Be Mine at Christmas(24)
Author: Brenda Novak

THE IMPACT OF THE CRASH rattled Adelaide’s teeth and threw her against the harness of her seat belt, like a one-two punch to the stomach and chest. At the same time, a heavy object fell from above, striking her on the temple. It hit hard enough to disorient her, but she didn’t lose consciousness. She sat, eyes wide open, staring at nothing but darkness. The Christmas music was gone, replaced by a low hissing sound.

The smell of gasoline registered simultaneously with the pain she felt from the landing. She had to climb out, get away from the fuselage. But how? If there were emergency lights, they hadn’t come on.

Could she find the exit? If she did, could she open it? She was shaking so violently she doubted she had the strength to move even a small piece of luggage out of her way.

How had this happened? The pilot had promised they’d be able to get through. And God owed her a small break, didn’t He? She’d barely been able to function since Mark died. The coming election, and her decision to enter the race—what should’ve been Mark’s race—had given her a reason to go on.

Ironically, it was also thanks to the coming election that her life was now at risk.

She struggled to get her bearings, but the creaks and groans of the plane and the heavy dust-filled darkness worked against her. Never had she imagined herself in such a situation, where survival depended entirely on her own ingenuity and instincts. A pilot, a flight attendant, a firefighter—she’d always assumed there’d be Someone In Charge in case of an emergency. Someone else.

Had the senator or pilot survived? What were the chances?

Not good, surely. She didn’t hear anything—no movement, no groans. Was she completely on her own?

She held her breath. The howling wind gusted into the cabin as if a hole had been ripped in the metal, or the hull had broken apart. Maybe she wouldn’t need to open the door. Maybe she was mere inches from freedom and didn’t know it. But if she made it out alive, how long would she survive in conditions like this? Were there any emergency supplies on board? Flares?

I’m going to die.

That realization made her shake. But what did dying mean, exactly? As a foster child who’d been bounced around so many homes she’d lost track, she hadn’t stayed in touch with any of her “parents.” She had no children. She’d already turned her business over to the woman who’d worked for her almost from the beginning, so she could campaign.

For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to fantasize about seeing Mark again, touching him. He’d been the one constant in her life, the only person who’d ever made her feel loved. She missed his appreciation for fine wine and good books and old architecture and modern art, missed the way he laughed and made her laugh. Was he still the same in some other dimension, maybe living in heaven, as so many organized religions taught?

The possibility calmed her. If heaven existed, maybe she wouldn’t be alone for Christmas, after all. Lord knew she’d trade her money, her company and her hopes of winning a state senate seat for some kind of contact with Mark—would do it in a heartbeat. No more forcing herself to meet each new day without the husband she’d lost. No more aching loneliness. Only someone with a fierce will to survive could come out of an accident like this. And that wasn’t her. She’d fought enough battles. It was better to give up right away, let go—

A moan interrupted her thoughts. She was almost reluctant to acknowledge what that moan meant. Another survivor complicated her desire to slip away without a struggle.

It had to be Maxim Donahue, she decided. He opposed her in everything.

But it wasn’t Donahue. The sound came from the pilot. She could tell because Maxim called out to him a second later, his voice so scratchy and strained it made her wonder if he’d been seriously injured. “You…okay, Mr. Cox?”

Cox. That was the pilot’s name. They’d been introduced when Adelaide came on board, but she’d been too busy keeping to herself to concentrate on someone she’d likely never meet again. A friend of the governor’s had provided the plane and the pilot. Governor Bruce Livingston wasn’t about to let bad weather beat him out of what he had planned for his biggest fundraiser of the year. He’d invited Donahue as a way to show his continued support; he’d invited her as a way to reach her wealthy supporters. She knew it was a calculated move, but her acceptance was every bit as calculated. Although most folks expected the governor to stand by Donahue, her inclusion in this event signaled that he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to seeing her take over. It was a perfect strategy—playing the middle ground, as Livingston did so well.

“Mr. Cox?” Donahue called, a little louder.

The moaning stopped. “Get out…now!” the pilot rasped.

Other than that hissing she’d noticed earlier, silence fell, as absolute as the darkness.

“Adelaide?” Donahue said next.

It was odd even in such a desperate moment for this man, who’d only ever addressed her as Ms. Fairfax—lately with a starched courtesy that bordered on rudeness—to use her first name. But at least he sounded more coherent than he had a minute or two before. She knew that should’ve brought relief. Instead, she experienced an unmistakable reluctance to give up her hope of seeing Mark again.

“Hey, you still with us?” he persisted.

Don’t answer. She knew what she was in for, couldn’t face it. They’d freeze to death even if they got out.

And yet, despite all the odds stacked against them, despite the possibility of Mark waiting for her in heaven, the drive to go on, to live, finally asserted itself.

“I’m here.” Unfortunately. Why couldn’t it have happened quickly? Why couldn’t it be over already?

“Where’s here?”

In her seat. She hadn’t budged because she’d assumed it was pointless. She didn’t know where to go or what to do. Her head hurt, and a wet substance rolled down the side of her face, but it couldn’t be tears. She was too shocked to cry.

“Answer me, damn it,” he snapped while she was puzzling over her own reaction.

The force of his demand, and the same instinct that had led her to answer the first time, drew another response. “Where I was when w-we crashed.”

That information was enough to guide him to her. A moment later she felt him touch her. His hands ran over her head, her face and then her body. They moved briskly, purposefully—and they missed nothing.

Mark… The yearning nearly overwhelmed her.