Come Fly With Me Read online

  Come Fly With Me

  By Sandi Perry

  Copyright © by Sandi Perry 2012

  Smashwords Edition

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.

  Confucius

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 1

  Allison Ross turned on her side at the insistence of a shovel tapping her back and came eye to eye with a cherubic-looking three-year old. Beneath the sun-hat, blonde ringlets bounced as the little girl handed her the shovel filled with sand and gestured for her to eat. Allison complied, offering up the appropriate lip-smacking noises as the little girl pealed with delight.

  “I’m so sorry,” the nanny hurried over. “I was just changing the baby when I saw her bother you.”

  “Believe me, it was no bother. She is quite cute and quite the cook,” Allison responded. She watched as the young nanny made her way back to the umbrella with the baby tucked on her hip and the toddler firmly in her grasp. None of that for me, she shuddered. Kids were definitely not on the menu.

  Allison hit shuffle on her iPod and Miley came on, singing her little heart out. Her brother, Jeremy, made fun of her mercilessly since she was a good fifteen years older that the average Cyrus fan. But the girl had deep down passion and the music moved her—go figure. Allison ran an offshoot of her successful Chelsea art gallery out of Martha’s Vineyard every summer. Who could have predicted the President would choose the Vineyard to vacation with his wife and young daughters the last two weeks of the summer. Her beloved gallery had been stampeded, trampled upon, picked through, and probably worse—not that it hadn’t been very, very good for business. After she closed the Vineyard location for the summer, Allison gratefully skipped town for a few heavenly days of peace under Miami's bright sun.

  The only irritation to her otherwise pristine solitude was the men. She kept swatting at them like the circling pests that they were. She had always cursed her looks—jet-black hair, sharp cheekbones, and pale skin, just like the wicked queen in Snow White, her brother, Jeremy, would tease. Now, as she sat under an umbrella, slathered with sunscreen, she remembered how she would have done anything for a freckle when she was a kid, just to fit in. She leaned back in her chaise and settled in to her favorite fantasy of George Clooney as he declared his undying love for her.

  “Allison, you’re the only woman for whom I would give up the stranglehold I have on my bachelorhood.” His eyes twinkle, and he reaches in for a kiss as Frank Sinatra croons New York, New York from her mesh beach bag. Grabbing for her BlackBerry in annoyance, she's irritated to see Jeremy’s picture pop up on her screen.

  “Yes?”

  “Ally, remember that doctor Mom was bugging me to set you up with? Well, he’s available now.”

  “That’s what you’re calling me about? I escaped for three days. My phone is for emergencies only," she said.

  “This is urgent. He only has a couple of days off before he starts his new rotation.”

  “You’re an E.R. doctor. You of all people should know what constitutes an emergency. I’m hanging up now.” She clicked her phone shut with a snap. She could go for months without hearing his voice and now he called and interrupted her fantasy. What had George been telling her exactly? Frank began to serenade her again. Kill me now, she muttered as she saw her mother’s face on the screen.

  “Mom, I’m on vacation, remember?” Allison forced herself to speak calmly.

  “Of course I remember. I just spoke to Jeremy.”

  “I love you, but we will not be having this conversation now."

  "Okay, but your father thinks it's time for you to settle down."

  "I know. I'll get right on it... Love you!”

  She hung up before her mother had a chance to say another word. Her normally non-meddling mother was getting involved in her love life because she was approaching thirty—her mother’s magic panic number. She was reacting to Allison’s deep-down ambivalence towards marriage and taking matters into her own hands.

  Ugh, Clooney’s and Jeremy’s faces were blurring together now—the mood was gone. She packed up her things and walked up the beach past an animated game of volleyball and into the air-conditioned atrium of the hotel. The lobby had giant palm trees lining the inside that stood three stories high. It felt so airy and breathable, a welcome change from the cramped and bustling city streets of New York

  She showered and decided to order up room service. The softly crashing waves as they pounded against the darkening sky were her dinner companions as she sat on the porch facing the horizon. They offered no reproach, only companionship—would that she be as lucky in her real life relationships. She finished her meal and gathered her silky hair in a no-nonsense pony at the nape of her neck as she decided an after dinner drink at the hotel's bar would be a good idea.

  The new-age elevator music was drowned out as its doors opened to the noisy lobby. She noticed a big screen TV and observed a number of N.Y. Giants fans watching Monday Night football. She stood off to the side, appletini in hand—cold and tart, just like her. The camaraderie of everyone groaning at the bad plays and cheering at the good ones was surprisingly fun, and it sure beat sitting in the room by herself.

  "Why don't you put that fancy drink down and join us over here? I'll get you a beer."

  Allison set her icy-blue gaze on the red-faced executive in the wrinkled shirt offering her his smile and chose to ignore him. She felt a slight tap from behind. Her stock reply of 'not interested' was on her lips as she turned to see one of the hotel staff. He apologized for disturbing her and told her she had a phone call.

  She walked to the table farthest from the game to hear over the din.

  “Ally?” It was Jeremy again.


  “Jeremy, this had better be good.”

  “It isn’t. Dad was in a terrible car accident. He’s on life support. We’re waiting for you.”

  Allison blinked rapidly as she tried to make sense of his words. She felt the blood drain from her face. “Didn’t they teach you how to tell bad news in med school?”

  “Allison, this is for real,” he said.

  His gentle tone got the adrenaline surging back into her system, and she flew into immediate crisis-mode. “I’ll call Scott and have him file a flight plan. I’ll be back in a few hours. Please wait for me.”

  Chapter 2

  "I'm sorry to hear about your father. We're all stunned," Scott, her father's long-time pilot said to Allison as she walked up the short ramp to board the RossAir IV. She nodded and sat down in a forward-facing camel-colored leather seat. How ironic that she hated to fly and her father owned one of the premier luxury-jet companies in the United States. She remembered how she had sat bare-knuckled on her first short hop to Florida when she was ten years old.

  "Allison, get up and run around the cabin like your brother," her father boomed.

  She shook her head vigorously.

  "You're not afraid, are you? That just won't do. How will you run the company when you're older?"

  "Me? Let Jeremy do it."

  "Jeremy? You're the strong one."

  Ella, the flight attendant, stepped forward and spoke in soothing tones as she offered Allison chamomile tea and words of comfort. She accepted both gratefully. As they headed toward Stewart Airport in upstate New York, Allison shored up her nerve for the upcoming scene at her father’s bedside. She felt numb, actually, and as she thought about it, she didn’t think it was just shock taking effect. It’s as if I expected this to happen—tragedy seems to follow me.

  It was well after three AM when she ran from the limo that had taken her through the rain-slicked streets toward All Saints Hospital in Nyack. She pushed open the door to the room and saw her mother, Jeremy, Uncle Martin, and… Jesus? Her father had never been an observant Jew, but the sight of the cross hanging over his bed during the last moments of his life on this earth struck her as odd. She was glad her Zeidy was not alive to see this. The others seemed oblivious. They usually were.

  Allison rushed forward and put her arm around her mother who turned toward her and sobbed deeply into her shoulder as if she'd been holding it together until her arrival. After a short while, her mother pulled back, glassy-eyed but more composed—her beautiful, blonde hair, always so neatly coiffed, standing up comically in spots. Allison stared at the stray hairs intently, anything was better than looking at the still figure in the bed.

  Finally, she did turn towards the bed, where her once vital father lay, bruised and lifeless. And soulless—as if his inner self had already departed to fulfill a higher purpose, shedding the trappings of physicality. Her father had been distinguished looking, with a full head of graying hair and a still fit body. He ran daily and said he came up with his best thoughts on his early morning runs. His energy had been in his sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. Allison inherited those eyes and his keen intellect along with it. She took a deep breath; she realized she could summon up no emotion for the man in the bed masquerading as her father.

  “Good-bye, Daddy. Give my love to Uncle Joey. Please forgive me.” She ran out into the hallway with Jeremy right behind her.

  “You’re done? One minute and you said good-bye? Go stand by his bed for a few minutes,” Jeremy urged her.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “If you’re sure, then I’ll get the nurse.”

  “Don’t you have to consult with a Rabbi or something? I always thought we had very strict laws about preserving life.”

  “Yeah, I already spoke to someone about it. It’s all being done by the book, so to speak,” he said grimly. “My hands are shaking. I mean, geez, I deal with death every day..."

  "I know," Allison whispered.

  "But when it happens to someone you love." He ran his fingers through his short hair and over his eyes. He took a long, shuddering breath and walked down the hall to summon the nurse.

  Their mother came out a short time later, and Allison walked over to hug her again. There was nothing to say, and they stood in the embrace for a few minutes.

  “Ma, I’ll take you home. We’ll see to the arrangements tomorrow,” Allison said softly.

  “We'll do it first thing, your grandfather would have been adamant that the body and soul be laid to rest immediately." Her mother's voice caught on the last word and Allison panicked that her mother would be overcome again right there in the hospital corridor. She had a hard time dealing with emotions—they were messy and made you do unpredictable things. Her mother was always a rock, if she shattered then what would happen to her. Allison took her mother's hand in hers and brought it to her lips.

  "We'll get through this—we'll figure it all out together," she said. Her mother seemed comforted by that as she grasped Allison's hand strongly.

  "Thank you sweetheart, I'm so lucky to have a daughter like you."

  They walked down the long hallway arm in arm, leaning on each other for support.

  Chapter 3

  They made the phone calls and arrangements early the next morning, and by five that afternoon Allison, her mother, Jeremy, and Uncle Martin all arrived back at the house after the burial. The service had been well attended, but only the closest few joined them at the gravesite out on Long Island. Allison noticed her Uncle's weary eyes as he asked her which room they would be using for the Shiva.

  "I, um, Ma?" she looked over at her mother who was hanging up her raincoat in the front hall closet. She saw the fatigued set of her mother's shoulders and turned back to Martin. "We'll set up in the living room, it's spacious enough if everyone comes at the same time, which is what usually happens..." her voice trailed off as some unwanted memories flashed at her.

  “Ma, I’m only staying tonight,” Allison whispered as she settled herself onto the low seat a short time later. She kept her gaze firmly on the black, grand piano, afraid to meet her mother's eyes.

  “What does that mean?" her mother asked as she adjusted her midnight blue cashmere sweater over her shoulders. "Shiva is seven days. People will be coming by to offer their condolences and tell you stories about your father.”

  “I already know all the stories.”

  “Don't be hasty in your decision, sweetheart. We’ll have time to discuss this a bit later.” She smoothed Allison's hair lovingly and turned her attention over to the visitors.

  Much later that night after everyone had left, her mother turned to her as she walked up to her bedroom. “Allison, I think you will regret it if you leave.”

  “I know you feel that way, but you won’t be alone. Aunt Carol flew in from California for you.”

  “I’m not asking you to stay for me, although being surrounded by family at a time like this is comforting. This will go a long way toward your healing. Many people who knew your father from years ago will come by. They will each remember him in a different way. It's therapeutic and starts the grieving process,” her mother said.

  “I remember very clearly what Shiva is all about,” Allison said a little more sharply than she had intended.

  “You’re not that little girl anymore cowering in the back of the room. You need to deal with this head-on.” Vivienne Ross kissed her strong-willed daughter on the forehead. “At least think it through again, please.”

  Allison nodded and closed her eyes against the grief that threatened to overwhelm her, a grief that had nothing to do with her father. She gathered herself a minute later and headed down to the kitchen where Aunt Carol was organizing the fridge. Allison had always marveled at the fact that Carol and her mother were sisters. They shared the same 'organizing gene,' but their lifestyles, politics, even their looks were total opposites. Her mother was tall and elegant, always gracious and poised. Her aunt was shorter with a mass of dark curls springing
up of their own volition all over her head. She didn't know if Carol ended up moving to Venice Beach because she was so chilled, or if she became that way after living in an artist's community for many years. Whichever it was, she loved the way her mother changed and relaxed more whenever her sister was around.

  “Carol, you must be seeing double at this point, you’ve been moving all day. I’m sure you didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours on the red-eye last night or this morning, or whenever. I’ll finish up down here.”

  “I hear you want to go back to the city tomorrow.”

  “It’s not like I’m leaving mother all alone. Jeremy will be sitting, schedule allowing. And Uncle Martin is sitting here, too.” At that remark, Carol lifted her eyebrows. ”I know Uncle Martin has just recently returned to the family fold, but they did have Dad in common,” Allison continued.

  “This is not about your mother. She will be fine. This is about you.”

  “That’s what Mom said. She's such an amazing mother that she could be thinking about me at a time like this; I find that incredible. Is it any wonder I’m terrified to get married and have a family? I don’t think I’m genetically capable of putting someone’s needs above my own.”

  “And you're changing the subject.” Her aunt wagged her finger. “Stay the full seven days and learn something about yourself.”

  “I just don’t see how this happened. How did Dad miss that turn?”

  “Jeremy said the police are opening up an investigation,” Carol said.

  “What? Why?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see what they have to say. Now go to sleep."

  "Seriously? You think I can sleep after news like that?"

  "Try."

  "No way, Carol. My life just turned into a CSI episode. I'm pretty sure that entitles me to a sleepless night, wouldn't ya say?"

  *****

  Allison came down the next morning rubbing her back. Those low seats were brutal—they certainly weren't making her decision to stay any easier. She sat down on a stool at the large granite-topped island and numbly stared at the swirling pattern of dark green and white occasionally interspersed with burgundy spots. How had she never noticed those deep-red spots in there before? They sort of look like blood. Didn't the decorator realize the spots looked like blood? She was startled when Carol came in behind her and kissed her on the back of her head.