Then there was laughing, and sounds of a tussle, a tickle fight maybe, the camera spinning around and pointing at the ceiling at one point. And finally, black. That’s where the video ended.
“Wait, that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That forty-five-second clip…is all that’s left of them?” It didn’t seem fair. There had to be more.
“What else do you need to see?”
Charlie had a point. There would never be enough. Never enough photos or videos, never enough time. But she could see in that brief clip that her mom was a lot like her, a spicy little firecracker, and that she loved her kids. That was all that mattered.
“Nothing,” Wren said.
“How do you feel?”
“At peace. At least, I think? Does peace feel like a horrible cramp in your lower abdomen?” She winced in pain, put her hand to her stomach as if that might stop it, and in a few more seconds, it was gone.
“Wren,” Charlie said, eyes wide and alarmed. “I think you need to call Arthur.”
24
The Velocity Skydiving instructor wasnot thrilled to see Arthur walking through the front door of his office. It was Arthur’s last gambit, one last thing to try after the man had told him over the phone that all his slots were booked up and there was no way he’d be able to accommodate him for a jump. At first, Arthur was relieved, but no. He had to find a way to do this. Right now. It was the only way to end this day, this particular day, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“She’s not here. It’s just me,” Arthur said.
The guy looked skeptical, stood on his tiptoes and peered over Arthur and out the front door to make sure the bad lady wasn’t lurking somewhere.
“Well, anyway, I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said as he began sorting through a pile of release forms. Standoffish words aside, Arthur could tell the man was instantly more at ease.
“It’s been my girlfriend’s lifelong dream to, in her words, ‘fly like a bird.’ ”
The Aussie laughed. “Bit corny.”
“I agree. But I thought maybe if I went in her place, she could…not live vicariously, but…maybe she’d get that feeling again, that anything is possible. Because I would never, ever, ever do this in a million zillion years. But for her, I would. I would do anything.”
“Well, now you’re making me feel bad.”
The instructor rapped his fingers on the countertop, thinking it over. Good Lord, he really was handsome, Arthur thought.
“All right. Fine. I’ve got a group coming through soon, and I guess we could jam you in. It’ll probably be fine as long as we distribute the weight evenly on the plane.”
“I understand,” Arthur said with a sigh. “I appreciate you hearing me out.”
“Mate, I saidyes.”
“Wait, really?” He’d been expecting a no, definitely hoping for a no. His brain couldn’t even compute what was about to happen. And had the man said it wouldprobablybe OK to fit one more person on the plane?
“Really. Now, sign this waiver before I change my mind.”
The instructor slid a piece of paper across the counter for Arthur to review. There was no time to be an Arthur about this. No time to overthink. Arthur scanned the legalese—release the company of all liability, understand the risks, bodily harm and even death, yadda yadda—and, regretfully, signed at the bottom.
“Say, just curious,” he said as he scribbled his name. “Do people ever die doing this?”
“Sometimes. About one in half a million.”
The logical part of Arthur’s brain was reassured by the “half a million.” He knew intellectually that he was morelikely to die driving home, or during the next lightning storm. The rest of him was focused in on the “one.”
“Hardly ever happens here, though,” the instructor added kindly.
