“What can I do for you?” he asked, his attention already back on the coffee machine.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, “I’m looking for Edward Fuller.”
He dried his hands on a towel.
“I’m Eddie,” he said. He handed two cups of coffee to the women waiting at the counter, and they carried them over to the crowded tables.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you at work, Mr. Fuller,” she said again.
“Eddie,” he repeated. “Eddie. My name is Daria Cato. I was one of the EMTs on the scene of the plane accident where your daughter, Pamela, was” -she glanced toward the tables by the windows and lowered her voice “—where your daughter was killed. I was wondering if there was a time I might be able to talk with you and your wife.”
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded.
“Sally?” he called to the waitress.
The young woman turned from the table she was serving to look at him.
“Can you handle things out here for a few minutes?” he asked.
“No problem,” Sally said, and Eddie Fuller led Daria into a room at the back of the cafe. The room was minuscule and made smaller by two large desks set against adjacent walls.
“Please” -the man pointed toward one of the desk chairs “—have a seat.”
Daria sat down. “Is your wife here?” she asked. “I was hoping to talk with both of you.”
“No, I’m afraid she’s not here right now. But I’d really like to hear what you have to say. You were there, on the scene?”
“Yes, I was. And although it’s been months, I still think about her—your daughter. I just needed to make contact with you and your wife to be sure you’re doing okay and to belatedly convey my condolences.”
With a heavy sigh, Eddie sat down himself, and Daria was distressed by the tears in his eyes. “Well, to be truthful, we’re not doing okay at all. It’s hell to bury a child,” he said, his gaze out the window.
“It’s even worse when you blame yourself for her death.”
“Why would you do that?” Daria asked, surprised.
“How could you possibly be at fault?”
He waved away the question. “Can you tell me what it was like?” he asked.
“The accident, I mean? They told us she died almost instantly.
She didn’t suffer much, did she? “
Daria chose her words carefully.
“It all happened very quickly,” she said.
“And I guess you know that the passengers reported she’d lost consciousness before the accident, so I don’t think she was all that aware of what was going on.” The lie slipped awkwardly from her mouth, but the look of relief on Eddie Fuller’s face made her glad she had told it.
“The autopsy said she’d had a seizure,” Eddie said.
“That’s why the plane went down. I’m just thankful the two passengers were all right.”
“A seizure?” Daria hadn’t known that.
“Did she have a history of seizures?” She thought of Shelly. Shelly was not even allowed to drive, much less fly a plane.
“No, that was her first, as far as I know. I never would’ve let her fly if I’d known she was prone to them. She had a condition called Marfan’s syndrome, although she never really had any symptoms of it.
But apparently one of the symptoms is seizures. ” He was quiet for a
mo n ment. When he spoke again, it seemed to take great effort.
“I always wanted to fly,” he said.
“It was a dream of mine from the time I was very small. But I couldn’t, because of high blood pressure. So, I pushed my daughter to be a pilot. I gave her model planes when she was little. A friend had a Cessna, and he took us up and would let her operate the controls.” Eddie played with the corner of his apron, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Pam was bitten by the bug. I’d made sure that she was. She got her license the day she turned seventeen. She loved it, and I loved that she loved it.”
“Is that why you blame yourself?” Daria asked.
His nod was almost imperceptible.
“You could never have predicted what happened.” She hurt for the man.
“You and she probably had a special relationship because of your shared love of flying. That sounds wonderful to me.”
“I was selfish, living vicariously through Pam,” he said. “My wife never wanted her to fly. She was always afraid something awful would happen. And she was right. She still hasn’t forgiven me for it, either.” He looked down at the apron, smoothed it across the denim covering his thigh.
“She and I… We’re not doing too well.”
“I don’t mean to be intrusive,” Daria said, “but it sounds to me like both you and your wife loved your daughter
