The Last Goodbye

Herring looks at me.

"Alright. I'll do it. 10 sessions."

"Done."

Klavius mutters quietly, "Thank you, God, Thank you. Thank you."

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Static and then... "hearing you faintly. You say you're going do....where... coordinates...

I clutch the radio as hard as I can in my left hand, while with my right I try to physically hold the wheel steady. It's almost dark. I can see shapes more than actual objects, but I know I passed the crest of a tall hill on my left. My airspeed is still more than 90 mph even though I've throttled down as low as I can and still keep my wings up.

I can see what might be trees below so close I can almost see the tops. What, maybe 50 -- 75 feet below. I imagine what it would be like to hit those trees in my Escalade at 90 mph, and this Centurion is nowhere near as well built as my Escalade. There will be little pieces of airplane and me scattered all over the place.

I have a tiny bit more chance of surviving if I hit from this altitude than a half mile up, but the downside is that when the gas goes, I won't have more than a few seconds. Not a minute or so to plunge down.

"About 30 miles south southeast of Elliway, just coming into the Chattahoochee Forest. I'm Lew Walters, from Jacksonville. Get that?"

"30 miles south southeast of Elliway. Waters..."

"No time. Write this down, please."

"Shoot."

In the next seconds I look deep inside myself, into the place where truth lies hiding from you most of the time. I just don't have the time to lie to myself. I realize what the truth is, and I say the few words I think I'll have time to get out.

There's a sputtering sound and then the single engine shudders to a halt, and there is only the howling of the wind and the sound of heavy rain hammering at the cockpit windshield and then....

##################################

The marriage counselor is a woman. Dr. Marilyn Myers of the Family Counseling Service, an independent firm under contract to the Duval County Family Court. She's tall, blonde, looks a little bit like the attractive, but mean-spirited cheerleader coach on that TV show, "Glee."

I always wondered why she never got romantic parts. She's tall, beautiful, hot and has lips to die for. But she never gets the fucking parts, only the funny ones. Maybe she's so damned hot, guys are intimidated.

Dr. Myers is not that hot, but for a woman who's got to be pushing her late 40s, she's pretty damned hot. I try to mentally strip her with my eyes to kill time as she drones on.

"Mr. Walters, could we get your input??"

Myers' voice is a little irritated. I guess she's entitled. I haven't been the best marital counseling subject this last six visits.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Myers. My mind wandered. I hope you don't mind. I was actually thinking just how hot you are. I've never asked before, but are you married?"

Her eyes open wide, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't get that line very often from her counseling couples. Mona sits up straighter in her comfortable leather chair beside me and glares at me. If looks could kill.

"Mr. -- Mr. Walters....that is unfortunately completely inappropriate. Thank you for the compliment, but could we get back-"

"I have to ask, if you're married, is your husband older or younger than you? Vigorous and healthy or is he a typical older guy?"

She frowns, and then a smile I know she hates flashes across her face for just a moment.

"Mr. Walters! Enough please. You don't think I know what you're doing. This is just another cheap ploy to anger your wife and score points in this ongoing battle you two have waged since the minute you walked in here. Actually, make that that you have waged.

"Mrs. Walters seems, and I believe her, to be making a good faith attempt to try to save your marriage or, if that's impossible, at least bring the relationship back to one of friendship. You, on the other hand..."

Her voice trails off, then...

"Let's try one more time, please, Mr. Walters. And, by the way, yes, I'm married. My husband is the football coach of the Lee High Commodores, and he is very strong, very big and very, very vigorous."

I swear to God, she swivels in her chair and moves her legs in a relatively demure skirt so that I catch a tantalizing glimpse of nylon encased leg, licks her lips and then glances down at the papers in front of her.

Mona looks like she's sucking on a lemon. I love it.

"We were discussing your wife's feelings that after you learned that she could not bear you children, and you refused to consider adoption, that you in some way blamed her for this lack in your marriage and that your sex life seemed to be where you took out your frustrations with her. I think we're talking about passive/aggressive retaliation. You simply withdrew from her. Do you think there's any validity to her views?"

I look down at the floor to avoid looking at either one of them. This is all such a fucking waste, and I can't wait to drop the bombshell on Mona. But I'll wait and let the suspense linger before I unload on my loving soon-to-be ex-wife.

"Maybe. I'm not a shrink. Looking back, yeah, it hurt. I was an only child. I wanted children. I always thought a boy and girl combo would be nice. I don't think I ever blamed Mona. Maybe, maybe thinking about sex made me a little sad. Maybe I wasn't quite as hot to trot as I would have been otherwise.

"But it was mostly that I was putting in 80 and 90 hour, seven-day a week weeks trying to build our business to give her the life she seemed to want. And pulling the weight for that sorry ass, big dicked lover of hers. My friend. I knew all his attention was focused on pussy, so I had to carry the major weight of the firm, but I thought he was my friend. Had been since college. So I worked myself so hard I hardly ever even thought about sex, much less had the energy for it."

Myers taps her pencil on her desk.

"Mr. Walters, you don't seem to be -- excuse me -- the most self aware individual who has ever sat across from me. By that, I mean, I don't think you've ever thought much about your emotions, about why you feel the way you do, why you do the things you do."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Don't be offended. It's not an insult. You're a very hard working, driven man. You set goals for yourself a long time ago, found a woman you loved, married her, and then put all your attention on becoming successful in your career. There are a lot of men -- a lot of people -- out there like you.

"As far as who you are, and why you do the things you do, I think you've been on auto-pilot for a long time. You told me in one of our first meetings, remember, when you talked about walking in on your wife and partner, that it surprised you to find out her adultery hurt you as much as it did. You said you had forgotten that you loved her."

"So? You've described most of the legal profession and half the guys living and breathing in the United States so far."

"I know. But just think about this for a moment. If you -- you -- had forgotten that you loved this woman, how did you expect her to know that? You had a marriage, an arrangement set up to allow both of you to share the same house, share expenses, share sex when you were both in the mood.

"But as time went by you spent less and less time together. You were working, she filled her time in with volunteer activities. The marriage went on like a perfectly oiled machine, but you shared so few intimate moments that you were actually able to shove your feelings about her into the back of your mind.

"What, did you think that someday you'd be able to ease off, start sharing morning breakfasts and romantic suppers with her with the Blackberry and Pager turned off. You would remember, and she would remember that there was actually a day when you wanted her so badly that you gave up the chance to have sex with every other woman in the world to possess her?"

"I repeat, Mr. Walters, if you forgot, why did you expect her to remember?"

I stare at Mona and try to visualize a particularly ugly hag with a huge wart on her nose, sitting in her chair.

"I guess I couldn't, could I, doc, and she obviously forgot, too. At least, doc, I didn't fuck my husband's best friend. Wait, that didn't come out right. I didn't fuck any other women. Not that I would have had that much time and energy, but Mona, honey, you may not think my dick was all that hot, but before we married there were more than a few women who wanted a taste. And loved it."

I drop the mental image, because I want to see her eyes and face when I say what I say next.

"You probably know that Norman was fucking just about anything that walked. Our secretaries, paralegals, judges' secretaries, female cops, reporters, waitresses. If it had a pussy, he was after it. What you don't know, you stupid bitch, is that I could have been right in there with him.

"I ate at the same damned restaurants! I flirted with the same damned secretaries. I deposed female cops that showed leg and left their home numbers on the pads on my desk with a heart and the words, 'call me,' on them. I could have had 50 women while we were married if I'd wanted them. Norm isn't a God. I've passed on some of the women who wanted me to him, just to get them out of my hair.

"You said I was a wimp, because I jerked off to Cinemax cuties. Well, you stupid fucking bitch, the reason I jerked off is, because I was trying to stay faithful to you. I could have been fucking my brains out with other women, but I still thought we had a marriage.

"Even if you were a cold, sexless bitch, I told myself, you were still my wife. I took an oath and, remember, I'm an officer of the court. I take oaths seriously. You are an attorney. You know all about oaths and contracts and what they entail. But you threw your oath, and your honor, into the toilet when you started fucking my partner."

She has been watching me closely, her eyes honed in on mine. As if she's trying to gauge the truth of what I've said. She closes her eyes, and I can't believe the tears that start to steam down her face. I am literally speechless. I can't remember the last time I saw her cry. Certainly not since she tore my heart out that evening with Norman.

Why now, why now, you stupid bitch, I want to scream at her. Why now when everything is lost, when you've ruined it all, why do you show some human emotion now?

I can't wait any longer. I am going to scream, going to make a fool out of myself, if I don't say what I've been waiting all this session to say.

I stand up, catching them both by surprise.

"Dr. Myers, I know this is unorthodox, but I have something to do and say. I'll continue with these sessions as mandated by the court, but there's something I need you and my -- wife -- to know. I think it will put a new light on what we're doing here."

She gives me a warning look, but nods her head.

I go to the door of her office and step into the waiting room. She's sitting there. I motion to her, and she stands and walks toward me. I kiss her and smell her perfume, and the day starts getting better.

We walk back into Myers' office. She stares at us, as if I'd grown a second head. Mona just stares, her expression unreadable.

"Dr. Myers, Mona, this is Cyndi Mathews."

Cyndi lays one slender arm on my hand and says in that soft southern drawl, "It's Carter, honey. Cyndi Carter now."

I kick myself. I should have remembered.

"Sorry, Cyndi Carter. Mathews was -- her married name. She just got divorced."

I turn her slightly so that Mona can get a better view. She's a natural blonde, five-five, breasts maybe a little smaller than Mona's, but she's got five years on her, and her tits are perky as hell in the Carter Family company t-shirt she's wearing. She's dressed in jeans, which she almost always wears, and her ass could give my loving wife a good run for the money. And she is so damned pretty.

I feel like twirling her around in front of Mona, to rub her nose in the fact that I have moved on.

"You're right, Mr. Walters, this is highly unorthodox. Who is Ms.?? Carter??, and why have you brought her in here?"

"I told you that I would obey the court order to come here for ten sessions, but I feel it only fair to let you and Mona know about a development that affects what we're doing here"

Mona knows. I said she was smart.

"The whole point of these sessions are to determine if it's possible for Mona and I to get back together. I've told her over and over that's not going to happen, but for whatever twisted reason she has in her head, she won't believe me.

"Well, believe this Mona. I've been dating Cyndi for a month. We have become very serious and very attached. I know it's only a short period of time, but the chances for a real commitment are there, and I want to explore that possibility. I'll let Cyndi tell you for herself how she feels."

Cyndi looks at Mona, and this time the sadness is on her pretty blonde face.

"Mrs. Walters, I argued with Lew about doing this. I told him it was cruel and unnecessary, but he finally convinced me you deserve the truth. I'm not here to hurt you.

"Believe me, I know where you are. I got divorced six months ago. He was a real scum bag. He only married me to get at my parents' money. They own Carter Paving, it's a big paving company here in Jacksonville. But even though he was a scumbag, I still had feelings for him. It took me two years to finally break away.

"I didn't go looking for your husband, and he didn't try to pick me up. Andy, my ex, had started hassling me again, and I went down to the courthouse to try to get some help from my brother-in-law, Lyle. He volunteers down there. But he was off that day and I was lost, I have to admit.

"Then I saw Lew standing by the elevators. He looked like he belonged there, and I just asked him if he could help me find the office I needed. He was so nice that when I finished and I walked out and saw him standing at the snack bar, I stopped to thank him again and we started talking and...

"We've seen each other almost every night since then."

She blushes.

"I mean every night, all night. It sounds so terrible, but there was an instant -- chemistry, a connection between us. I didn't want -- want to -- get physical with a married man, but he convinced me everything you had is gone."

Now, she blushes a flaming red.

"I know this will hurt you, but you need to know. I think I love him, or I could. I know I can't get enough of him in the sack. I feel like I'm 17 again, and I never thought I'd feel that way again after Andy. He is so damned good in bed. I can't imagine any woman - I can't imagine you - throwing him away for another man. But, you did. And, I want him."

Mona just looks at her, then at me.

"You could be pulling a con on me, Lew. You're that smart. She could just be some cheap tramp you hired to play your girlfriend to get me to back out of these counseling sessions."

"Check it out, Mona. Use some investigators. Her parents are Richard and Ricky Carter, and they own the big paving company on the Westside. They're millionaires, and she can tap into their money. Her brother is some homebuilder, who's fairly well known.

Her brother-in-law, Lyle, in addition to being a court volunteer, teaches at JU. There's all kinds of ways you can check her out. She's not a ringer. And, I don't have enough money to pay her to lie about this."

Mona glares at me and Cyndi.

"So, you found some bimbo willing to fuck you. Big deal. You're just doing this to get under my skin. You love me, not her."

Cyndi steps toward Mona, and I have to grab her arm to hold her. I've met her parents and family, and they all tell me she's a spitfire. I believe it. I don't want a catfight to erupt. Or maybe I do, but I don't think Herring would be amused.

Cyndi stops, then removes my hand politely and looks down on Mona.

"I didn't believe him when he told me how big a bitch you really were. I thought he was just bitter. But he was right. I don't see how he put up with you as long as he did. And, maybe you're right. Maybe, he does still love you. I loved Andy for a long time after I decided to get free of him. But Lew's going to be on top of me tonight and I'm going to be on top of him and if I can make him love me instead of you, you damned well better believe I'm going to."

She turns, kisses me and marches out of the office. Myers just sits there with a bemused expression on her face.

As might be expected, the rest of the session is spectacularly unproductive.

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There are a lot of embarrassing things that can happen to you in this life, but one of the most embarrassing as I've learned the hard way is to survive when you fully expect to die.

I make myself as comfortable as you can get with a broken right arm, broken right collar bone, broken right leg, surgically removed spleen, bruised heart, three broken ribs, concussion and broken nose.

I wake up at Shands Medical Center in Jacksonville, where they had flown me when the rescue team found my almost-still-in-one-piece Centurion nestled nose down in the mud on the shore of a small lake right on the outskirts of the Chattahoochee National Forest.

I come to, as they are wheeling me into the private patient -- read paying patient -- section of Shands from an air ambulance. A short bald doctor is walking beside me, and when I ask him with an unbelieving tone in my voice if I'm dead, he just laughs and tells me to never ever play any lottery, because I've used up seven lives worth of good luck in a few seconds in Georgia.

For the next two days the world dissolves into a collage of needles and fussing nurses and glimpses of familiar faces as I slip into and out of consciousness, sometimes because of what they are sticking into me, sometimes because of the demands of my body. I think Mom is there. I can't believe it, but I think I might even see Herring accompanied by his big shadow.

I know vaguely what is happening to me, and what had happened. I remember the flight from Tennessee that ended in north Georgia. It comes back to me in flashes of sight and sound, sometimes silent pictures and sometimes sounds that I can't associate with pictures.

I remember, in pieces, what it felt like to know I was going to die. I remember how frightened I had been just before the end. I didn't want to go out like a candle in the wind. And I remember how strangely calm I'd been during those last seconds as I heard the crackling and snapping as the Centurion dove through tree limbs toward the ground.

I don't remember the most important thing, the only thing that will make me truly wish I had died in those moments. That comes back to me later.

I've had some intimations that something strange is going on during the first couple of days, as I slip into and out of consciousness. I look up once in a while and catch a nurse or a couple of nurses staring at me with the strangest damned look on their faces. I can't put a handle on it, and that bothers me.

One time a nurse is changing a dressing on my right arm, and she stops for a minute. I look over to see her hands resting on my right arm and shoulder. And she has tears in her eyes. What in the hell? I don't know her, and I know damned well that she doesn't know me. Norman had banged a few nurses, and I'd met a few through him, but she isn't one of them. And she's too damned old, anyway. She has to be in her 50s.

I would say something, but I don't know what to say. She just wipes the tears away, finishes her job and walks away. But before she leaves the ICU where they still have me, she turns and gives me that same damned strange look.

Three days after I'm brought in my mother comes into the private room they've moved me too. She hugs me and fusses and cries and then cries some more. I tell her I'm alright. She doesn't have to cry anymore. And then damned if she doesn't burst into tears again.