The Last Goodbye

When I ask her where Cyndi is and why my fiancée hasn't come by to see me, she just gasps, bursts into tears and runs out of the room. When I call Cyndi on her cell phone and then at her house, the call goes to voice mail. I leave a dozen messages. There are no call backs.

I am beginning to wonder if I took a turn in some strange dimension and wound up in the Twilight Zone, some world where I am a tragic hero instead of a shyster lawyer who was lucky enough to cheat death.

The same short, bald doc shows up in my room with some newspapers that he sets down on the stand near my bed. I looked over at them puzzled.

They hadn't put a television in my room, and I haven't been awake long at any one time to miss it. I haven't watched any newscasts, although I am beginning to come back to the world enough to wonder what had happened while I was out and what reaction, if any, the world had to my little adventure.

I look over at the guy I've dubbed Baldie after the character he would have played in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. He doesn't have the same starry-eyed expression the nurses have given me, but it's still strange.

Then it dawns on me. They WERE starry-eyed. I finally have a name to place on that expression. They were looking at me the way lovestruck teenagers stare at dewy-eyed, long haired, androgynous rock n roll boy band heart throbs.

I start to get scared.

Have I crossed over into the Twilight Zone for real. I could pretend that one or two glances might have been misinterpreted, but all the damned females in the hospital have been giving me that look. I start putting together fragments of memories, and it all begins to mesh. I have somehow become a romantic hero.

A nearly middle-aged, sandy haired, six footer with not too classically chiseled features and no major motion picture roles, top ten musical credits, or Superbowl rings is getting the kind of look from women I've never gotten in my life. I've never even dreamed of a woman looking at me like that.

'I'm starting to get scared," I tell Baldie. "What is going on here?"

He gives me a look that I do recognize, even though I've never seen this particular combination before.. It's pity, and envy. A truly, truly weird and unsettling combination as you'll soon discover if you're ever unlucky enough to be its recipient.

"You don't remember?"

Have I forgotten something important that happened before I flew out of Tennessee? Something that happened enroute? It can't be anything that happened after I crashed, can it?

There's something, something. I can almost put my finger on it. What am I trying to remember?

He points to the newspapers on the stand beside my bed. I give him a questioning look, but he just points to the newspapers and gives me that look again.

I reach over with my left hand and pick up the top newspaper. It's the Florida Times-Union. I check the date. It's dated the past Wednesday. This is Friday. The crash occurred Monday night. I look over the front page reading from top left to bottom right as I always do.

The headline, and the pictures in the top left half of the paper catch my eye. I see a file photo of myself from some story they'd run on one of my trials a few years ago. And there's a picture of Mona at some society event. She's in something low cut and slinky and she looks sexy as hell. She's smiling at somebody. It wasn't me. But, it's a warm smile.

There's a huge headline across the top of the entire paper. Shit, declarations of war don't get headlines this big.

'I LOVE YOU! ALWAYS HAVE -- ALWAYS WILL!

The paper drops from my suddenly nerveless fingers. I feel like my heart is about to pound out of my chest. Do people really faint? Could I be having a heart attack?

My memory of those last moments comes rushing back. No wonder I couldn't remember. It feels like someone is ripping my heart out of my chest. Why the fuck didn't I just die?

Underneath the headline is a story bylined by Carl Cameron, one of the best writers on the paper. I know that because he wrote a profile of me once.

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Harold Grimes has been a ham radio operator for a half century and he's heard a lot of unusual msgs come from his radio. But the call he received Monday night touched him in a way he said no other message has. The 67-year-old Georgia retired Seaboard Coastline engineer has received distress calls, messages of birth and death and emergency notifications. But this one...

"I was watching a rerun on TV Land of 'The Fall Guy' when I heard something...or thought I heard something through the static. We get calls every once in a while for help or a plane looking for a place to touch down. The area north of us is pretty wild.

"I played with the radio controls until I got the signal. It was a man, he was shouting. I could make out enough to know he was in a private plane and he was going down somewhere to the north. It was a bad night, windy and raining and there aren't many places out there for a plane to set down.

"He let me know his name was Lewis. Waters, I thought, although I found out later that it was Walters. I tried to get some coordinates to help anyone looking for him find him, but he wouldn't have any part of it. He said he didn't have any time and wanted me to write down what he told me. He said he only had a few seconds. He seemed desperate."

While being interviewed, Grimes has spoken calmly. Now he stops and when he continues his voice lowers almost to a whisper.

"I wrote down what he told me without even thinking about what he was telling me. There were only a few words. He said: 'Mona -- I love you. Always Have. Always Will. Should have forgiven you. Sorry.' He stopped talking and I waited a few seconds and then I asked him, 'Mr. Waters, Mr. Waters...is there anything else you want me to pass on. Who should I notify?'

"It was quiet although I thought I could hear something like tree limbs cracking. He must have still had the radio key pressed down. And then so quiet I could barely hear it, he said, "that's all," and then there was just static."

"I grabbed a phone and called the Sheriff's Office knowing they would pass it on.. Then I just sat in my easy chair and read what he'd asked me to pass on. I -- I'm not a really sensitive guy. Don't cry easy. My wife, Louise, used to call me a classic hardass. Back before she died.

"But I got to thinking about this poor guy out there alone, in the storm, in a plane going down. He had to think he wasn't going to make it. It got to me, I tell you. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, thinking about him.

"This Mona must have been someone really special. You could tell from his voice. He had it bad for her. And I don't know what she did to him, but whatever it was, he knew he'd made a mistake. He didn't forgive her and now he'd never have the chance. It got me kind of misty-eyed, to be honest."

Mona turns out to be Mona Harris, Lewis Walters' ex-wife. The well-known Jacksonville attorney who has a national practice out of his Jacksonville office divorced Ms. Harris in a fairly spectacular court case nine months ago after a nearly year-long legal war. The divorce was precipitated by what Ms. Harris admitted was a year-long affair with Walters' former partner, Norman Miller.

Since divorcing Ms. Harris, Walters announced his engagement to Cyndi Roberta Carter, whose parents own and operate Carter Paving. Their marriage was scheduled to occur in less than two weeks at the time of the crash.

When notified of the crash and the message left by Walters, Ms. Harris became incoherent. A woman who identified herself as Ms. Harris' sister said she was too disturbed to comment.

A family spokesman for Cyndi Carter said Ms. Carter was also unavailable for comment.

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

The next paper is the Thursday issue of the New York Post. The headline reads simply, "Pilot's Last Message: Love You Always."

The Chicago Trib: "Pilot To Cheating Wife: Should Have Forgiven"

The New York Times Friday issue: "Pilot's Love Story Grips World."

I look up at Baldie.

"It's been on 'Good Morning America," "The Today Show," "Fox and Friends," you name it. "Entertainment Tonight." Leno and Letterman both led with it last night. They say everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame. You've got 96 hours so far, and it doesn't seem to be cooling off yet."

I rub my forehead, trying to massage away what feels like a growing migraine. This is a nightmare.

"Why? What in the hell would make this such a big story?"

Baldie comes over and puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me that pity/envy look again.

"You're too close to it, Mr. Walters. Once the first story ran and you read Cameron's piece, it got picked up by the wires and then national papers and then national television news magazines. Your divorce was public record. Reporters got it and the audio tape of you talking to your mother.

"It was irresistible. Pilot who thinks he's dying sends a last message of love to the woman who cheated on him, broke his heart and then spent a year trying to win him back. There were quotes from the trial where you said you would never take her back.

"And then when you thought you were dying, you said you should have. My God, that's better than anything Hollywood could come up with."

I look up at him and want to cry, except it would make me seem even more pitiful.

"So everybody in the civilized world is aware of the intimate details of my private life, knows that I was a fucking wimp who couldn't keep his wife satisfied and cried when she left him?"

"Some of the talk radio shows have blasted you for being a wimp, I'll admit. I guess because I think it's helping their ratings. But most women have been eating it up. You didn't know it, but we've almost had fistfights among the younger nurses over who would be assigned to care for you. That's why we assigned only older nurses to your care.

"Also, the last time anyone checked, we've gotten about 20,000 e-mails, mostly from women who want you to contact them. We've gotten some photos...let's just say they're very revealing."

I just shake my head. I can't take it all in.

"Anything else?"

"Oh, we've gotten 200 requests from media outlets for interviews with you. And I understand the oddsmakers in Vegas are giving 3-2 odds you'll wind up with Mona and 5-1 odds you'll eventually marry Cyndi Carter."

My life has become a subject for the Vegas oddsmakers? I'd had the idle fantasy of becoming famous someday. Maybe win an OJ Simpson-like nationally followed court case one day, be tapped to run for governor, something like that. But to become famous for being a cuckolded wimp husband who had never been able to get over his slutty cheating wife....

I groan out loud and Baldie looks concerned, thinking I was in physical pain. I wish it had been something physical. I suddenly understand why Mom had burst out crying when I asked her about Cyndi. I close my eyes and want to die again.

What must it have been like for her? Two weeks from our wedding and her intended tells the world he still loves his cheating ex.. Knowing her temper, which the sweet tempered blonde possessed in abundance, I'm surprised she hasn't shown up at the hospital with a .38 to put me in the ground for real.

As soon as I can shoo Baldie out with a promise to consider my first media interviews, I dial Richard and Ricky's Westside Mansion It sticks out like a sore thumb among the generally low income housing on Jacksonville's Westside, but millionaires can generally get away with flouting the rules.

This time I don't get the voice mail. I hear Richard Carter's Georgia-bred accent answer the phone, "hello."

"Mr. Carter, this is Lewis. Lewis Walters."

I leave it at that, not knowing what kind of reaction I'm going to get.

There's a long silence and then, "Hello Lewis. How are you doing? I heard you got banged up pretty good."

"Pretty good, Mr. Carter. Is Cyndi there?"

"She's not available, Lewis."

"Available?"

"I'm being nice, son. She's here, but she doesn't want to talk to you -- right now."

"I -- I understand, sir. I want you, and her, to know I didn't do it -- deliberately. I never would have done that to her."

There's another long silence. Then: "You hurt her really bad, Lewis. I thought that asshole Andy had carved her up pretty good, but you...You got in under her defenses because you're a nice guy. She....she cried for two days after she saw that first story. Why the hell did you do that?"

I have to think about it for a couple of minutes, but he doesn't hang up.

"Because it all happened so quick and I thought I was dying. I didn't have time to think about things."

"And that means that what you said is what you really feel."

"I -- I don't want it to be, but --"

"Don't beat yourself up, Lewis. She always told us she knew you still had feelings for that woman. She just didn't know -- they went that deep."

"I wish-"

"Let it go, Lewis. It's done. It'll cost us some for the decorations and the food we had to cancel and the tickets for the honeymoon and all the rest, but it's only money. Just...don't call here again, okay."

"Mr. Lewis-"

There's an edge of steel in his normally friendly voice as he says, "Don't call here again. If she ever wants to contact you, she'll get in touch. Please, give her time."

And he hangs up.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of me when I look up the next afternoon to see her standing in the doorway to my room

I can't think of a single thing to say so I just stare at her. After a minute she walks into the room, never taking her eyes off my face. Her eyes are red, as if she's been crying a lot. She's as pretty as ever. I tell myself for the millionth time that I'm an idiot.

"Daddy told me you called. He didn't mean to be so rough on you, but he's hurting for me."

"After what I did, I'm surprised he didn't come after me himself."

"What did you do that was so terrible, Lewis? Except tell the truth to the world and yourself. You still love your ex-wife. It's not a crime."

"I shouldn't, and I'm not sure I do. I think I went crazy for a few minutes there."

She sits down next to me and takes my hand in hers. I see the sweet up and down swell of her breasts under her blouse and think about the terrific ass she's putting down on that chair and I ask myself how can any man be so stupid. I remember the nights we spent fucking. She was insatiable. Young and enthusiastic, sweet and firm and I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do that she didn't agree to happily.

"She was right when she told me you loved her all those months ago. And when you thought you were going to die, she was the only one in the world you thought about, wasn't she?"

I want to lie to her, but the words stick in my throat.

"It's okay," she says softly. Fuck I hate this. Tears have appeared in her eyes. "You were married to her for 10 years. She was the woman you wanted to be the mother of your children. When she cheated on you, she nearly destroyed you. She has your heart. Like you said, 'always have, always will.' I was just the way you were trying to get over her."

I squeeze her hand with my good left hand.

"I wish it was you, baby. I wish to God that it was you I loved. But, like you said, people can learn not to love someone. You did it with Andy. You could give me some more time. I want to be with you."

She pulls her hand away, shaking her head violently.

"No, Lewis. Been there, done that. I'm not going to marry another man who doesn't love me. Andy told me we could put it back together again. He was an asshole. You're a nice guy. But neither one of you ever loved me."

She gets up out of the chair. She's still crying.

"What I don't understand, Lew, what I really don't understand., is that I'm a good person. I think I really am. I've never consciously tried to hurt anyone. I've tried as best I could to be a Christian. And my first husband is pond scum and the man I want to marry can never make himself love me. What am I doing wrong?"

She turns to leave, and then stops herself.

"It hasn't been a good year for the Carter sisters. You remember my sister, Diane. You met her and her husband Lyle at that party the family holds down in Palatka. While you were in the hospital all hell broke loose. Lyle's left her and is going to file for divorce. We found out the stupid bitch has been fucking another man for years! A guy she dated before Lyle came to town."

I remember them. They had seemed like a nice couple. Although if I had been forced to guess who'd cheat on who, I would have placed my money on Lyle. He was one of those guys who's just a little too good looking.

"Why is it that the girls who treat guys like shit, cheat on them, hurt them, have them panting after them, and nobody wants the good girls?"

"I don't know, baby. Find a nice guy and ask him. I understand there's a lot of that going around. But, seriously, you've just had a run of bad luck. There are a million guys out there that would make good boyfriend or husband material and would jump at the chance to be with you. You are gorgeous. Don't put yourself down.. You just need to get out there and start looking again."

She stares at me again.

She nods and says, "I might do that. I'll have plenty of chances."

"What?"

For the first time since entering my room a smile blooms on her face.

"In the four days since the first story about you and Mona ran, and it mentioned me and they ran a picture of me, I've had about 4,000 emails from guys wanting to console me. Mom keeps telling me I ought to start answering some of them. You think I should?"

And also for the first time, I see there might be something good about this media shitstorm that has enveloped my life.

Time passes. I do dozens of interviews and try not to recycle my answers I've been paid a respectable chunk of money for a series of interviews and the rights to my story for a television movie that allows me to pay the hospital handsomely enough that they can tell the insurance company to go take a flying leap and keep me in the hospital with professional care until I can walk out under my own power.

And then, of course, She walks back into my life. I've been expecting her. She's like the other shoe that's always ready to drop

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It's been 7 days since I was wheeled into the hospital from the air ambulance, and I'm beginning to get stir crazy and ready to return to the world. I notice as I'm catching the noon midday news report that the nurses are buzzing around more than usual.

Then, she's in the doorway. Tall as always, her hair up in a new fashion I don't remember, looks vaguely 17th Century Court of Louis the Fourteenth with lots of curls and with heels she looks closer to six feet..

She's wearing a turtleneck, which is fashionable and practical since the weather is in the 40s outside. She's wearing green slacks, and I must still be an ass man because I can't take my eyes off hers. She hasn't gone out to do some grocery shopping. I'm flattered she's made an effort to dress up.

Our eyes meet. Hers are filled with a wry amusement, as if she knows a joke that I'm not aware of. I just feel embarrassed. I feel naked in front of her. I don't have any secrets anymore, or at least the biggest one.

"Talk about knowing how to raise a commotion," she says as she swivels her way into the room. Nobody walks that way naturally. She must practice.

"It wasn't as if that was my intention. Things kind of got out of hand."

"You are the master of understatement. Yesterday, I was in Publix and a sweet little old lady approached me in the Cereal aisle and without a word slapped me in the face!"

I give her a puzzled look.

"She proceeded to call me a cheating slut whore and tell me that I should be ashamed of myself for cheating on that wonderful Mr. Walters!"