purposefully over to Nick’s office. He had 
to acknowledge a few well-wishers as he went, but most people didn’t delay him 
as it was apparent he was in a hurry. Reaching Nick’s door, he stuck the master 
key in the lock, and turned the tumbler. He opened the door, and walked inside, 
flipping on the lights, as he did so.

Burton knew that Nick kept a spare house key in his desk because a few years ago 
he had locked himself out while on a weekend run. Knowing that his father had a 
master key to his office, he had called Burton, and gotten his dad to run by the 
office, and retrieve his house key. It had been in the second drawer on the 
right then, Burton remembered, and he assumed he’d find it in the same place 
now.

Stepping behind Nick’s desk, Burton put his hand on the drawer, and then 
hesitated. It really was something of an invasion of privacy to go into Nick’s 
desk without his permission, but he wanted to be able to bring some of Nick’s 
clothes down to him. He had no idea what condition Nick’s suitcase from the 
plane would be in, yet alone when it would be returned to Nick. And, of course, 
all Nicholas would have had along with him would have been business attire. 
Burton intended to take him some more comfortable clothing.

Opening the drawer, Burton found the spare set of keys in the back--a house key 
and a key for the BMW. He grabbed the key ring, then shut the drawer. In seconds 
he was back out of the office, and locking the door behind him. Mission 
accomplished.

----+----

Nick’s face had been stitched, and now he was waiting to see the doctor again 
before they took him down to get his cast. The intern who had stitched his cut 
had been a young woman who had seemed unaccountably nervous. She was pretty, in 
a fresh-faced sort of way, and her figure was nice, but she was all thumbs at 
first, rattling the instruments on the tray, even dropping the strand of suture 
on the floor. And all the time she had kept sneaking these little looks at him. 
Nick couldn’t understand it. He had been tempted to call a halt to the 
proceedings, and request a different doctor, but the girl had eventually settled 
down. She regained her lost composure, and went from nervous schoolgirl to calm 
professional just like that. 

Now Nick was sitting in a reclined position listening to the soft bubbling sound 
coming from the chest tube pump. One nurse was still with him--Nancy, the one 
who had held his hand earlier. “Nurse Nancy,” he mused, “bet she gets a lot of 
jokes about that.” He was much more comfortable now. His breathing was easier, 
and he felt no pain in his chest and arm. He was thankful for that. Whatever 
drug they had stuck in his IV had certainly done the trick.

Nick wondered what exactly Dr. Vandenberg had told Dad on the phone, and what 
Dad had said to her. He was glad to know that that phone call should have put 
his father’s fears to rest. He couldn’t say the same for the calls that Pete and 
Ned’s families must have gotten. Once the doctor had finished her initial exam, 
Nick had asked about the condition of the two men. Dr. Vandenberg had sent 
someone to find out how they were. The news hadn’t been good. Ned had a serious 
head injury, and was in a deep coma, and Pete was being sent up to surgery. He 
had extensive internal injuries, and it looked like it would be touch-and-go. 
Nick found himself feeling depressed all over again at the thought of the two 
men in such a state. He didn’t know either of them well, but well enough to know 
they were good men, not just good businessman (which they were), but men that 
gave back to the community. Men who cared about other people. 

Nick still couldn’t quite believe all that had happened in the last two and a 
half hours. It seemed unreal. That ‘thunk’ when it had all started to go wrong, 
the crash, the pilot’s smashed-in head (he shuddered at that recollection), the 
ascension in the wire gurney, the trip to the hospital in the chopper. It all 
seemed like something out of a movie. That was it, he realized. It was almost 
like watching a movie. When he replayed the events in his head it was like 
seeing it all happen to someone else, not to him. Huh. He wondered if that was 
some kind of protection mechanism the brain took refuge in. 

Just then, the door opened, and Dr. Vandenberg came striding in. Nick took a 
closer look at her this time. In the beginning, he had been in no state to pay 
any attention to the doctor, except as someone who could help him. Now he looked 
at her as an individual, as a woman. 

She was not unattractive. She carried herself with confidence, and she had a 
nice smile. He couldn’t say much for her hairstyle though. Wearing her hair 
pulled straight back like that wasn’t very flattering for someone whose face was 
a little on the thin side. From what he could see under her doctor’s coat, her 
figure wasn’t bad. His assessment was interrupted as the doctor began to speak. 
“I talked to your father,” she said. “He was relieved to find out you were going 
to be fine. He said to tell you that he looked forward to your call, and that he 
was going to fly down later today.”

“Fly down?” Nick almost said it outloud, but stopped himself. The thought of his 
dad flying brought his heart up into his mouth, and sent cold shivers down his 
spine. 

“Nick?” Dr. Vandenberg said curiously. She had seen him go very still and “away” 
from her (that was the best way she could think of to describe it). When she 
spoke his name, however, he came back to himself, and said, “Hmmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick said, but then averted his gaze, looking down and off to the 
side. She could see he looked troubled. She studied him for an additional 
moment, and then said, “Nick, I need to get some more information about your 
past drug use.”

Nick didn’t say anything, nor raise his eyes to her.

“While I was on the phone with your father he told me that you’d been in rehab 
last year.”

Nick shook his head back and forth a couple times with a look that was half 
disbelief, half disgust. 

“Your father was concerned about you, Nick. He thought it was important I know, 
and he was right. You’re going to need a prescription for pain killers for a 
while. Before they’re prescribed I need to know more about your history.” 

Nick didn’t say anything. He was staring at the floor. She continued, “Your 
father said you got arrested for possession of cocaine. Did they send you to 
rehab because you were addicted?”

Nick's head came up. His eyes were blazing. "No," he answered defiantly. "They 
sent me to rehab because I got busted."

Dr. Vandenberg looked at him for a moment, then said slowly, “Okay. So you’re 
saying you were just a recreational user?” Nick didn’t reply. “Is that right, 
Nick?” she pressed.

Nick looked away, and ran a hand roughly down the back of his head. Then he 
looked back at the doctor. His voice rose as he said, “I had trouble controlling 
my usage at the end, okay? But I wasn’t an addict. I am NOT an addict.”

“I see. Do you have a history with any other drugs?”

He compressed his lips, then sighed. “When I-I, when I was young I experimented 
with a lot of things...mostly prescription stuff: pain killers, uppers, downers. 
My prep school was a veritable cornucopia of prescription meds.” 

“Can you give me some of the names?” 

“Valium, Percocet, codeine.” He shot her a sardonic smile. “You name it, I’ve 
probably tried it, doc.”

Now it was Dr. Vandenberg’s turn to sigh. “Were you ever addicted to any of 
these meds, Nick?” 

“No,” he said with conviction, shaking his head for emphasis.

“Do you use prescription drugs recreationally now?”

“No...no. Not since college. No, in recent years, I’ve preferred my 
mind-altering substances inhaled.” The sardonic smile was back, with an even 
sharper edge this time. 

“Okay. Well, I’m going to prescribe Vicodin for now. I’ll make sure your new 
physicians are aware of your situation. As I said earlier, you’ll probably be 
here for several days. That puncture in your lung needs to heal before we take 
the chest tube out. 

Nick nodded.

“All right. Well, we’ll get that arm taken care of, and then we’ll get you 
admitted. I’ll send someone right in to take you for your cast.”

“Okay. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” she answered with a small smile. “Good luck.”

----+----

Burton stood on the doorstep of Nick’s Shadyside brownstone, a soft-sided 
suitcase held in one hand. He couldn’t help but recall the last time he’d stood 
in this spot--that awful day the stripper had died on Nick’s living room floor. 
God! What a mess that had been. He shook his head to dispel the memory, then 
turned the key in the lock, and walked inside. He glanced around the foyer. It 
felt funny to be standing here in Nick’s house, uninvited. He hoped Nicholas 
wouldn’t object to this foray into his personal space. Burton felt that it was 
warranted, and hoped his son would feel the same way. 

Burton headed up the stairs to Nick’s bedroom. He hadn’t been upstairs at Nick’s 
since his son had shown him through the house right after he’d bought it. Now he 
walked into the master bedroom with some trepidation. Flipping on the light, he 
looked around. Besides a small amount of clutter on the dresser, the room was 
neat as a pin. The bed was made. There were no clothes or shoes scattered around 
the floor. It all looked very orderly. But then Nick had always been a neat 
child. He didn’t like living in a mess. Burton knew his son employed a maid 
service once a week, of course, but still he was sure that Nick’s own nature had 
a lot to do with the appearance of the room. 

Glancing at his watch, Burton set to work. Placing the flight bag on the bed, he 
walked over to the dresser, and began opening drawers. He quickly removed 
several pairs of boxers and socks, as well as a small stack of white t-shirts. 
He found pajamas in another drawer, then located colored t-shirts and shorts. He 
found sweat pants and khakis in the tall chest of drawers that stood on the 
other bedroom wall. Burton didn’t know what Nick would want to wear, so was just 
trying to select a variety of things. 

Walking into the closet, Burton grabbed a few casual button-down shirts, and a 
pair of sneakers. Returning to the bed, he began to place everything neatly into 
the suitcase. He’d like to bring Nick’s personal toiletries too, but knew they 
would have been on the plane with him. He’d just buy whatever Nicholas needed, 
once he got down there.

Zipping up the bag, Burton picked up the suitcase. Taking a final look around to 
assure himself he hadn’t forgotten anything, he headed out of the room, flipping 
off the overhead light as he did so.

----+----

The nurse and orderly had just transferred Nick from the gurney into his 
hospital bed. He was in room 421 on the fourth floor. The nurse had hung the 
chest tube pump on the bed frame. Nick could hear the bubbling noise that meant 
it was doing its work. The nurse was moving around the bed doing various things. 
When she was through, she filled up a pitcher of ice water for Nick, and, at his 
request, adjusted the bed to a partially-reclined position. She made sure he 
knew how to use the call button, and told him to buzz if he needed anything. 
Nick told her that he wanted to make a phone call, so she lifted the phone off 
the nightstand, and set it next to him on the bed, in easy reach. After making 
sure he was comfortable as possible, she told him that Dr. Stevenson and Dr. 
Herbert should be in to see him soon, and then she left.

Nick took a few seconds to look around him. It was a conventional two-bed 
hospital room, not much larger than required to fit the two beds, two 
nightstands, and a couple visitor chairs. The walls were painted a pale beige. 
They had put Nick in the bed next to the window (which was on his right), but 
there was no view to speak of, only other buildings. The second bed was 
currently unoccupied, which had been a relief to Nick. He didn’t relish the idea 
of a roommate. 

Placing his right hand on the phone, he prepared to call his dad. He had been 
pretty angry when Dr. Vandenberg had informed him that Dad had told her about 
rehab. Trust his father not to leave that decision to him. If Nick had thought 
it was important, he would have told the doctor about it himself. But, he’d had 
some time to cool off now. He wasn’t angry about it anymore. He knew his father 
was just trying to watch out for his welfare. And to be fair, Dad didn’t know 
the extent of his history with coke or prescription drugs. He probably thought 
it was better to be safe than sorry, and damn what Nick felt about it. Maybe 
he’d feel the same way himself if he was in his father’s position.

Picking up the receiver, he dialed his dad’s direct line. Sheila answered on the 
first ring, and he heard the familiar, “Fallin and Associates. Burton Fallin’s 
office. How may I help you?” 

“Sheila, it’s Nick.”

“Nick! It’s wonderful to hear from you. We were all so worried. Your dad, 
especially, of course. When he thought that.... Well, he was devastated, Nick. 
And the waiting, the waiting was really hard on him.”

“Yeah.... Can I speak with him?”

“He isn’t here. After he talked to your doctor he decided to go home and pack a 
bag--she told you he was coming down, didn’t she?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he went to pack his bag, and he was also going to stop by your house, and 
get some things for you.” 

Nick started to ask how Dad was going to get in, but then remembered he knew 
about the spare key in his desk.

“Anyway, Nick, your dad asked me to get your number, and then call him so he can 
call you right back. Is there a direct line into your room?”

Nick glanced at the front of the phone. “Yes, it’s 404-616-0421. I’m in room 
421.”

“Okay, well, you take it easy, Nick. We’ll be thinking about you.”

“Thank you, Sheila.”

“I’ll call your dad right now.”

“All right. Bye bye.”

“Bye, Nick. Take care.”

Nick hung up the phone, but left his hand sitting on top the receiver. In not 
more than forty-five seconds, the phone rang. Nick picked it up. “Hello.”

“Nick! How are ya son?” Nick could clearly hear the emotion in his father’s 
voice. He could feel his own eyes grow wet in response.

“I’m okay.”

“I.... You don’t know how glad I was when they told me you were alive, son. 
I...I can’t begin to tell you....”

“I know, Dad.” Nick felt a lump in his own throat that he was sure was a twin to 
the one his father must be feeling.

“Ya sure you’re okay?”

“I’m pretty banged up, and I’ve got this tube in my chest...but I’m okay.”

“Good. Good. What have you heard about Ned and Pete?”

Nick sighed. “It’s not so good, Dad. They say Ned’s in a deep coma. The last I 
heard, Pete was still in surgery. They think his internal injuries are pretty 
severe. They said he, he almost bled to death before they got him to the 
hospital.”

Burton was silent for a moment. “I’m very sorry to hear that, son. They’re both 
good men.”

“I know.”

The doctor told you I was coming down there, didn’t she? I’m catching the 4:25 
flight. It gets in shortly after 6:00 so I should be to the hospital before 
7:00.

“You don’t have to do that, Dad. You don’t have to come down here.”

“Nonsense, Nicholas. Of course I’m coming.”

“No, you, you should just stay in Pittsburgh.”

Burton didn’t say anything for a moment. When he spoke, it was to ask quietly, 
“Don’t you want me there, son?” Nick could hear the hurt in his voice.

“It’s not that. It’s....”

Burton waited, but when Nick didn’t continue, he prompted, “It’s what?”

“I don’t want you on a plane.” Nick forced it out all in a rush.

On the other end of the phone, Burton smiled in relief. “Nicholas, I’ll be fine. 
It’ll be perfectly safe.” When Nick didn’t reply, he added, “Just think about 
it, son. If there’s one day it’s gotta be safe for me to fly, it’s today. Think 
of the odds!” Burton tried to sound jovial, but only partly succeeded. “Look, 
don’t worry. I’ll be there before you know it. Try, try to get some sleep. I’m 
sure after, uh, after all you’ve been through today, you could use it.”

“Okay, I’ll, I’ll see you later, Dad.”

“Okay, son. I’ll see ya.”

Nick hung up the phone. His logical mind knew Dad was right. Nothing was going 
to happen to him on the flight from Pittsburgh to Atlanta, but visualizing Dad 
on that plane--in the air--still scared the shit out of him.

----+----

Burton Fallin opened the door to room 421 slowly. Stepping into the room, he saw 
his son lying in the bed farthest from the door. He was in a semi-reclined 
position, but Burton could see his eyes were closed. He walked up to the bed as 
quietly as he could. Nick didn’t stir. He stood for a moment looking down at his 
son. Nicholas had on a hospital gown, white with a tiny print of blue. A sheet 
was pulled up to his waist. Burton glanced quickly at Nick’s face--it didn’t 
look too bad--and then down the rest of his body. Nick’s left arm was encased in 
a white plaster cast from below the elbow to the middle of the back of his hand. 
A few inches above the cast, Burton could see a clear plastic tube coming out 
from under his gown. That must be the chest tube. It ran down into some 
apparatus hanging on the side of the bed. Burton realized then that he could 
hear the device making a sort of bubbling sound. So that was the pump the doctor 
had mentioned. The pump that was keeping the leaking air from the lung from 
building up in the chest cavity. Looking back up at Nick, Burton could see 
bruises coming up on Nick’s right hand and arm. The one on the back of his hand 
looked like it was going to be pretty ugly. He must have banged it pretty hard. 
There was also an IV line running from Nick’s right arm up to the bag on the 
portable IV stand and a large white clip on Nick’s index finger. From previous 
visits to the hospital, Burton knew that this clip was a pulse oximeter. It 
continually monitored the heart rate and the oxygen saturation of the blood.

Burton brought his eyes back up to Nick’s face then, and took a closer look. 
Nick had a clear tube strung across his face that were delivering oxygen into 
his nostrils. Burton could see the cut next to the right brow. He counted twelve 
stitches. The flesh was red and swollen around the cut, but it wasn’t too bad. 
And there was a bruise coming up along Nick’s jaw line on the same side. Burton 
wondered if in the force of the impact, Nick’s head had hit once, then bounced 
up, and hit again. He didn’t know whether Nick had lost consciousness during the 
crash. No one had told him, and he hadn’t thought to ask Nick. God! It gave him 
chills to think of what Nicholas must have gone through those last minutes 
before the crash. It must have been simply terrifying. 

Burton stood for another moment looking down at his only child, then walked 
around the bed, and carefully lifted the guest chair by the window from where it 
sat near the foot of the bed. He moved it up closer to the head of the bed, and 
set the chair down softly. He knew that sleep was the best thing for Nick, so he 
didn’t want to wake him. Turning around, and grasping the arms of the chair, 
Burton lowered himself into it slowly. He sat, and just looked at his son while 
a string of thoughts ran through his mind. He thought about that terrible period 
this morning between the first phone call telling him that his son’s plane had 
almost certainly crashed, and the call telling him that Nick was alive. That had 
been the worst 50 minutes of his life...no doubt about it. He had come so close 
to losing Nick that just thinking about the whole episode still scared the hell 
out of him.

He turned his mind away from that. He had relived the whole thing coming down in 
the plane from Pittsburgh several times (and despite his assurances to Nick 
about the safety of the flight, Burton had found himself wishing desperately for 
a cigarette more than once while they were in the air. He had been very glad 
when they touched down safely on the runway.) No, he didn’t want to relive those 
awful minutes again. He sought for something else to occupy his thoughts.

After a little while, Burton found himself thinking about Nick as a child. He 
had really been an adorable little boy, a towhead with a mass of curls, and a 
ready smile. Even at that age, women were drawn to Nick, Burton thought, amused. 
Everywhere they’d go, women would come up to Nicky, unable to resist running a 
hand through his curls. Anne had always refused to cut those precious locks, but 
Burton had finally put his foot down shortly after Nick had turned three. They 
had been on a rare Saturday outing to the park, and two different women had come 
up to comment on their “precious little girl”. Burton had had enough. Later that 
night, for the umpteenth time, he had broached the subject of cutting Nick’s 
hair. When Anne protested once again, Burton had lost his temper. “He’s a boy, 
goddammit!” he had said loudly. He had immediately regretted it, and apologized. 
But Anne’s feelings had been hurt, and she was having none of it. “Fine,” she 
said in a cold voice. “He’s your son. We’ll cut his hair.” And she had taken him 
to a barber the very next day. She had never said so, but knowing Anne, she must 
have wept as the barber chopped off those baby curls.

Yes, Nick had been a cute kid, Burton thought. He remembered one Easter when 
Nick was about four, Anne’s parents had given him a baby duck. It was a cute 
little thing, just a yellow ball of fuzz, and Nick had loved it. From the start, 
the duck had seemed to adopt Nick as its mother. When it got old enough it would 
follow Nick around. It had been cute as hell, watching the little boy parade 
around the yard, the young duck waddling close behind. Come to think of it, 
“Waddles” had been the duck’s name. 

They had kept the duck for a few months, letting it swim around in one of those 
little plastic blow-up pools, but eventually, Waddles began flying over the pool 
fence, and they’d started finding duck crap in the pool. Anne and Burton had 
decided at that point that Waddles had to go. It had been hard to break the news 
to Nicky, of course, but Anne had told him that Waddles would be much happier at 
one of the local parks. She had said that there was a nice lake there, and other 
ducks for Waddles to play with. Nick had cried, but in the end, he’d been a 
brave little boy when he’d said farewell to his duck friend. It had been so sad 
and cute at the same time, Burton thought. Nick calling goodbye to Waddles, and 
promising to come visit him. He wondered now whether Nick even remembered that 
little duck.

Burton sighed, and stifled a yawn. He was tired. He’d be glad to get into the 
bed at the hotel tonight. He’d asked in the hospital lobby for a hotel that was 
close by, and they had recommended one a few blocks away, a Sheraton. Burton was 
starting to yawn for a second time when he heard a rattling noise coming down 
the hallway. It was quite loud, and he wondered what it could be. As it passed 
the door, the noise disturbed Nick. He rolled his head to the side, grimacing a 
little as he came back to consciousness. When he finally opened his eyes, he was 
looking almost directly at his father. “Dad,” he said softly. “Hi, son,” Burton 
said gently. He got up, and walked over to the bed, laying his right hand atop 
Nick’s. 

“How ya doing?” 

Nick didn’t say anything. Just looked at his father, as tears began to fill his 
eyes. He had thought he was going to die today. He had thought he was never 
going to see his dad again, and now he was here. He couldn’t get any words past 
the lump in his throat. Burton seemed to understand what Nick was feeling. He 
squeezed his son’s hand gently, as tears began to roll down his own cheeks.
 
---+---

Monday Evening

Nick Fallin, eyes wet with tears, lay in the partially-reclined hospital bed and 
stared up at his father, whose hand was covering his own. The two men had been 
reduced to silence by the overwhelming emotion of this, their first meeting 
since the plane crash. Now the only discernible sound in the room was the soft 
bubbling of the Pleur-Evac vacuum pump, hanging from the bed. At last, Burton 
reached up awkwardly, and wiped at the tears that had slipped down his own face. 
“Well,” he said. “Uh-” He sought for some less emotional topic to introduce. “I, 
uh, I brought you some of your things, Nicholas, some clothes...pajamas. I left 
them in the rental car.... I knew that spare house key was in your desk...so I 
thought it made sense to, uhm, to stop by your place and pick up some clothes 
for you.” He watched Nick as he voiced the next thought, “Hope you don’t mind.” 

Nick seemed to welcome his father’s change of subject. “No. I don’t mind,” he 
replied quietly.

“Well, good.” Burton was relieved. He said eagerly, “I’ll, uh, I’ll go down to 
the car now, and get them if you want?”

“No,” Nick said quickly. “It can wait.”

“Okay....” Burton passed his eyes over Nick’s frame once again. He looked so 
uncomfortable, lying there with the cast on his arm, and the tubes running in 
and out of his body. “Is there anything I can get you, son? A, a glass of 
water?”

Nick licked his lips. “Okay.”

Burton poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the night stand. He brought 
it forward, and hesitated, not sure if he should hold it to Nick’s lips for him. 
Nick settled the question by reaching out, and taking the cup with his good 
hand. He grimaced as he brought it to his mouth, then quickly swallowed the 
contents. “Thanks,” he said, as Burton took the cup back.

“You want some more?”

“No.” Nick’s face crinkled up with pain. He started to put his hand up to his 
chest, but then stopped himself, and laid his hand back on the bed. 

Burton had observed all this with close concern. “How are you feeling, Nicholas? 
Is that, that chest tube causing you a lot of discomfort?”

Nick frowned. “Yeah.... It wasn’t while I was on the IV medication, but that’s 
worn off. Now they’ve got me on Vicodin, and it’s pretty uncomfortable.”

“Maybe we should talk to the doctor about putting you on something stronger?”

“No. It’s okay, Dad.”

Burton was silent for a moment. “Nicholas...son...I realize that you, you 
probably think it wasn’t my place to tell Dr. Vandenberg about the, uh, about 
the drugs, and, uhm, the rehab, but, well...I...I thought it was for the best.” 
He watched Nick closely for his reaction.

Nick half-sighed. “That’s okay, Dad. I understand.”

Burton was relieved. He’d been afraid that Nicholas would resent the intrusion, 
and it would drive a new wedge between them. But, he hadn’t wanted to take the 
chance that Nick would fail to tell the doctor about his drug use, so Burton had 
risked Nick’s displeasure instead.

“What time is it?” Nick asked a moment later. He was leaning his head back 
against the bed now, his eyes half-closed.

Burton glanced down at his watch. “About 7:15.”

Nick gave a little nod. It was obvious from the look on his face, that he was in 
some pain. Burton wished there was something he could do to make his son more 
comfortable. “Dr. Vandenberg told me you’d probably be in here about three days. 
She also said that an orthopedist and, a, a pulmonary specialist would be taking 
over your case. Did you see them today?”

“Uh-huh,” Nick said. 

“What did they say?”

Nick opened his eyes. “Oh, uhm, Dr. Herbert, the ortho-orthopedist said that my 
broken arm was a simple fracture, and that it should, should heal in about six 
weeks.... He said that the ribs are harder to heal, because, you know, they’re 
always moving as you breathe.... He couldn’t predict how long it would take them 
to mend, but guessed between five and eight weeks. He said they might give me 
discomfort for a month or so after that.”

Burton was nodding. “What about the other doctor?”

“He said - Dr. Stevenson - he said that barring complications, the puncture in 
my lung would probably heal in a couple days...and they’d let me out of the 
hospital a day, or two, later.”

“Uh-huh.” Burton brought a hand up to stroke his mustache. He hesitated, and 
then asked, “You, uh, you want to tell me about today, Nick? About the crash?” 
As he uttered that last word, Burton saw Nick stiffen. Damn! He shouldn’t have 
asked that. Still, he didn’t withdraw the question, just waited to hear what his 
son would say.

Finally, Nick said, “I...I’d rather not talk about that now, Dad, okay?” As Nick 
spoke the words, Burton realized he sounded very weary.

“Sure, sure. That’s fine.” He smiled at his son. “We’ll, uh, we’ll talk about it 
all later.... You look tired, Nicholas. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll just 
sit here for a little while.... Ohh, I’ll be at the Sheraton tonight, in case 
you need me. I’ll let them know that at the nurses’ station before I leave.... 
You just...you just get some sleep now, son.” 

Nick didn’t need to be told twice. Before the words were barely out of his 
father’s mouth, his eyes had closed. In a few moments, Burton saw Nick’s face 
relax in sleep. He found the controls for the bed, and adjusted it to a level 
position. He knew Nicholas would be more comfortable that way. Burton spent 
another moment at the side of the bed, then retreated to the chair. He realized 
he should have brought along something to read, but he hadn’t spared a thought 
for things like that in his hurry to pack and get to the airport. He’d stop by 
the news stand in the hotel tomorrow morning before he came back. He’d get some 
magazines for Nick to read, as well. Knowing Nick, he would be going stir-crazy 
the moment he started feeling more like himself. He wasn’t one for enforced 
inactivity, that boy.

Burton spent the next 45 minutes in quiet reflection. Nick slept soundly the 
whole time. Burton was just about to doze off himself when a nurse came into 
check on Nick. Rousing himself, Burton asked the nurse a few questions about his 
son’s condition, and then decided it was time to head to the hotel. 

After the nurse had left, Burton stood by his son’s bedside for just a moment. 
He would have liked to have touched Nick in farewell, but didn’t want to risk 
waking him. Finally, he stuck out a hand, and just grazed the top of his son’s 
hair gently. Nick didn’t stir. With a final look, Burton sighed, and walked out 
of the room. He would stop at the nurses’ station, and make sure they knew where 
to reach him, just in case Nick’s condition should change during the night. Then 
he would head to the Sheraton.

----+----

Much to his surprise, Burton had fallen right to sleep once he’d finally climbed 
into the bed at the hotel. He guessed later that the events of the day had just 
overtaken him, and his body had decided it was time for sleep. He woke up about 
2:30 in the morning, disoriented. When he realized where he was, and why, he sat 
up, and turned on the bedside light. He picked up the paper with the hospital’s 
number from where he had left it lying on the nightstand, and dialed the phone. 
“4th floor nurses’ station, please,” he said, when the hospital operator 
answered. When a nurse came on the line, he asked about Nick’s condition. After 
a moment, she came back and reported that Nick’s vitals were good, and he was 
sleeping peacefully. Reassured, Burton made a quick trip to the bathroom, then 
climbed back in bed. He lay there for a few minutes, reviewing all that had 
happened in the last twenty-four hours, before finally drifting back to sleep.

Tuesday

Nick had spent a relatively peaceful night. They had woken him up once to give 
him his medication, but he had gotten back to sleep almost immediately. On 
waking in the morning, it had taken him a couple seconds to get his bearings. 
Then it had all come back to him in a rush, the plane in distress, the crash. He 
felt his heart rate accelerate just at the thought of it. At about the same 
time, he felt the pain of his broken bones, bumps and bruises, and that chest 
tube making itself known. He hoped the nurse would be in soon with his next pain 
pill. That thought made him wonder how Pete and Ned were doing this morning. The 
last thing they had told him the evening before was that Pete had survived the 
surgery, and was in critical condition, but Ned’s status was unchanged. He had 
still been in a profound coma, and the doctors didn’t look for improvement any 
time soon.

Besides the pain of his injuries, Nick realized that his full bladder was also 
causing him discomfort. He located the call-button on the side of the bed, and 
pressed it. Last night the nurse had had him use a...well he didn’t know what 
you called it...it was a container about eight or nine inches high with a long 
neck, and a bulb-like base. It kind of resembled a very ugly flower vase. 
Anyway, the nurse had had him relieve himself in that, but this morning he was 
hoping they’d allow him to get up and walk to the bathroom.

In about three or four minutes, the nurse came into the room. Nick was glad to 
see she had one of those little cups with his medicine in it. “Good morning,” 
she said pleasantly. “I’ve got your meds, and I know you pushed your 
call-button. Did you need to use the bathroom, or was it something else?”

“It was the bathroom. I’d like to try to walk to the bathroom this time.”

“If you’re feeling up to it. First, though, let’s get your meds in you.” She 
handed Nick the pills, and then poured him a glass of water. He placed the pills 
in his mouth, and then took the glass from the nurse. In a few seconds, he’d 
drained the contents.

“Okay,” the nurse said, taking the glass from Nick, and placing it back on the 
nightstand. “I’ll get someone else in here to assist, and then we’ll get you to 
the bathroom.” She saw Nick make a face at this announcement. “I know,” she 
said, amused, “You don’t think you need two people to help you to the bathroom, 
but someone has to push the IV stand and carry the P-E pump, and someone else 
has to keep a hand on you. So, you see - two people.” She smiled at him 
brightly, and then walked out the door, promising to return “in a jiff”.

True to her word, she was back in just a couple minutes with a nursing 
assistant. The assistant stood near Nick’s right shoulder while the nurse, whose 
name was Karen, began to make the preparations. Moving to the right side of the 
bed, she said, “Okay, we just have to get your chest tube unhooked from the bed 
here.” She pulled back the sheet, and undid the fastenings that secured the tube 
to the railing. Then she lifted the Pleur-Evac pump from where it hung on the 
side of the bed, and handed it across Nick to the assistant. “Here you go, 
Jackie,” she said, as they made the hand-off. Jackie set the pump down on the 
floor next to the IV stand. Then Karen pulled the sheet down to the end of the 
bed so that Nick’s legs and feet were unencumbered. Moving to the left side of 
the bed to stand next to Jackie, she reached down, and took the pulse oximeter 
off of Nick’s finger. “All right,” she said. “Now the tubing for the oxygen is 
long enough to stretch into the bathroom, so don’t worry about that. Okay, I 
think we’re all set.” She took hold of Nick’s good right hand, and said, “Ready? 
Let’s sit you up.” She pulled gently, but mainly Nick sat up on his own. He felt 
the pain in his sore chest muscles and ribs as he did so, but he tried to ignore 
it.

“Good,” Karen said. “Now Nick, I want you to rotate your legs over to the side 
of the bed, but don’t try to get up yet. All right?” Nick nodded, and did as he 
was told. “Good. How do you feel? Any dizziness?”

“No.”

“All right. Ready to stand up?”

“Uh-huh.”

Taking a firm hold on his upper right arm, she said “Okay, stand up, but if you 
feel dizzy, or something just doesn’t feel right, remember that the bed is right 
behind you.”

“Okay.” With the nurse’s assistance Nick slid off the bed, and onto his feet. He 
winced at the movement, but held his tongue.

“Still okay?”

He nodded.

“All right.” 

Nick saw that Jackie now held the P-E pump in one hand and the pole of the IV 
stand in the other. Karen was speaking again, “Okay. Let’s go Nick, but just 
take it slow. There’s no rush.” He nodded, and the three started the slow 
progression to the bathroom. Nick found himself thinking that if he’d known it 
was going to be this much of a production, he would have just asked for the vase 
thing again. He also was finding it embarrassing to be making the trip clothed 
only in the hospital gown. He knew the damn thing only tied at the neck, so 
figured the woman, Jackie, might be getting something of a show. He thought 
about trying to keep the edges of the gown together in back with his left hand, 
but with the cast it would be awkward, and besides, wouldn’t he look a little 
foolish doing that? So he just decided he’d have to grin and bear it.

“You’re doing fine,” Karen said after a few steps. “How do you feel?”

“I feel okay.”

She nodded. Once they made it inside the bathroom, Jackie sat the pump down next 
to the toilet, and left the IV stand close by.

“Do you think you can manage from here, or do you need help?” Karen asked.

“I can manage. Thanks.”

“Okay, well if you need anything, we’ll be right outside the door. Don’t try to 
lift the pump yourself when you’re ready to move to the sink and wash your 
hands. Call us first. Okay?”

Nick nodded. “All right.”

Both women left then, pulling the door almost, but not quite closed, due to the 
oxygen line. Nick moved closer to the toilet, and lifted up the seat. His chest 
muscles protested the motion. Pulling up the hospital gown, he took a leak. Then 
flushed the toilet. He called out that he was through, and the women walked back 
inside. Karen took his arm again (although Nick didn’t think it was necessary -- 
he felt plenty steady on his feet), and Jackie took the vacu-pump and IV stand. 
They walked him over to the basin. As they approached, Nick glanced in the 
mirror. It was the first time he’d seen his face since the accident. It didn’t 
look too bad, he realized. The cut with the stitches looked kind of nasty - pink 
and swollen, and there was a bruise along his right jaw line, but that was 
really it. He put his hand up, and felt carefully around the cut. Afterwards, he 
washed his hands, and then Karen handed him a face cloth. He wet it and squirted 
out some soap from the dispenser on the wall, and gingerly washed his face. He 
had to admit that simple act made him feel better. 

Nick wanted to get a closer look at the spot where the tube was going into his 
chest. He had seen it last night when the nurse on duty had changed his 
dressings, but he had been lying down then, so really hadn’t had the best view. 
He said to Karen, “I’d like to look at my chest tube. Can I do that?”

She nodded. “Sure. Turn toward me a minute.”

Nick turned to face her. “Jackie,” Karen said, “Can you hold the gown together 
in the back here, please?” She motioned to a spot at about Nick’s waistline. 
Jackie moved forward, and took hold of the gown, and then Karen reached up, and 
undid the tie at the neck. She had Nick place his arms down at his sides, and 
then she carefully pulled the gown down until his whole chest was exposed. She 
removed the tape that held the gauze dressing in place, then carefully pulled 
the square of gauze away. “Okay,” she said. Nick turned back to the mirror. The 
first thing he saw was the large bruise that extended horizontally across the 
right side of his chest. That was where his rib cage had come in contact with 
the table in the plane yesterday. It looked awful. No wonder it hurt so much. He 
could also see a bandaid that must be covering the small hole left in his chest 
by the insertion of the needle catheter in the helicopter. The doctor in the ER 
had taken the catheter out yesterday after she’d inserted the chest tube. The 
incision for the chest tube itself was not far from the hole left behind by the 
catheter. Nick could see it was about 1 1/4 inches long. The flesh around it was 
pink and swollen. The two sides of the incision were stitched together with the 
chest tube protruding from the middle. It was a funny feeling to be looking at 
this piece of plastic tubing, knowing that the other end was actually stuck 
inside him. After a moment, he said, “Okay,” and Karen replaced the dressing, 
and pulled the gown back up, then secured the tie at the neck. Then the parade 
of three made its way back to the hospital bed.

----+----

Waking up at 7:30, Burton made another call to check on Nick, then showered and 
dressed. He planned on grabbing breakfast downstairs before heading to the 
hospital. Closing the door of the hotel room behind him, Burton stood in the 
hallway for a second, getting his bearings. He was dressed in a short-sleeved, 
medium blue, button-downed shirt and a pair of light brown casual slacks. He was 
wearing brown loafers. He presented a far different picture than on a normal 
Tuesday morning. Gone was the conservative suit and tie. In its place was the 
casual attire of a man on vacation. Only the slight frown around the eyes might 
have given away the fact that this man was not in Atlanta to enjoy himself, he 
was here on deadly-serious business.

Burton made quick work of breakfast, then stopped by the newsstand in the lobby 
to get some reading material. He picked up ‘The Wall Street Journal’, ‘The New 
York Times’, and a couple of news and business magazines. He thought he might as 
well take several, as he and Nick were both going to have a lot of time on their 
hands for the next several days. He knew there was a TV in Nick’s room, of 
course, but Nicholas had never been much for television. Burton figured when 
Nick did have it on at home it was probably tuned to one of the news or 
market-analysis channels, with an occasional ball game thrown into the mix.

Burton had been thinking about getting Nick home. He couldn’t make any definite 
plans yet, of course. He didn’t know how long the doctors would keep Nick in the 
hospital, or how long they’d want him to wait after that, before he made the 
trip back to Pittsburgh. Burton planned to drive him himself since Nicholas 
certainly wouldn’t be in any shape for making the trip on his own, and the ER 
doctor had said it would be better for him not to fly (and after Nick’s reaction 
to his own flight down here yesterday, Burton was sure that Nick had no desire 
to reboard a plane at this point, anyhow.) So the question was, would they be 
able to make the trip home as soon as Nick was released from the hospital, or 
would Nick need a few more days of convalescence before he felt up to spending 
long periods of time in the car? Burton knew it would be about a fourteen hour 
drive, and he had already decided to do it in two days, to make it easier on 
Nick. If Nicholas did need to convalesce for a few days after his release, 
Burton just figured to get him a room here at the Sheraton. The thing he hadn’t 
yet decided was whether he would stay with Nick the whole time, or whether he’d 
fly back to Pittsburgh sometime in the middle of the week, and then fly back to 
take Nick home. He’d just have to see how everything went. He knew that there 
was no question but that Nick would be urging him to get back to work as soon as 
possible. Nicholas had never been one to put up with much fussing. Well, Burton 
corrected himself, not since his mother died. He used to let his mother fuss 
over him with little complaint. Although Burton realized that if Anne had lived 
into Nick’s teens that would have changed. At ten or eleven, Nick would have 
already been protesting his mother’s sometimes smothering attentions, but by 
that time Anne had already had the cancer, and Nick would have put up with any 
amount of coddling if it pleased his mother.

Nick had always been an independent soul, but after his mother’s death that 
tendency had increased three-fold. Nicholas liked to take care of his own needs. 
Burton had learned that early on. He let out a little chuckle, picturing the 
problem the nurses would likely have with Nick over the next few days. It would 
be difficult to keep him from trying to do too much for himself. His son 
wouldn’t like having to rely on assistance for things like going to the 
bathroom, and bathing. No, Burton thought, Nicholas wasn’t going to like that 
one little bit.

----+----

Burton walked through the door to Nick’s room at 9:15. He had the flight bag 
with Nick’s clothing in one hand, and the bundle of newspapers and magazines in 
the other. He found Nick dozing. Walking up to the bed, Burton immediately 
noticed that his son’s bruises were more prominent this morning. But other than 
that, Nick looked the same. He was still wearing the tube that supplied oxygen 
directly into his nose. Even the bed was in approximately the same position as 
when Burton had come in last night - inclined at about a 45% angle. And he 
realized he could hear the gurgling of the vacuum pump, just like last night.

Burton set the suitcase down at the foot of the bed, and then walked around to 
the far side to lay the stack of magazines on the nightstand. The chair he had 
pulled up to Nick’s side last night had been pushed back against the window. He 
moved it up closer again, being careful not to make too much noise. Then he sat 
down, and began reading ‘The Wall Street Journal’.

----+----

At about 10:00, Nick woke up. He opened his eyes, then made an abbreviated 
stretch with his right arm, while letting out a large yawn. Then he saw his dad. 
Burton had moved on from the journal to ‘Newsweek’. Now he looked over the top 
of his reading glasses, and fixed his son with a warm smile. 

“Hey, Dad,” Nick said casually, trying to stifle a second yawn. 

“Hey, son. How ya feeling this morning?”

Nick shrugged. “Not too bad. They increased my meds earlier.”

“Well, good. Did they feed you breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d they give you?”

“Uh, pancakes. It was pancakes.”

“Hmmm. I had an omelette myself. Ohhh....” Burton laid the magazine down, got up 
and walked to the foot of the bed. “Here, uh, here’s the stuff I brought for 
you.” He brought the case back over, and set it in the chair. He unzipped it, 
and then stepped to the side so that Nick could see. Burton bent over and 
flipped through the contents of the bag, commenting on several. “Uhm, I brought 
you a set of pajamas. See? Figured you’d want those right away. And some shirts 
and slacks. I wasn’t sure if you’d want anything tight around your waist so I 
packed some sweatpants too. And I brought you a pair of sneakers.”

“That’s great, Dad. Thanks,” Nick said with a small smile.

“Yeah. You want me to go ahead and leave these pajamas out? Maybe you can change 
into them later.”

“Sure. That’s fine.... My shoes and socks are in a bag in that, that cabinet 
over there.” Nick gestured with his good hand to a tall simulated-wood cabinet 
on the wall opposite the bed. “Everything else they had to cut off me in the ER, 
I had thrown away.” Nick frowned at that memory. He still regretted the loss of 
that suit. It was one of his favorites, and the damn things weren’t cheap. “I 
think you can fit the flight bag in the bottom there, Dad.”

“Okay.” Burton zipped up the bag, then picked it up and walked over to the 
cabinet. Opening it, he saw there was one shelf at the top and a rod with some 
clothes hangers. The cabinet was empty except for a single plastic bag on the 
shelf. Burton took it out, and saw the words “Personal Effects” stamped on the 
side in big letters. In the space below that “Nicholas Fallin” had been written 
with a black magic marker. Burton opened the bag. He found a smaller plastic 
sack inside. He realized immediately that it must hold the things Nick had had 
in his pockets yesterday. Picking it up, he could feel a cell phone (he smiled 
slightly at that, Nick wouldn’t be without the damn thing), a wallet, and a set 
of keys. He opened the bag, and saw the items he had already identified, as well 
as some change, a small pair of nail clippers, a comb, a handkerchief, some 
business cards, Nick’s watch and a money clip. He pulled the money clip out, and 
saw there was at least $200 there. He pulled Nick’s wallet out of the bag too. 
An unlocked cabinet was not the place for cash or Nick’s credit cards and ID. 
Picking up the smaller sack to get a better look at the remaining contents of 
the larger bag, Burton saw only Nick’s socks and the ankle-boots he favored. He 
shook his head at the sight of the boots. He didn’t see what Nick saw in those 
damn things either. He just didn’t get it. He placed the suitcase in the bottom 
of the cabinet, and closed the door. He turned around and held up the wallet and 
the money clip to Nick. “I’ll just hold on to these for you, for now, son. I 
don’t think you want to leave them in an unlocked cabinet.”

Nick gave a brief nod. “Okay.”

Burton put Nick’s wallet in his back pocket, and the money clip in his front 
pocket. Then he walked back over the chair, and sat down. He looked at Nick. He 
did look better this morning. There were no little flinches of pain crossing his 
face like last night. Burton was glad to see that. That brought to mind 
something he’d intended to ask Nick this morning. “Uhm, I thought I’d try to 
find out how Pete and Ned are doing this morning, unless you, unless you already 
have.”

Nick’s features showed his concern. “I have. The nurse told me Pete was still 
listed in critical condition, but he was showing some improvement. She said that 
Ned’s condition was unchanged.”

Burton nodded.

“And she said that their families were here now.”

Burton nodded again, “Well, that’s good. Maybe I’ll try to stop by a little 
later, and see if there’s anything I can do.... If not, I can at least let them 
know we’re praying for both Ned and Pete.... That reminds me. I want to call the 
office, and have Sheila arrange to send flowers for the pilot’s funeral.”

Burton saw Nick’s face fall at the mention of the pilot. Crap! He quickly sought 
for a new topic of conversation, but was rescued instead by a knock at the door. 
He and Nick both looked that direction as a man in his late forties, dressed in 
a dark suit, stuck his head in the door.

“Mr. Fallin?” he said.

“Yes,” said Nick.

The man walked into the room. He had a briefcase in his hand. He took a couple 
steps forward. “Mr. Fallin, I’m James Beckett from the National Transportation 
Safety Board. I was hoping you’d be feeling up to giving me a statement about 
the crash yesterday. We find it’s best to interview the witnesses as soon as 
possible in these situations. While the memories are still fresh, you know.”

Burton had turned his attention to Nick the second the man had said “National 
Transportation Safety Board”. Nick’s expression had frozen, but now he just 
compressed his lips, then said calmly, “O-Okay.”

Burton said quickly, “Are you sure you’re up to that, son? I’m sure Mr. Beckett 
could come back later.”

“No. It, it’s all right, Dad. I can talk to him now.”

Mr. Beckett smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Fallin. I appreciate your cooperation. And I 
promise, I’ll be as brief as possible.” He walked up to Nick’s bed, set the 
briefcase on the floor, and extracted his ID from his inside breast pocket. He 
held it out for Nick’s inspection. Nick took a brief look, and nodded. Mr. 
Beckett walked back around to the other side of the unoccupied bed, and picked 
up the guest chair that set there. He carried it back, and placed it between the 
two beds. He picked up his briefcase, and set it on the empty bed. Opening it, 
he took out a small tape recorder and a notebook. He placed the tape recorder on 
the night stand. Then he sat down in the chair. Opening the notebook, he took a 
pen out of his breast pocket. “Okay, Mr. Fallin. If you’re ready, I’ll just 
record some information to identify the particulars of this interview, and then 
we’ll get started.” Nick nodded, and Beckett turned on the tape recorder. 

Nick and his father listened as Mr. Beckett recited the date, time, and place 
and an accident case number, as well as Nick’s name.

“Okay, Mr. Fallin, if you would, just tell me what happened in your own words.”

“Okay.” Nick suddenly realized his mouth was very dry. “I-I’m sorry. Could I get 
a glass of water first?”

Mr. Beckett flipped off the recorder. “Certainly.” Burton was already moving to 
pour a glass of water for Nick from the pitcher that sat at the bedside.

“Here you go, son,” Burton said, handing him the plastic cup. Nick took it, and 
drank it down. Handing the cup back to his father, he wiped at his mouth with 
the back of his hand, and said, “Okay, I’m ready.” Burton could clearly see the 
tension on Nick’s face.

Mr. Beckett nodded. “Okay, I’ll turn on the recorder, and you just start when 
you’re ready.” He hit ‘record’, and sat back in the chair.

Nick cleared his throat. “Uh, it was, it was about 11:00 in the morning. No. I 
remember...I-I looked at my watch a couple minutes before we heard the, the 
‘thunk’. It was 10:55 then.... I was doing some paperwork. Everything had been 
fine. It had been a smooth, a, a trouble-free flight. The pilot had said just a 
few minutes before that we were going to land in, uh, in Atlanta in about twenty 
minutes. Then all the sudden there was this loud ‘thunk’ and the whole plane 
shook violently. And we, we went into a steep dive.” 

Burton could see that Nick was breathing faster now, and his face was reflecting 
his distress. He stood up, walked close to the bed, and laid a hand gently on 
Nick’s right shoulder. Nick glanced briefly at his father, and continued his 
tale. 

“I, uh, I knew that something had to be seriously wrong. Just about then the 
pilot yelled for us to fasten our seat belts. Then he started calling on the 
radio.... I remember he was saying ‘Mayday! Mayday!’ like, uh, like something 
out of the movies. I could see him struggling to regain control of the plane. I 
don’t know how long we were in that, that dive.... I guess maybe only a couple 
minutes, but it-it seemed like forever. Then all the sudden the plane leveled 
out, and I thought, I thought we were, uh, we were maybe going to be okay. And 
then, then, uh, the pilot yelled that, we were going down.”

Nick’s voice had cracked on the last couple sentences, and his father could see 
that tears were visible in his eyes now. Nick took a breath, and then went on 
with his story.

“After that I, uhm, I just held on tight, and I prayed, and I watched the ground 
coming closer and closer, and I.... And then, then we hit the trees.... There 
was an awful sound of trees breaking and, uh, hitting the plane, and I could 
hear metal tearing, and then we were, we were, I guess...we were sliding along 
the ground. Everything was so loud. And it, it was really bumpy. I think we were 
all getting thrown around in our seats. I, I think that’s when I hit my head on 
the, on the wall.” As he said this, Nick put a hand up to gesture to his brow. 
“I-I’m not sure.... Everything happened so fast. I don’t know how long we were 
moving, but finally, uh, we came to an abrupt stop, and I came down hard on the 
table. And then, then everything got quiet.... That, that was it.”

Mr. Beckett was nodding. “You said you heard a loud ‘thunk’. Can you give me any 
more description of that? How long did it last?”

Nick took a deep breath. “Uhm, it was just a single loud ‘thunk’. I doubt it 
lasted more than a, a half second.”

“Uh-huh. Could you tell where the noise came from? Was it from the back of the 
plane? From the front? From the engines?”

Nick thought about it. “I think, yeah, I think it came from the back of the 
plane.”

“Okay. Now you said the plane ‘shook violently’?”

“Yes.”

“Did it shake hard enough that it would have, say, thrown you to the ground if 
you’d been standing?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure. Maybe.”

“All right. How long did the shaking last?”

“Not long. I mean, it was maybe, maybe two or three seconds.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the shaking? Could you tell if it 
started in the back, and moved to the front of the plane? Anything like that?”

Nick shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. And you say there had been no sign of trouble earlier in the flight? No 
incidents of any kind? No strange noises, or vibrations? Nothing out of the 
ordinary?”

Nick thought carefully before answering. “No. No, if there was anything like 
that, I didn’t notice it. But I, I was working the whole time, concentrating on 
my paperwork. I suppose...I suppose if there had been some small vibration or 
noise I might not have noticed it. Maybe, maybe when Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Barton 
are better they’ll remember something like that.”

Mr. Beckett shut off the tape recorder. “All right, Mr. Fallin. I appreciate 
your having given us this statement. It may provide an important clue in 
determining the cause of the accident. And let me say personally, that I’m glad 
you made it through the crash in one piece. You’re a very lucky man.”

Nick said, “Thank you.”

“Now if I could have your phone number and address? Just in case we would need 
to contact you with further questions.”

Nick recited his home phone number and address. Mr. Beckett then pulled a 
business card out of his breast pocket. He reached over and gave it to Nick. 
“Here’s my card. If you should remember anything else, anything at all, please 
call me.”

Nick said, “All right.”

Mr. Beckett had stood up, and was putting the notebook and recorder back into 
his briefcase. “Well, thank you again, Mr. Fallin. You’ve been a big help. I 
wish you a speedy recovery.” 

Nick said “thank you” again, and Mr. Beckett was out the door.

Nick leaned his head against the bed, and closed his eyes. Against his will, 
those last few seconds of the crash played out once more in his mind. God! He 
had been so scared. He never wanted to be that scared again.

“Son?” Nick opened his eyes. “I, uh...” Burton cleared his throat. “I’m sorry 
you had to go through that, Nicholas, the crash I mean. I.... Well...I wish with 
all my heart you hadn’t, uhm, hadn’t been on that plane yesterday. I wish Ned 
Barton didn’t have a phobia about flying, and that you, you’d all been on a 
commercial flight instead.”

Nick nodded. He was still feeling shaken by recounting the details of the crash 
for Mr. Beckett. Still there was something he wanted to tell his father. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

Nick’s expression was a mix of apprehension and something else Burton couldn’t 
quite identify. “I-I want you to know that...that I tried to call you from the 
plane, when, uh, when it looked like we were going to crash.... I tried, but the 
battery in my cell, it was, it was dead. I-I’d forgotten to switch it out the 
night before.... I’m sorry. I wanted a chance to, to say goodbye, but....” 

Burton saw that tears were starting to roll down Nick’s cheeks, and he felt his 
own eyes grow moist in response. “That’s okay, son. I, uh, I understand. I’m 
just glad to know you wanted to call me, Nicholas. I, uhm.... Thanks for telling 
me that, son.”

Nick nodded, and wiped at his eyes. He’d always hating crying in front of his 
father. He remembered how, when his mom had died, he’d cried so much in the 
weeks afterward that he was sure his dad would decide he was a crybaby.... He 
realized he hadn’t thought about that in years.

His father was speaking. “What happened after the crash, son? Do you wanta tell 
me about that now?”

Nick took another deep breath. After a moment he said, “There’s, there’s not 
much to tell. After we stopped, I sat up, and realized that I was hurt - my ribs 
and my arm, and, uh, my head....my head was bleeding.... I heard Pete moaning, 
so I got up, and went over to him. It wasn’t easy because the floor was really 
tilted. But, I got to Pete - he said his gut hurt. I told him, told him I was 
going to check on the pilot, and then, uh, check on Ned in the back of the 
plane.... When I got up to the cockpit, I saw that it was a mess. The nose of 
the plane was gone, the windshield was broken out. Then...” Burton saw a 
stricken look descend on his son’s face, and he squeezed his shoulder 
reassuringly. “Then, uh, I saw, saw that the left side of the pilot’s head...it 
was, uh, it was smashed in. It...” Tears were flowing freely down Nick’s face 
again, and he looked away from his father, as he wiped at them awkwardly. Burton 
longed to take his son into his arms, and comfort him, but he was afraid that 
with the chest tube and the broken ribs, he’d hurt him. So he just patted Nick’s 
shoulder softly, and said, “It’s okay, son. It’s, it’s okay.” 

After a moment, Nick regained his composure, and continued. “Uhm, I, I was sure 
he must be dead, but I checked for a pulse anyway. But...there wasn’t one. So I, 
uh, I walked back and told Pete, and then I went to check on Ned.” He stopped 
for a breath. “Ned...Ned didn’t look so good either. He was unconscious. I 
tried, but he wouldn’t wake up. Then I lifted his eyelids, and saw that the 
pupil in his left eye was dilated. I knew that meant he had a serious head 
injury. But there wasn’t anything I could do for him...for him, or Pete.” Nick’s 
face mirrored his distress.

After a few seconds, Nick continued. “Anyway, I-I thought that maybe we might be 
in danger from, from fire. We were in the middle of the woods, and I, uh, I was 
afraid that fuel might have spilled and set some brush alight. So, I walked back 
to the front of the plane, and opened the door, and had a, a look around. But I 
couldn’t smell smoke, and I couldn’t see anything, so I figured, figured we must 
be okay.... Then I just went back and sat down, and waited for the emergency 
crew to arrive.... I guess they got there about an hour later.”

Burton had been listening intently to Nick’s recitation, his hand still resting 
on his son’s shoulder. It hurt him to know what all Nick had endured yesterday - 
the terror of the crash, the pain of his injuries, the trauma of finding the 
dead pilot. But he thought it was important that he did know what Nick had gone 
through. Burton realized that in weeks to come, Nick might very well suffer some 
sort of post-traumatic stress. If that was the case, he would be better prepared 
to help his son if he understood exactly what had transpired on that awful day. 

Nick, more self-possessed now, went on to describe how the paramedics and 
firemen had entered the plane, and treated them, how he and Pete and Ned had 
ridden up to the helicopter on a wire gurney. Then he told his dad how he’d 
started having problems breathing in the chopper, and how the paramedics had 
stuck this large needle in his chest, with a plastic sheath around it. The 
sheath stayed in place after the needle was removed to allow the trapped air to 
escape from his chest. Burton visibly winced at this description. His breath 
caught, and he could almost feel that needle entering his own chest. Then Nick 
described a little bit about what they had done to him in the ER. He ended by 
saying, “Then they got me up here about 2:30.”

Burton sat back down in the chair. Listening to Nick describe it all had brought 
back the tense hours of waiting he himself had endured. Being notified of the 
crash, and not knowing at first whether Nick was alive, or dead, but realizing 
the odds were against his survival. Then getting the call that Nick was alive. 
Reveling in that news, but finding out later he was more seriously injured than 
his father had first thought. Burton had been immensely relieved when he had 
finally been able to speak to Nicholas. He’d held on to that phone conversation 
as a kind of talisman through those long hours waiting to reach his son’s side. 
It was only when he’d finally walked into Nick’s hospital room that he had felt 
the tension of the horrible day start to seep out of his body. Despite the cut 
and bruises, Nick’s face had never looked more beautiful to his father than it 
had last night. 

“Dad?” Nick said, with a question in his voice. He knew his father had been 
somewhere else for the last several moments, but he didn’t know where.

“Hmmm?” Burton replied distractedly.

“You okay?”

“What? Sure...sure I’m fine, son.” He turned, and smiled affectionately at Nick. 
In a moment, he said with playful eagerness, “Hey, let me ask you something, 
Nicholas. Do you remember that duck you had when you were about four years old? 
The one your grandparents gave you?”

“Waddles,” Nick said instantly.

“That’s right. Waddles.” Burton stared off into the distance, a smile still 
creasing his lips. “You and that damn duck were so cute together. He used to 
follow you all over the yard. Do you remember that, son?”

Nick shrugged, “Sort of...I guess.”

“Huh.” He looked at Nick. “Well it was cute as the dickens.”

Nick spent a few seconds trying to dredge up memories of the duck. They were 
pretty vague. He remembered, though, that the duck had gone away at some point. 
He felt some sadness associated with that memory, even thought he couldn’t 
recall the details now. “What happened to Waddles?” he asked his father.

“Ohhh, eventually he got to be something of a nuisance. He kept crapping in the 
pool.” Nick immediately had a vivid memory of Lulu’s telling him her “swan 
poo-poo” story at the clinic. He shook his head ruefully. Then quickly realized 
his father was continuing with his narrative. “So we told you he’d be happier 
living in the lake at the park, and you accepted that. Your mother used to take 
you to visit for a while, until you quit asking.”

“I think I remember that.”

“Yeah. Well...” Burton glanced at his watch. It was 10:35. “Is there anything 
you need right now, Nicholas? Maybe I should go see if I can find Mrs. Reynolds 
and Mrs. Barton. See how they’re making out.”

“No. I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

“How ‘bout something to read?” Burton reached over to the night table on Nick’s 
right, and pulled off the newspapers and magazines. He stood up, and showed the 
selection to Nick. “Whadaya think? Anything look interesting?” Nick selected 
‘Business Week’. “Okay, then,” his father said. “I’ll go down for a smoke, and 
then see about finding Ned and Pete’s families.” He glanced around the room as 
if making sure he wasn’t forgetting something. Then said, “I’ll see you a little 
later, son.” Nick nodded. Burton walked to the door, gave one last look over his 
shoulder, and then was gone.

----+----

His father had been gone about thirty minutes, and Nick had been trying to read 
his magazine, but was finding it hard to concentrate. He found himself 
continually having to go back and reread a paragraph he’d just read. He was just 
about to give up when he heard the door opening. He looked up expecting to see 
his dad or one of the hospital staff. Instead he saw a man a few years younger 
than himself, dressed in casual attire. He had short, dark hair and was about 
five foot, nine. He had a notebook in his hand. He came walking into the room 
without announcing himself, and right up to Nick. “Nicholas Fallin, right?” he 
said with a friendly smile, sticking out his hand. “Hi, I’m Dennis Pinnell from 
the Journal, well that would be the ‘Atlanta Journal-Constitution’ to you. I’m 
doing a follow-up on the plane crash. I’d really like to get some background 
information on you and your associates, and whatever else you can tell me about 
your recollections of the crash.” Nick did not return the man’s smile, nor had 
he accepted his outstretched hand. He remembered that a reporter had been trying 
to get into his room last night, but one of the nurses had intercepted him, and 
shooed him out before he could get more than a step or two into the room. Nick 
hadn’t seen the reporter then, so didn’t know if this was the same man, or not. 
Pinnell, finally realizing that Nick was not going to shake his hand, let it 
drop to his side.

“I’m not interested in talking to the press, Mr. Pinnell,” Nick said with a set 
expression on his face.

“Ah, come on. We’ll write a nice little blurb about you, and put your picture in 
the paper along with the story.”

Nick shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not interested.”

Pinnell hesitated. “Well, can I just check some of my facts with you then? Make 
sure I’ve got everything down right?” He glanced at his open notebook. “You’re 
Nicholas Fallin, age 32, of Pittsburgh?”

Nick gave an impatient nod.

“And you were traveling with Neddrick Barton and Peter Reynolds, also of 
Pittsburgh?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know their ages?”

“No, I don’t.”

“But they own R & B Manufacturing, based in Pittsburgh, correct?”

Nick nodded again.

“Do you work for R & B, as well?”

“No.”

“Oh, my mistake. What do you do?”

“I’m an attorney -- look, Mr. Pinnell, as I told you, I’m not interested in 
being interviewed for your paper.”

“You and Reynolds and Barton were flying down here on business, right? What kind 
of business?”

“That’s confidential,” Nick said in his best professional voice.

“I see...of course. Sorry ‘bout that. Now what about the guy that died, the 
pilot? We have him down as Barney Fuller. Did you know him?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Okay. Now, when did you first know the plane was in trouble?”

Nick was becoming increasingly perturbed. “Mr. Pinnell, I’ve told you I’m not 
interested in talking about this.”

“Look, you’ve had it rough. I understand that. But you know, sometimes it helps 
to talk about these things.”

Nick sighed in frustration, and ran a hand down the back of his head. “I’m 
sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

“Look, what’s it gonna hurt? You give me a few of the details, I look good in 
front of my editor. Everybody wins.”

“No. Now please leave.” Nick’s voice had taken on a strident tone.

Pinnell persisted. “What was it like? When you knew the plane was going down. 
Just give me your reactions.”

Nick’s eyes closed involuntarily, as he was nearly overwhelmed by the immediacy 
of the memory of those terrifying seconds before the crash. At just that moment, 
his father came striding up to the bed, and asked loudly, “Nicholas, who is this 
man?” Unnoticed by either Nick or Pinnell, Burton had walked through the door in 
time to hear the last of their exchange. Nick’s eyes popped open. “He, he’s a 
reporter, Dad.”

“A reporter!” Burton turned his patented, 200 Watt glare on Pinnell. “What’s 
your name?” he demanded.

Pinnell was taken aback by the force of the older man’s personality. “Dennis 
Pinnell,” he said, trying not to show he felt intimidated.

“Well Mr. Pinnell, my son has just been through a terrible ordeal. He’s in no 
shape to answer your questions! Now, I just heard him ask you to leave. I 
suggest you do that. Now. Or be prepared to have yourself assisted out the 
door!” 

Pinnell debated for only a second. He could see the other man had a “coats on 
the sidewalk” look in his eye, and he didn’t doubt he was serious about his 
threat. Admitting defeat, he said, “Okay, okay, I’m going. But remember, one of 
these days you people may need the good will of somebody like me. This is sure 
no way to go about getting it.” Flipping his notebook shut, he walked out the 
door without another word.

Burton stared down at Nick with concern. “Are you all right, Nicholas? Did that 
man upset you?”

“No -- I’m fine, Dad.”

Burton drew a deep breath. He could still feel the effects of his confrontation 
with the reporter. His blood was up. Part of him would have liked nothing better 
than to have hustled that young idiot right out the door. At last he said, 
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

After a minute, Nick asked, “Did you see Mrs Reynolds or Mrs. Barton?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” Burton’s face looked grave. “I talked to both of them. Two of 
Pete’s daughters were there too, as well as Ned’s son. They’re all pretty broken 
up.... The doctor’s have told Charlotte that there’s very little activity 
showing on Ned’s brain scans. If he wakes up at all, they feel he’ll have 
significant brain damage.” 

“That’s rough,” Nick said quietly.

“Yeah.... Pete’s outlook is a little better. He’s still critical, but the 
doctors say if he makes it through the next 24 hours, his chances are good for a 
complete recovery.”

Nick nodded. “Where are they staying?”

“At the Westin.”

Father and son fell silent after that, both contemplating Nick’s own very 
different situation from that of the other two men.

After a moment, Burton looked down at the magazine that was still in Nick’s 
hand, and said, “Did you get any reading done?”

“A little.”

Burton nodded. He glanced around the room, and spotted Nick’s pajamas still 
sitting, folded, on the nightstand. “You want me to help you get those pajamas 
on?”

Nick considered the question. “I can probably manage. Can you pull the bed 
covers down for me?”

“Sure.” Burton pulled the sheet and light coverlet down to the bottom of the 
bed. Then he walked around to the nightstand, and picked up the pajamas. He 
handed Nick the bottoms first. Nick drew up his legs, and with some small amount 
of difficulty, managed to get the pajama bottoms on and drawn up to his waist. 
Burton shook out the pajama top, and realized it had long sleeves. He hadn’t 
thought about that when he was grabbing things out of Nick’s dresser. He doubted 
the long sleeves were going to fit over Nick’s cast. Plus, he still had the IV 
in his other arm. So that eliminated the long sleeves, altogether.

Nick, reading his father’s thoughts, said, “That’s okay Dad. I can just keep the 
gown on for now. It’s just nice to finally have some pants on.” He grinned at 
his father, who grinned right back. 

“Yeah, those hospital gowns leave a lot to be desired, don’t they, son? Feels 
like your goods are just swinging in the breeze.”

Nick smiled. “Yeah. That’s how I felt this morning when they let me walk to the 
bathroom.”

“You got out of bed this morning, huh? I didn’t realize that. Well, that’s good, 
son. That’s good.”

Burton’s next comment was preempted by the arrival of Nick’s lunch. The aid came 
forward, and placed the lunch tray on the rolling table where it stood at the 
end of the bed. Then she pulled it around, and positioned it over Nick’s lap. 
Nick and Burton could see that the tray contained a covered plate and a carton 
of milk. She took the cover off the plate, and they saw that Nick’s lunch 
consisted of a chicken breast in some kind of white sauce, green beans, carrots, 
and a roll.

“Well, that doesn’t look too bad, son,” Burton said after the aid had left. He 
realized that the smell of the food was making him hungry himself. “Go ahead, 
Nick, dig in. Best thing for ya.”

Nick picked up the silverware, and began to cut a piece off the chicken breast. 
As he did, Burton came over, and opened the carton of milk, pouring the contents 
into the plastic glass that was sitting on the tray. “How is it?” he asked. Nick 
was now chewing the first piece of chicken.

“Not bad,” he said, with his mouth full. Burton smiled to himself. If Anne were 
still alive she’d be aghast to see her son talking with food in his mouth like 
that. She’d always tried to drum good manners into Nicholas. Well, they both 
had, really, but Anne had been the stickler for good table manners. No elbows on 
the table at a meal Anne served. No Sirree.

Nick looked up from his plate. “You should go get yourself some lunch, Dad. You 
don’t have to hang around here and watch me eat.”

Burton considered it. He was hungry. “’Kay,” he said with a brief nod. “I’ll do 
that.” As he reached to pull the door open, he said over his shoulder, “I won’t 
be long.” Nick nodded, and returned his attention to his own lunch.

Burton returned about an hour later, and except for the occasional trip outside 
for a cigarette, spent the remainder of the day by Nick’s bedside. He alternated 
between reading and making quiet conversation with Nick. Nick, meanwhile, still 
finding he couldn’t concentrate on a magazine, spent most of the time he wasn’t 
talking with his Dad, dozing. Burton had left messages in the morning for both 
Nick’s doctors saying that he would like to speak with them about his son’s 
condition. He had missed both men when they were making their morning rounds, 
but each managed to stop back at Nick’s room at some point during the afternoon. 
Burton had questioned each doctor extensively until he had satisfied himself 
that he understood the extent of Nick’s injuries, his treatment, and prognosis.

Friday

It was 10:00 Friday morning, and Nick was about to be released from the 
hospital. The Pleur-Evac pump had quit making its gurgling noises on Wednesday 
afternoon, signaling that the puncture wound in Nick’s lung had healed to the 
point where air was no longer leaking from it, and last night the doctor had 
removed the chest tube. Even medicated, Nick had found the feeling of the tube 
being pulled out of his chest unsettling. It was a very weird sensation. He had 
gotten his final instructions from both doctors this morning, along with enough 
pain pills to get him back to Pittsburgh, and a prescription that he could fill 
once he got home. They’d also given him a bottle of antibiotics, and strict 
instructions to be faithful in taking them. In addition to that, he’d been given 
an elastic chest binder to wear to support his ribs. However, Dr. Herbert had 
advised him not to use it until the incision from the chest tube had had some 
time to heal, as it would be an irritation. Burton had been present during the 
exit interview with each doctor, and had listened attentively to all the 
doctors’ instructions to Nick regarding limiting his physical activities and 
caring for his injured ribs and arm while they healed. Burton intended to make 
sure Nick followed the doctors’ instructions to a tee.

Now Nick was getting dressed in some of the clothes his father had brought him. 
He’d chosen a forest-green, short-sleeved shirt with thin, white vertical 
stripes, and a pair of beige khakis. Along with that, he planned to wear black 
socks and his black ankle-boots. His father hadn’t brought him anything but 
white socks, but Nick’s garment bag had been returned to him on Wednesday, along 
with his briefcase. Someone had kindly gathered up the papers he had been 
working on prior to the crash, and placed them in his briefcase, as well. The 
suitcase was none the worse for wear, and neither was his briefcase, although 
Nick knew it had gone flying during the crash.

Burton looked at his son with an appraising eye after he had finished dressing. 
It was good to see Nick back in street clothes, but he still looked like someone 
who’d been through the wringer. The white plaster cast on his left arm stood out 
prominently against his clothing, and even a casual observer couldn’t miss the 
stitches next to his right eye, nor the bruising along his jaw line. The large 
bruise on the back of Nick’s right hand looked especially ugly. The other 
bruises on his arm had already started to fade, but the one on his hand was 
still all black and blue. Burton thought again how Nicholas must have smacked it 
really hard to achieve such a bruise. Nick didn’t know for sure, but figured he 
must have hit it against the cabin wall at some point during the crash.

Burton suddenly realized that Nick had noticed his appraisal. “You look fine, 
son, just fine,” he said, in a reassuring tone. Nick gave a brief nod, and then 
father and son sat down to wait for the nurse to bring the papers with Nick’s 
discharge instructions. They intended to stop in and visit Pete and Ned before 
they left the hospital. Ned’s condition was unchanged, but Pete was now well on 
the way to recovery. After that, they would start the drive back to Pittsburgh. 
Burton intended to play it by ear as far as how many miles they would cover that 
day. There was no rush, so they would just see how Nick got along riding in the 
car. 

Just as Burton had expected, by Tuesday evening Nick had begun urging his father 
to go back to Pittsburgh so that he could get back to work at Fallin & 
Associates. He had said that he could return at the end of the week to drive him 
home, but that it was unnecessary for him to stay in the meantime. Burton had 
taken this as a good sign on two counts, 1) Nick was exhibiting his normal 
independent streak (which had to be encouraging), and 2) Nick seemed to have 
overcome his fear of his dad’s flying. So, despite the fact that he’d had to 
cross swords with Nicholas over the issue, Burton was still pleased.

The nurse finally brought in the discharge instructions, and Nick read, and 
signed them. The nurse wanted Nick to get into a wheelchair for the trip out of 
the hospital, but when he explained that they would be visiting the other 
victims of the plane crash first, she relented. She had said, however, “Now, if 
you fall down and hurt himself before you’re out of this hospital it’s gonna be 
my butt, so you’d better step careful!” But she had said it with a smile in her 
voice. Burton picked up the suitcase that he had brought down for Nick, and with 
a final look around the room to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything, they 
had walked out the door. Nick’s garment bag and briefcase, and Burton’s own 
luggage were already in the rental car downstairs.

The two Fallins made their way up to Pete’s room on the sixth floor. Burton kept 
one eye on Nick as they walked. He seemed to be doing fine, just wasn’t stepping 
out with his usual brisk stride. Burton made a mental note to continue to let 
Nick set the pace when they walked together for the immediate future. They 
knocked before entering Pete’s room, and heard Pete’s wife Lucille call out 
“come in”. Lucille had come by Nick’s room the day before to say hello to Nick. 
Now they saw that Lucille, and Pete’s daughter, Beth, were both in the room with 
him. As Nick and Burton entered, Pete raised a hand in greeting. He still looked 
pale, and would be spending another week or two in the hospital, but he would be 
going home. Unfortunately, the same thing couldn’t be said of Ned. The doctors 
predicted that even if he did come out of the coma, he would almost certainly 
require around-the-clock specialized care. Nick was not looking forward to the 
stop at Ned’s room. He’d never been good at dealing with people in extreme 
distress or grief, and felt uncomfortable when placed in those situations. 
Charlotte Barton hadn’t come by to see Nick, having not left her husband’s 
bedside since arriving Monday night. Nick had met the woman on one or two 
occasions, at social business functions, but he certainly didn’t know her well.

As Nick and Burton approached, Beth stepped back from the bed to make room for 
the two visitors. Pete seemed very pleased to see both Nick and Burton. He 
smiled fondly at Nick, who couldn’t help but return the smile. Pete said 
enthusiastically, “That’s some boy you’ve got here, Burton. You should have seen 
how he stepped up to the plate after the crash -- checking on everybody, opening 
the door to try to find out where we were -- all the while injured himself. You 
should be proud of him.” Burton replied, with a smile of his own, “I am, Pete, I 
sure am.” Pete had actually told Burton all these same things the day before. 
That had been the first day he’d been out of ICU, and allowed to have visitors 
outside his immediate family. But Burton didn’t mind hearing it again. He was 
proud of his son. That was the truth. 

Nick and Burton spent a few minutes visiting with Pete and then made their 
farewells. Burton promised to visit Pete again once he was back home in 
Pittsburgh. As they were leaving, Pete sang out to Nick, “Now you take care of 
yourself, Nick, understand?” Nick nodded, while Burton laughed softly, and 
replied, “He will, Pete, don’t worry. I intend to make sure of that.”

The atmosphere in Ned’s room was the extreme opposite from the room they had 
just left. It was quiet (except for the soft hum of the machinery that was 
monitoring Ned’s condition), and the sorrow of the family members was palpable. 
Ned’s wife Charlotte was sitting beside the bed, holding Ned’s hand in hers. His 
son Ned, Jr. and his wife Jeanie were sitting on the other side of the bed. The 
two younger people had looked up when Nick and Burton had entered the room, but 
Charlotte had kept her attention fixed on her husband. Nick saw at once that Ned 
didn’t look good. He was pale, and seemed thinner than he had only a few days 
before, and there was a respirator doing his breathing for him. 

Burton had immediately gone up to Charlotte, and laid his hand on her shoulder, 
bending over to bring his head closer to hers. He was now saying something 
comforting to the grief-stricken wife. Nick knew his father was really good at 
this kind of thing. He’d seen him demonstrate that on many occasions (it had 
never occurred to Nick, but it had to Burton, that the only time he had 
completely failed to comfort someone in his grief was when it was his own son. 
He had been totally inadequate to the task on that occasion). Unfortunately, 
this ability to find the right words of comfort wasn’t a gift Burton had passed 
along to his son, and Nick knew his turn was coming next. When his father at 
last stepped back, Nick said to the room at large, “I’m sorry. I wish, I wish 
there was something I could do.... I’m sorry.” The members of the Barton family 
seemed to accept this as adequate, and expressed their thanks. “Well, that’s 
over,” Nick thought to himself, relieved. Just a few more minutes now, and they 
could make a graceful exit.

Sure enough, after only a few more moments, father and son were saying their 
goodbyes, and offering final well-wishes. When they left the room, both Nick and 
Burton felt as if they’d taken some of the family’s grief along with them. They 
didn’t speak as they waited for the elevator, and then made their way out of the 
hospital. It was only when they were on the sidewalk, that Burton finally broke 
the silence. He told Nick he could wait there while he fetched the car from the 
parking structure. Nick had replied that that wasn’t necessary. He could walk to 
the car. Burton briefly debated arguing the point, but knew Nick would be 
resting in the car for the next several hours, so decided not to force the 
issue. 

Father and son crossed the driveway to the parking structure together. The 
elevator came almost immediately, and in just minutes they were standing next to 
Burton’s rental car. Burton unlocked the car, and Nick opened the passenger 
door, and got gingerly into the seat, while Burton placed the suitcase in the 
trunk with the other bags. Shutting the trunk, Burton came around to the 
driver’s door, and got in. He saw that Nick was moving his seat back to allow 
for the maximum amount of legroom. Next he adjusted the seat back to a reclined 
position. “Not too far, son,” Burton cautioned. “I’ve read where if the seat’s 
too far back, your seat belt won’t hold you properly if you’re in an accident. 
You slide underneath it, and it grabs you in the wrong place.” They both 
realized, as Burton said these words, that something similar to this is what had 
caused Pete’s injuries. His belt had been riding around his middle, rather than 
at his lap. Nick brought the seat back back up a little, and Burton nodded, 
satisfied. “All set?” he asked. “Yeah.” Nick replied. “Let’s go home.” His 
father smiled, and said, “All right, son. Home it is.” Starting the car, Burton 
carefully backed out of the parking space, and headed for the exit. They were on 
their way home, and it felt good.
 
---+---

Nick and Burton had left the hospital in Atlanta around 10:30, and had been 
driving for about two and a half hours. Nick had spent most of that time 
sleeping. Now Burton pulled the car into the parking lot of a road-side 
restaurant, and stopped. “Nicholas,” he said, loud enough to wake up his son. 
Nick opened his eyes, and blinked against the daylight, then rubbed at his face 
with his good right hand. Burton said, “I thought we’d have some lunch.” Nick 
nodded, and glanced around, “Where are we?” he asked.

“Dillsboro, North Carolina.”

“Hmmm.”

Burton waited until Nick had started to climb out of the car before he opened 
his own door. He got out, and walked up onto the sidewalk, and met Nick there. 
Then they walked into the restaurant together. It appeared to be a mom and pop 
establishment -- not very big, with red gingham tablecloths on the tables. A 
girl who looked to be in her late teens, greeted them at the door. She glanced 
curiously at Nick’s cut and bruised face and his plaster cast, before leading 
them to a table. She handed each man a menu, and said, “Your waitress will be 
right with you.” Then she left.

Nick and Burton began to examine the menu. In a moment, their waitress appeared. 
She was a large woman in her mid to late forties. Her yellow-blonde hair was 
pulled back into a bun, and she wore a light blue waitress’ dress. She came 
walking up to the table, took one look at Nick, and asked loudly, “Why, honey, 
what happened to you?” Nick immediately began to color with embarrassment, but 
answered, “I, I was in an accident.”

“That’s terrible! When?”

Nick ducked his head, and replied, “Monday.”

“Aww. That’s a shame. You poor thing.” After an additional minute of study, she 
switched her attention to Burton, “Well, what can I get you two to drink?”

“Coffee, black,” Burton answered.

“Just water,” said Nick.

“Okay. I’ll get your drinks, and be right back to take your orders.” She gave 
Nick one more sympathetic look, made a regretful sound by tapping her tongue 
against the roof of her mouth, then left.

Nick stole a glance at his father, and found he was looking down at his menu 
with the trace of a smile on his face. Nick grimaced, then returned his 
attention to his own menu. In two minutes, the waitress was back with Nick’s 
water and the coffee pot. She filled Burton’s cup, then took their orders. Nick 
was relieved when she left without making any further reference to his injuries.

The two men sipped at their drinks, then Nick said, “You said we’re in North 
Carolina?”

Burton looked up. “Uh-huh.”

“Didn’t we take a vacation in the Carolinas once?”

Yeah...Myrtle Beach... but that’s South Carolina. We spent a week there.” Burton 
exhaled a breath, and brought his hand up to his mustache. “Guess that would 
have been...1977. You would have been about, about eight then.”

Nick nodded. “I remember. We rented a cottage at the beach.”

“That’s right,” Burton said, smiling. He looked away, as memories of that week 
came back to him. “Your mother always loved the ocean. She spent a lot of time 
there summers when she was a kid.... You had a great time too. You made 
these...amazing sand castles. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah.” Nick smiled almost shyly.

Burton smiled back at his son. “The first day... I remember, you built your 
castle down close to the water. Well, when the tide came in, it wiped the whole 
thing out.... You were kind of upset about that...but I explained how the tides 
worked...and the next day, the next day you found the high-tide line, and built 
your castle above it. You got me to haul buckets of water up to the spot to wet 
down the sand. Remember?”

Nick nodded with a small smile. “I remember.”

“Yeah...” his father said fondly. “You were always a clever kid. By the end of 
the week you were building these incredibly elaborate constructions. It was 
something else.”

Nick remembered all that. He realized then that this was one of the few family 
vacations he could recall taking with his mother and father. His dad had rarely 
taken time away from the office for them to *go* anywhere, and since his parents 
divorced when he was ten, there hadn’t been all that many years where he was old 
enough to retain vacation memories anyway. He did recall this one fondly, 
though. They had spent the entire week at the beach. He had played in the water 
and built his sand castles, and his parents had relaxed. Oh, they had played in 
the water with him too, but they’d spent most of the time sitting side-by-side, 
reclining in a couple of beach chairs. The fierce fights that would eventually 
lead them to divorce hadn’t begun yet, so it had been a happy vacation for all 
of them.

“Son?” Burton said, a hint of apprehension visible on his face.

“Hmmm?” Nick answered, still lost in his own recollections.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and, uh, I think you should, should come stay at 
the house for a while before you go back to your place. That way, you wouldn’t 
have to worry about fixing your own meals, and if you needed help with anything, 
chances are good Rosita or I would be around to help you out.

Nick’s face reflected his doubt about this proposal. “Oh, I don’t know, Dad--”

“Just think about it, Nicholas. You don’t have to decide right now. I just think 
it would be a good idea if you weren’t totally on your own yet.”

Nick stared at his father for a few more seconds, indecision flickering across 
his face. Finally he said, “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Both men fell silent then until the waitress came by to top off Burton’s coffee. 
After that, Burton found a new topic of conversation, and the two of them talked 
quietly until their meals arrived.

----+----

Nick and Burton had finished their lunch, and now Nick drew the bottles with his 
pain pills and antibiotics out of his pants pocket. It was still a little before 
the time he was supposed to take them, but he figured it was close enough. He 
took two of the Vicodin and one of the antibiotics. Then returned the bottles to 
his pocket. His father had watched him silently. “How are ya feeling, Nick?” he 
asked. 

Nick shrugged, “Not too bad, I guess.” 

Burton nodded. “Ready to go?”

Nick gave a brief nod, and got up from the booth with care. Burton put a few 
dollars down on the table for the tip. Then they walked over to the cash 
register. The young woman who was serving as the hostess came up to meet them at 
the counter, and Burton paid the check. After that, father and son made a stop 
in the restroom, and then headed back to the car.

----+----

Burton pulled up to the entrance of the Ramada Inn, and stopped the car. It was 
after 5:30, and he had decided that Bluefield, West Virginia was a good place to 
stop for the night. That would leave them about 300 miles to make tomorrow. Nick 
was dozing in the other seat. Burton placed a hand on his shoulder, and said his 
name. Nick woke up, and looked inquiringly at his dad. 

“I think we’ll stop here for the night, son. I’m going to go in, and see about 
getting us a room.” 

Nick yawned. “Okay. Where are we?” he asked.

“Bluefield, West Virginia, right on the Virginia-West Virginia line.” Burton 
opened the door, and started to get out of the car. “I’ll be right back,” he 
said.

Nick closed his eyes, hearing the ‘thud’ of the car door as he did so. He leaned 
his head against the back of the seat, and waited. In no more than three or four 
minutes, his father was back. “All set,” he said, climbing back in the car. “I 
thought...if you want...we’d just go ahead and grab some dinner first. That way 
we don’t have to make an extra trip up to the room.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. We passed a couple places on the way. What sounds good? Cracker Barrel, a 
steak house, or Village Inn?”

“Anything’s fine.”

“Okay, well...let’s give the Cracker Barrel a try then.”

Burton put the car back in gear, pulled out of the motel driveway, and headed 
back down the street to the restaurant. 

----+----

Burton set the two suitcases down in the carpeted hallway, and used the key card 
to open the door of the motel room. Holding the door open with his shoulder, he 
picked up the bags, and walked inside. Nick followed him into the room. “Which 
bed do you want, son?” Burton asked, as he laid one suitcase on the dresser and 
the other on the bed. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Nick replied with a shrug. 

“Okay. Why don’t you take the one by the window? I’ll take this one. You know 
how it is...you get to be my age, you’re in the bathroom a couple times a 
night.” He half-laughed, but Nick didn’t seem to take note. He had walked to the 
foot of the other bed, and was gazing down at it.

Burton noticed his contemplative stance. “You think you’d be more comfortable on 
the bed or in a chair for now?” he asked. He gestured to a small round table 
with two chairs that stood next to the window.

“I don’t know. That’s what I was trying to decide,” Nick said. Moving to the 
head of the bed, he pulled down the bedspread, and then took the two pillows, 
and placed them, standing on end, against the headboard. He sat down on the bed 
slowly, and took off his shoes. Then he carefully swung his legs onto the bed, 
and pulled himself further up on the mattress until he was sitting with his back 
against the pillows. “I’ll try this for a while,” he told his father.

Burton had been watching Nick silently. Now he nodded. He grabbed the TV remote 
from the night table, and turned on the TV. He flipped around until he found 
CNN. “This okay?” he asked. 

“Uh-huh.”

Burton used the bathroom, and then took a look in the small closet. He found a 
luggage stand inside, and brought it out. He opened it up, and placed the 
suitcase that he had earlier laid on the bed on the stand. He pulled out a 
couple magazines from the side pocket of the bag, walked over, and offered them 
to Nick. Nick took one with a small “thanks”. 

“Think I’ll go down to the lobby, and see if I can get a paper,” Burton said. 
Nick nodded.

After his father left, Nick sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and began 
flipping through the magazine. In just a few minutes, his father was back, 
papers in hand. “I got ‘USA Today’ and the Charleston paper. You want either of 
these?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay.”

Burton laid the papers down on his bed, then walked around the corner to the 
sink, and picked up the ice bucket. “I’ll be back in a minute, Nick,” he called 
from the doorway. “I’m gonna get some ice.” 

Nick nodded, but didn’t lift his head from his magazine.

In a couple minutes, Burton walked back in the door with the filled ice bucket. 
He placed it on the counter, then unwrapped a couple cups from their plastic 
sleeves, and filled two with ice and water. He carried them over to the night 
table, and set one down on Nick’s side, one on his own. Then he arranged the 
pillows on his own bed, and sat down.

Father and son passed a quiet evening. At 10:00, Burton took the remote, and 
flipped around until he found a local news broadcast. At that point, Nick got 
gingerly off the bed, and walked over to his suitcase. He pulled out his 
toiletries, and headed to the bathroom. The faucet and vanity in this room were 
in an outer area from the enclosed commode and bathtub. Nick set his things down 
on the counter, and then went inside to use the toilet. When he came out, he 
washed his hands, then brushed his teeth, and washed his face. He still had to 
be careful when he got the cloth close to his stitches. After taking a last look 
at his battered face, he walked back into the main room, and up to the 
nightstand. He took the bottle of pain pills and the bottle of antibiotics out 
of his pants pocket, and set them on the table. He opened the plastic bottle of 
Vicodin first, and shook out two pills. He placed them in his mouth, and then 
washed them down with water from the cup his father had fixed for him earlier. 
He replaced the cap on the Vicodin, and then opened the bottle of antibiotics, 
and took one of those too. He left both bottles on the nightstand, and began to 
undress. He undid his belt buckle, and unsnapped and unzipped his pants. He 
lowered them, carefully stepped out of the legs, then laid the pants on his bed. 
Next he unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled his right arm out of the shirt first, 
then slipped it down his left arm, being watchful of his cast. Nick now stood in 
just his boxers and socks. He picked up his pants from the bed, then walked over 
to the table by the window, and draped his pants over the back of a chair, 
followed by his shirt. Sitting down on that side of the bed, he pulled off his 
socks. He got up then, and walked back around to the other side of the bed. 

Burton had been aware that Nicholas was undressing. He had been keeping 
half-an-eye on his progress, in case he needed assistance, but was trying not to 
be obvious about it. Now, as Nick walked back around the bed, he looked fully at 
his son. He almost winced at the sight of Nick’s bruised ribs. Burton had seen 
the injury a few days before, but the bruises seemed to be even more prominent 
now. There was a large swath, maybe three inches wide, that ran across the right 
side of Nick’s chest, about half way down. It was still black and blue, and 
looked very painful. Then, of course, there was the gauze that Burton knew 
covered the healing incision from the chest tube, and the bandaid that covered 
the site of the needle catheter. He cringed inwardly as he looked at the 
evidence of all his son had endured this week. The poor kid!

Nick came on around the bed. He picked up the discarded magazine, and set it on 
the nightstand, then pulled down the sheet and blanket. He returned the extra 
pillow to the other side of the bed, and laid the other pillow flat on the 
mattress, then climbed in bed. He turned off the light over his head, then 
pulled the sheet up over him, and spent a few moments getting as comfortable as 
possible. Then he said, “Good night, Dad.”

“’Night, Nick.” Burton doused his own light, watched the end of the news, then 
got himself ready for bed.

It was almost 1:00AM, and both Fallins had been asleep for several hours. The 
only sound in the room had been Burton’s soft snoring until Nick began to stir. 
“No,” he said softly, tossing his head in his sleep. “No...no!” The last words 
were loud enough to rouse his father. “No...please, God...I don’t want to die!” 
Burton got out of bed, and quickly crossed the few feet to Nick’s side. “I don’t 
want to die!” Nick was still repeating. Burton bent down, and placed a hand on 
his son’s shoulder. “Nicholas, wake up. Wake up, son!” he said, shaking him 
gently. The words and motion at last got through to Nick, who opened his eyes, 
and stared up in confusion. “It’s okay,” Burton assured him. “You’re safe, son. 
It was just a bad dream. You’re safe now.” Nick stared up at his father for 
another second, or two, then ran a hand down his face, and nodded. Burton noted 
that he was breathing rapidly. After a moment, he said with concern, “Okay, 
now?” 

“Yeah,” Nick answered, exhaling loudly, and nodding again. “Yeah.” 

“Okay...go back to sleep, Nicholas. Everything’s all right. Go back to sleep 
now.” 

In a few more seconds, Nick’s eyes had closed. Burton sat down on his own bed, 
and watched him silently. After a few minutes, Nick’s altered breathing pattern 
assured him that his son was asleep. Then Burton climbed slowly back into bed. 
He didn’t go to sleep immediately. He laid there and wondered whether Nick had 
been having these nightmares all week, or if this was the first. His eyes grew 
damp as he thought of his son being dogged by the residual terror of the crash 
even in his dreams. “My poor boy,” he thought. “My poor boy.”

----+----

Nick woke about 7:00AM to the realization that his pain meds had worn off. He 
sat up with a groan, and reached for the bottle of Vicodin on the nightstand. 
Luckily there was still enough water left in the plastic cup to allow him to 
swallow down the two pills. He knew he was overdue for the antibiotics too, but 
he had finished off the water with the pain pills, and he wasn’t going to make a 
trip to the bathroom to get more until the Vicodin had had a chance to do its 
work. He glanced over at his father to find he was still sleeping, then laid 
back down in his own bed, and waited for the analgesic to take affect. As he 
cast his thoughts about, he suddenly remembered his nightmare of the night 
before. He’d been dreaming about the moments right before the crash, and 
Dad...Dad had woken him up. Oh God, that was right! He must have cried out, 
or...something...in his sleep, and awakened Dad. And then Dad had woken him up 
from the dream. “Christ! I wonder what I said?” Nick thought, chagrined. He’d 
been having these nightmares all week, but hadn’t mentioned them to anyone. Now 
his dad knew. He wasn’t happy about that.

----+----

The Fallins walked back into the Cracker Barrel about 9:30AM. They had had a 
good meal the night before, and Burton knew the restaurant was well known for 
its breakfasts. It was Saturday, so there was a bit of a crowd, and they had to 
wait a few minutes to get a table. Eventually, the hostess seated them, and 
handed them their menus. In another couple minutes, a waitress appeared at the 
table, coffee pot in hand. “Coffee?” she asked with a smile. Both men nodded, 
and she filled their cups with the steaming, black liquid. Setting the pot down 
on the table, she took out her pad and pen, and asked, “Are you ready to order?”

Burton glanced at Nick, then back to the waitress. “I think so.... I’ll have the 
three egg ham and cheese omelette and an order of bacon.”

“Would you like toast or biscuits?” she asked pleasantly.

“Biscuits please...and honey, if you’ve got it.”

“Sure.” She took his menu, then looked expectantly at Nick.

“I’ll have the french toast.”

“Would you like a side order of bacon or sausage with that?”

“Bacon.... Thanks,” he said, handing her back the menu.

“Coming right up,” she added, with another smile, and then headed over to a 
nearby table to top off their coffee cups.

The two men sipped at their coffee in silence. Burton studied Nick for a few 
moments, and then said, “Nick?” Nick looked up inquisitively. “Son...about 
that...nightmare, you had last night. How-- Is that the first time that’s 
happened?”

Nick stared at his father, then compressed his lips. Averting his gaze, he said, 
“No.”

“Huh,” Burton said, nodding his head slowly. After a moment he set down his 
coffee cup. “Well...you know that, that Dr. Stevenson said it might be a good 
idea for you to...to talk to somebody about the, the accident.” Nick started to 
speak, but Burton didn’t give him a chance. “I know you’re not one for opening 
up to people, Nicholas...it’s not your nature... but maybe it would be a good 
idea, in this case.”

Nick had barely let his father finish before he was saying, “I’m fine, Dad.”

Burton nodded, “Still, it couldn’t hurt to talk to somebody, son.”

Nick ran a hand down the back of his hair, and frowned. His tongue darted out to 
wet his lips. “I’m fine,” he said, placing a strong emphasis on the second word. 
“I don’t need to talk to anybody, Dad. I’m fine.” 

Burton considered his son’s words for a moment, and then decided to let the 
subject drop. Nicholas could be as stubborn as a Missouri Mule when he wanted to 
be. It wouldn’t do any good to push him on this now, and besides, he might be 
right. Maybe he was ‘fine’. Maybe the nightmares were a normal part of the 
healing process. Burton really had no idea, but he decided he’d make a few calls 
when they got back, try to talk to someone who would be able to answer that 
question for him, and the others he had had this past week about post-traumatic 
stress.

----+----

Nick and Burton had been driving since breakfast. Nick had spent his time in the 
car alternating between dozing, staring out the window, and conversing with his 
father. They had just stopped for gas, and were now back on the interstate. Dad 
had said that they were making good time, and even if they stopped for a quick 
lunch, they ought to make it home by 4:30. It was 1:00 now, and Nick was still 
feeling full from breakfast.

Nick sat staring out the window, thinking his own thoughts. He found his mind 
turning to a subject that had occupied him much this past week: death. How close 
he had come to death...whether there was a heaven and a hell...what would have 
happened to all his things if he had died...and what had been at the back of his 
mind during all these mental wanderings, how his dad would have reacted if he 
had died. Part of him thought that Dad would just be destroyed by it. But 
another part knew his dad was a very strong person. He’d fought many battles in 
his life, overcome a lot of adversity. He wasn’t one to throw in the towel when 
things got rough. But still, Nick knew his death would have saddened his father 
greatly. And he would been left alone in the world, with no other family. 
No...wait...technically, that wasn’t true. Nick knew his dad had had several 
brothers and sisters, and he thought most of them were still living. But, as far 
as he knew, his father didn’t have any contact with them. They had never seen 
the Fallin side of the family when Nick was growing up. Well, there had been 
that one time, at his grandmother’s funeral. He thought he had met most of his 
aunts and uncles, and lots of cousins then, but he had only been five or six, so 
the memories were hazy. 

His father had never talked about why he had no contact with his family. They 
only lived about 20 miles south of Pittsburgh, in and around Donora. Nick had 
just always assumed that there had been some schism in the Fallin clan. He used 
to wonder whether it had anything to do with the fact that his father had gotten 
out of Donora, had pursued an education, and made something of himself. From 
what little Nick had gathered, it sounded like his father’s siblings had all 
worked blue-collar jobs. His brothers, anyway. He supposed his father’s sisters 
had mostly been housewives. Maybe his Dad’s siblings had resented their younger 
brother’s success. 

Nick knew that there had been eight children in the family, although only seven 
had lived to adulthood. His father was the second-to-youngest. However, after 
that visit to Clayton Steel last Fall, when Dad had told him how his own father 
had been blackballed after the attempt to unionize the steel mill, and had ended 
his days drinking in a bar across the street, Nick had wondered if that was the 
cause of his father’s break with his family. Dad had even said something about 
feeling like he “had a hand in” his father’s death. Nick had wanted to ask Dad 
about that ever since, but hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to raise the 
issue. He decided maybe now was the time to rectify that.

Nick turned to face his father. “Dad?”

“Hmmm?” Burton replied, shooting Nick a quick glance, before returning his eyes 
forward.

“Why is it--” Nick had difficulty getting the question out. “I-I’d like to know 
why we never saw your side of the family the whole time I-I-I was growing up.”

Burton took his eyes off the road to look at Nick again, longer this time. “What 
brought that up?” he asked mildly, stalling for time.

Nick half-shrugged, his expression bland. “I-I’ve been thinking about a lot of 
things since Monday. I’d like to know what caused the, uhm, the estrangement 
between you, and your, and your family.”

Burton chuckled nervously. “That’s a long story, Nicholas.”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Nick replied seriously, keeping his gaze fixed on 
his father.

A small smile broke out on Burton’s face, then rapidly disappeared. “Yeah, 
yeah...I guess we do.... And I guess, it’s time you knew all that anyway.” 
Burton paused, and lit a cigarette, then cracked his window. “I tell you, son, 
it’s been more than forty years, but, uh, I still find this hard to talk about.”

Nick glanced down at his father’s words, then nodded, and looked back up.

After a moment, Burton continued. “You remember how when we were out at Clayton 
Steel, I told you about my father losing his job? About his spending the rest of 
his days in O’Hara’s bar across the street?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, Nicholas, you see...even though my dad went along with our efforts to, 
uh, to unionize the mill, he wasn’t a ringleader.... It was me and some of the 
younger men at the plant who, who were the instigators. In fact, my dad tried to 
talk us out of it, said that we’d never beat ole man Clayton, that it would end 
in failure.... But we wouldn’t be dissuaded...so in the end, Dad joined with 
us...just like my brothers did. They all worked there then...except Malachi. 
Malachi was working as a mechanic -- he was always quick with his hands.” Burton 
paused to take a drag from his cigarette. “Anyway, Dad was right. Clayton kept 
the union out, and everybody who’d tried to bring the union in was fired.... It 
was devastating, son. My brothers were all married then, with kids. It was rough 
for a few months, but they all found other work --not in the mills, doing other 
things.” Burton let out a sigh, and frowned. “But not my dad. Working steel was 
all he knew. And Clayton had blackballed him at all the steel mills.... Your 
grandfather was a broken man after that, Nicholas...a broken man.”

Nick was listening intently to his father’s story, and watched as he took 
another puff on his cigarette. In a moment, Burton continued.

“I went back to law school then. My brothers all pitched in to contribute to the 
upkeep of the household -- your grandparents’, I mean. Only Ruth was left at 
home by that time -- she’s my younger sister. Dad...like I told you, Dad spent 
his days in O’Hara’s, drinking. My oldest brother, Johnny, tried to get him to, 
uh, snap out of it...but Dad was having none of it.” Burton let out a long sigh, 
and put his cigarette to his lips again. “The worst thing was, son, my dad was 
a...a mean drunk.” Burton glanced down, and then over at Nick. “He was as 
easy-going as they come sober, but drunk...drunk he was a man you didn’t want to 
cross. He developed a fierce temper.... Unfortunately, my mom and my sister bore 
the brunt of that.” Burton clasped the steering wheel with the hand that held 
his cigarette, and brought his other hand up to stroke his mustache. He stared 
ahead silently for a couple moments.

“Anyway, a few years later my dad died -- drank himself to death. My 
mother...well, your grandmother didn’t handle it very well, Nick. She was 
hysterical with grief. After Johnny called me with the news, I got there as soon 
as I could. When I came into the house, my mother....” Burton paused, and 
cleared his throat. “My mother threw herself at me, and started pummeling me 
with her fists.” He glanced at Nick, and saw his son’s face reveal his shock at 
this revelation. “She, uh, she started screaming at me that it was my fault. 
That Dad had lost his job, and, uh, and become a drunkard because of me. I 
knew...I knew she was right.”

Nick said with quick insistence, “But it was Clayton who blackballed him. He was 
the one who kept your dad from getting work.”

“But it would never have happened if it wasn’t for me, Nicholas. That was the 
truth, and I knew it.... Anyway, one of my brothers pulled Mom off me. He held 
her, but she yelled then that she wanted me out of her house. She said...” 
Burton paused, and bit his lip. Nick could see a tear forming in his father’s 
eye. “She said, ‘I don’t want to see you here again, ever!’... So, I...I left.”

Nick was astounded. He could never have imagined his own mother treating him 
like that. It would have been unthinkable. “What happened then?” he found 
himself asking. His father took another long drag of his cigarette before he 
replied.

“I went back to Pittsburgh. I never came back home for the funeral.... A few 
days later, Malachi and my sister Helen came to see me. They said I just needed 
to give your grandmother some time, that she’d, uh, that she’d realize 
eventually that Dad’s death wasn’t my fault. But by that time...by that time, 
son, I’d thoroughly convinced myself that she was right, that it was my fault. 
After that, I threw myself harder than ever into my work -- I was with Williams 
and Bradley then. I didn’t want to think about my family. I didn’t think I 
deserved to be a part of their lives anymore.”

“Dad!” Nick objected.

“It’s true, son, that’s how I felt. I know better now, but that’s the way it 
felt at the time.... Life can be complicated, Nicholas, but I guess you know 
that by now.”

Nick lowered his head, and frowned. “So, you didn’t see your family after that?”

“No. Oh, one or two of my brothers and sisters would come to see me from time to 
time. They’d try to convince me to come down to Donora for one family event, or 
another -- a christening, whatever. When I’d ask,” Burton stopped to clear his 
throat, and Nick saw his father’s eyes had began to glisten. “Uhm, when I’d ask 
if my mother wanted me to come, there’d just be this...silence.” He stubbed out 
his cigarette in the ashtray, and then ran a hand across his head. “So, I, uh, I 
never went back.” He glanced at Nick to see how he was taking this, and then 
continued.

“The years went by. The visits and phone calls from my brothers and sisters got 
less frequent. They were all busy with their, their own lives. I eventually met 
your mother. We got married.... You came along a few years later, and I started 
the firm a couple years after that. And life went on....” Burton paused in his 
story. When he started again, Nick could clearly hear the raw emotion in his 
father’s voice. “One morning in June of ‘75 my sister Ruth called to tell me 
that my mother had died in her sleep. The doctor figured it was a, a massive 
heart attack.” He glanced down, then over to Nick. “We went to the funeral. I 
don’t know if you remember that.”

“I remember,” Nick said quietly.

Burton nodded. “We went to the funeral, and they were all welcoming -- my 
brothers and sisters, and their families. But, a lot of years had gone by, and 
we’d...we’d grown apart. I was still carrying a lot of guilt about your 
grandfather, and now I felt the weight of your grandmother’s death on my 
shoulders, as well. So, I guess, guess I decided it was just easier to go on the 
way I had been...living my life with you and your mother, pouring myself into my 
work, and not thinking about the family I had in Donora.... After the funeral, 
Helen and Ruth tried a few times to invite us down for Christmas or Easter. But 
I always declined the invitations with one excuse, or another. Finally they gave 
up.” 

After a moment, Nick asked, “And you haven’t seen any of them since?” 

His father shook his head sadly, “No, no, I haven’t.”

“Are they all still alive?”

“Yeah.” Burton was nodding slowly. “Except for my sister Marie, of course, she 
died when she was three -- meningitis. My brother Johnny -- he’s the oldest -- 
he’d be, let’s see, he’d be seventy-seven now. Yeah, seventy-seven.”

Nick was quiet for several moments. His expression was contemplative. At last he 
said, "Do you ever think about getting back in touch with them?"

Burton exhaled a large breath. “I used to think about it...but it’s been a long 
time now, son. You can’t just...you can’t just turn back the clock, Nicholas. It 
doesn’t work that way.”

Nick wanted to argue that it wasn’t about turning back the clock, it was about 
reestablishing a connection with the family his father had shut out of his life 
more than forty years ago. But, he and his father had never done very well in 
these types of personal discussions. Still, he’d give it a shot.

“I-I bet they’d like to get a chance to know you again, Dad. They’re” -- he 
found it hard to get out the words -- “they’re your family.”

Burton didn’t say anything at first, then said, “Maybe. You might be right, son. 
But let’s concentrate on getting you back on your feet again...before we worry 
about my long, lost relatives. Okay?”

Nick nodded. “Okay,” he said simply. He hoped his dad would take what he’d said 
to heart. Dad wasn’t getting any younger, and neither were his siblings. Nick 
didn’t know why he felt so strongly about this, but he thought his father ought 
to reach out to his family before it was too late. Before another death took 
away the chance to reconnect with a brother or a sister. He knew his father 
would regret that, whatever he might say.

Nick turned his head back to stare out the window, and watched the green 
landscape pass by. He was glad his father had finally told him the story behind 
his separation from his family. He felt it would help him understand his dad 
better in the future. And Nick wanted that. He wanted to understand his dad, and 
he was thankful that he was still here, still alive, to have the chance.

----+----

It was about 4:20 when the rental car pulled up in front of Nick’s brownstone. 
Earlier in the day, Nick had agreed to his father’s plan for him to stay at his 
house for the short-term, so they were just stopping by Nick’s to let him pick 
up some more clothes. As they got out of the car, Nick couldn’t help but think 
about all that had happened to him since the last time he’d been home. He’d been 
in a plane crash, had spent four days in the hospital, and was returning now 
with a broken arm and broken ribs. He shook his head. You just never knew what 
life was going to hand you. You just never knew....

Nick unlocked the door, and walked into the house, trailed by his father. He 
still couldn’t enter his foyer without glancing at the living room rug, and 
remembering Mandy lying there lifeless. God! He shuddered inwardly. That was 
another memory he’d like to excise from his brain, that, and the plane crash. 
But he wasn’t going to think about either of those things now. He was here to 
pick up some more of his stuff, and that’s what he was going to concentrate on.

Nick saw his answering machine was blinking, but decided he’d deal with that 
later. He headed slowly up the stairs, his father following behind. Burton was 
carrying Nick’s own garment bag and the flight bag that he had brought down to 
Nick in the hospital. As Nick walked into his own bedroom, he was heartened by 
the familiarity of it all. This was his room. These were his things. He still 
wasn’t crazy about going to his dad’s, but had decided maybe it was the 
practical solution. He wasn’t suppose to drive while he was on the pain 
medication for one thing (not that he hadn’t driven in the past while under the 
influence of stronger drugs - he grinned inwardly - but he was going to try to 
play by the rules this time), and, frankly, the lure of Rosita’s cooking had 
been an enticement. She had been with his father as a housekeeper/cook since 
Nick was in his late teens. He had never spent that much time at home during 
that period, but from the times he had been there, he had learned to appreciate 
Rosita’s cooking. Not that his dad was a bad cook, far from it. But Nick had 
acquired a special fondness for many of Rosita’s dishes. And she, in turn, had 
made a point of cooking his favorites when he was home. Nick had always felt 
warmed by the gesture, and he was fond of Rosita. She’d always treated him with 
easy affection.

Burton placed the two bags on the bed, and opened them up for Nick. “Son, you 
want me to hang up these suits and shirts for you?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, Dad, thanks.” 

As Burton moved to do that, Nick began to lift everything out of the flight bag, 
stacking it all neatly on the bed. Then he began to sort through what he’d take 
with him to his father’s and what could be put back away. He found it all a 
little awkward, with his cast, but managed. In just a few minutes, he had 
returned the unneeded items to where they belonged, and was replacing the things 
he did want to take in the suitcase. Then he headed back to the dresser to get 
some additional things. 

With his father’s assistance, Nick had soon packed enough clothes for five or 
six days. He didn’t really plan on staying that long at his father’s house, but 
better to take too much, than to have to make a second trip. 

Burton carried the suitcase down the stairs. As they stepped down into the 
foyer, Burton saw Nick looking at the blinking light on the answering message. 
“You want to listen to those, Nicholas?” he asked.

Nick shook his head. “No, not now. I’ll call later, and pick them up.” He didn’t 
want to listen to the messages in front of his father, even though he didn’t 
really figure there would be anything personal there. Probably just people 
calling to say they were glad he was all right after the crash. But Nick also 
didn’t want his father to realize that he didn’t want to listen to the messages 
in front of him, so he hoped Dad would just think the car trip had tired him 
out.

Returning to the sedan, Burton placed the suitcase in the backseat, while Nick 
climbed into the front. Burton got in a few seconds later, and started the 
engine. He glanced at his watch. It was 4:45 now, so they’d face some traffic, 
but still ought to make it to the house in about 30 minutes. Nick leaned his 
head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew they 
were pulling into his father’s empty garage. Burton had left his Cadillac at the 
airport, and planned on going there tomorrow to drop off the rental, and pick up 
his own car. 

Now, the two Fallins walked slowly into the house. Burton was toting his own 
suitcase and the newly-packed bag from Nick’s. As they came into the kitchen, 
Burton noticed his own answering machine blinking merrily away, but decided it 
could wait until he got Nick settled in. 

“Well,” Burton said, “I’ll go ahead, and take these bags upstairs. You want to 
go up, and rest till dinner time, Nick, or you want to settle yourself down in 
the den?”

Nick rested his hand on the back of his head, and exhaled a breath through 
mostly-closed lips. “I’m kind of thirsty. I’ll just, uh, get myself something to 
drink for now.”

“Okay,” his father said with a smile. “Well, you know where everything is. I’ll 
be right back.”

Nick headed over to the frig, and peered inside. He decided that Rosita must 
have cleaned out the refrigerator sometime while they were gone, because usually 
there would be several containers of leftovers on the shelves. He figured when 
she knew his father wasn’t coming back until the end of the week, she must have 
thrown everything out. Not that he was hungry right now, anyway, just thirsty. 
He didn’t see anything he wanted to drink in the frig, and considered checking 
the pantry for a Coke, but decided to just settle for water for now.

Nick had poured himself a glass of water, and had walked over to the couch off 
the kitchen to sit down, when his father came back into the room. Burton saw 
what he was drinking, and said, “I’m sure there’s soda in the pantry, Nicholas. 
Or, I could make you some juice.”

“This is fine, Dad.”

“Well, okay.” Burton ran a hand across the top of his head, and let out a sigh. 
“He glanced around. Let’s see...guess I should go ahead, and listen to those 
messages.” He walked over to the counter, and picked up the pen that sat next to 
the note pad by the phone. He saw that the message counter showed there were 
five messages waiting for him. He pushed ‘play’ on the machine. The first 
message was from Walt Henderson, a client and old friend. He had heard about the 
plane crash when Sheila had had to cancel his appointment with Burton on 
Tuesday. Walt expressed his joy at Nick’s survival, and included wishes for his 
quick recovery. The second message was from another old friend, Sylvia Morgan, 
and ran along the same lines. The next message was from Burton’s assistant 
Sheila, bringing him up to date on some of the happenings at the office, and the 
appointments she had scheduled for him on Monday. Then there was a call from Ron 
Hulsey, one of the F&A partners, asking that Burton call him when he got in. The 
last message was a recorded advertisement for the purchase of time-shares in 
Florida. Burton hit ‘stop’ before more than just a few words of that message had 
played. 

Nick had listened with interest to his father’s messages. He knew both Walt and 
Sylvia. His dad had dated Sylvia Morgan at one point, years ago. He thought Dad 
still escorted her to the occasional function, but he didn’t think there was 
anything but friendship between them now. “Friendship” -- that suddenly made him 
think of Lulu, and he wasn’t up to that right now. “Dad,” he said, to take his 
mind off the image of his attractive, frustrating, now married, co-worker. “I 
think I will go into the den for a while, watch some TV.”

“Okay, son. Maybe I’ll go ahead, and return some of these calls then.”

Nick nodded, and headed for the den.

----+----

“Nicholas....wake up, son. Dinner’s ready.” Nick opened his eyes to find his dad 
standing over him. “What time is it?” he asked, suppressing a yawn.

“It’s about 7:15. You hungry? I made spaghetti.” 

“Uhm...yeah, that sounds good.”

Nick had been lying down on the couch when his father woke him. Now Burton 
watched, as Nick first sat up, then placed his feet on the floor, and stood up 
from the sofa. Burton reached for the remote on the coffee table, and flipped 
off the TV. Then father and son walked into the dining room. Nick found the 
table already set, and a steaming bowl of spaghetti sauce sitting on a trivet. 
The bowl of spaghetti was nearby, and a basket of garlic bread. After getting a 
whiff of the sauce, he realized he truly was hungry.

Both men took their places at the table, and began to serve themselves. As Nick 
took his first bite, he smiled with appreciation. “This is good, Dad,” he said, 
when his mouth was a little less full.

“Glad you like it, son. You can see there’s plenty, so eat up.”

Nick nodded, and then reached for the cup of coffee his dad had poured for him.

Dinner passed without much conversation. Both men seemed to be reserving their 
concentration for filling their stomachs. Burton did find himself thinking how 
good it was to be home, and how nice it was to have Nick sitting across the 
table from him, even if it was a bruised and battered Nick. Nick enjoyed the 
quiet sociability of the meal. Too often when he’d sat across this table from 
his father there had been an undercurrent of unease. He didn’t feel that 
tonight. He felt...well not quite ‘at home’, but close to it. It was a nice 
feeling.

After dinner, Nick decided to head on up to his room. His father told him he’d 
put fresh towels in the bathroom, and added that if there was anything else he 
needed, to let him know. Nick nodded, and said good night.

Water glass in hand, Nick walked up the stairs slowly, and into his old room. It 
looked exactly the same as it had when he’d stayed here after Mandy’s death. In 
fact, it looked the same as it had when he had left for college all those years 
ago. Same nice, but plain, furniture, same dark blue bedspread with the grid of 
white lines, same matching curtains. 

“Dad, really ought to redecorate in here,” Nick found himself thinking. He 
walked over to the nightstand, and set down the water glass. He saw his suitcase 
sitting atop the bed. Tonight he only needed his toiletries. He opened the bag, 
and took them out, then moved to set the bag down on the floor. As he did, he 
felt his injured ribs violently protest the motion. Damn, that hurt! “Shit!... 
Way to go, Nick,” he thought to himself. Despite the pain medication, he had 
really felt that. “Shit!” 

After he had recovered, Nick picked up his kit, and went into the bathroom. In a 
few minutes, he was back. He walked over to the bed, dug his prescriptions out 
of his pants pocket, and set the bottles down on the nightstand. It was still 
about three hours until he should take his next dose. His old clock radio was 
still on the nightstand, although it was unplugged. Nick plugged it in, and saw 
that it still worked. He retrieved his watch from the side pocket of the flight 
bag, and set the clock. Then he set the alarm for 11:00PM. He started to return 
his watch to the suitcase, but then set it on the dresser instead. He had 
decided he’d have to get used to wearing his watch on his right arm until his 
cast came off, but he hadn’t given it a try yet. Guess he could tomorrow.

He turned off the light, then climbed into bed, and lay staring up at the 
ceiling. Tomorrow was Sunday, so his father would be home. On Monday, Dad 
planned to go in to work. Nick figured his father would call Rosita, and let her 
know that they were back, so she could come over on Monday. He thought she 
usually worked for his dad, Monday through Thursday. She did the housework, 
laundry, and prepared his dad’s evening meals. Nick could imagine her reaction 
when she got her first sight of his injuries. She’d make over him too, although 
probably not as bad as that waitress in...North Carolina, that was it. God, that 
had been embarrassing! He’d half-expected that next, she’d pull him to her ample 
bosom, and start patting his head. Sheesh!

Nick’s last thought before drifting off to sleep was that it was good to be 
home, whether it was his father’s house, or his own, it was just good to be 
home.

The End