“What are we doing, Daddy?” Mia asked, her curiosity growing.
Joe just smiled as he sat on the floor against the padded wall and strapped himself in. Mia followed suit.
“What kind of plane is this?”
A red light on the far wall lit up, its glow painting the white wall padding bright crimson. The whine of the jet grew, and she could feel the four large engines vibrating as the jet lurched forward, quickly picking up speed. And although there were no windows, she could imagine the Virginia countryside whipping by. After thirty seconds, the roar of the engines peaking, she felt the jet jump into the air, the engines screaming as they climbed high into the sky.
“Mia,” her father finally said, “in life we are faced with adversity, with tough choices, difficult decisions, but what you must remember is that there is always a solution. Nothing is impossible. Your mother doesn’t believe this, and that’s OK. But I do, and I know you do, too. I can’t imagine what your heart must go through every time we pull you away from friends, how difficult it must be always to feel like a stranger, but that will soon end. I’m going to retire and move into the private sector. We’re finally going to have a normal life.”
Mia looked up at her dad and smiled. “To me, it’s always been a normal life. I wouldn’t trade a single moment.”
The red light on the far wall winked out, replaced by a yellow one, and with it, the whine of the jet’s engine disappeared.
Joe unstrapped himself, stood up, and nodded for Mia to do the same. He took her hand, and they walked to the rear wall.
“Remember, Mia,” Joe said as he stared into her eyes with such love, “nothing is impossible.”
The light on the far wall turned green, Mia felt her stomach grow light, and all at once she was floating, drifting hand-in-hand with her father. The weight of the world was literally gone.
“Put your feet against the wall,” her father said, which they both did effortlessly.
He held tight to her hand, and they pushed off.
Mia couldn’t help it-she could feel the tears forming in her eyes. Her dream had come true. She was flying.
They were soaring through the air, light as feathers, like birds on invisible wings.
Her heart was more alive than it had ever been. She was doing the impossible. Her mother said it could never be done, but her dad was right.
Holding hands, they sailed through the air down the length of the jet. Arriving at the far wall, her father released her, and they both planted their feet against the wall, quickly pushing off.
She was flying solo; as she had always imagined, she put her arms out, spinning around. She flipped over effortlessly, somersaulting over and over again without getting dizzy.
For two minutes, they defied gravity.
The light on the wall turned yellow, and Joe and Mia grabbed the ladder on the floor and pulled their way back to the wall. She could feel her weight returning as the engine’s cry returned.
Her father explained that they were in a modified 757, which some affectionately called the Vomit Comet for those who experienced adverse reactions to weightlessness. The plane flew up and down in long parabolic arcs, the effect of which created a zero-gravity environment within the confines of the plane. The 757 was used to study weightlessness, train astronauts, and conduct experiments; today it was used for teaching Mia how to fly.
Eleven more times the light turned green. Eleven more times Mia flew. It was, without question, the greatest experience of her life, not just because she flew but also because her father made her realize her potential; he made her realize that nothing was impossible.
Fifteen minutes after they landed, the bomb went off.
Mia and her father quickly changed out of their flight suits, grabbed their things, and hopped into the car. As they drove through the gate, they said goodnight to the three guards and headed toward home.
Fifty yards past the gate, Joe stopped the car. He looked at the full bag of uneaten food.
“Let me,” Mia said. And without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the bag filled with candy, chips, and waters and took off for the guard shack.
The soldiers took the bag, smiling in appreciation, waving to the lieutenant.
And without warning, an explosion tore the front of Joe’s car apart. A large fireball rolled into in the sky, black smoke curling upward, spreading out in a large cloud.
Joe stumbled from the car in shock, his eyes scanning for Mia. And once he saw her running toward him, once he saw that she was all right, he collapsed.
The three gatehouse guards were ten yards behind Mia, their guns drawn, yelling at her to stop, fearful of another bomb. But nothing could stop her from getting to her dad.
Joe Sullivan lay in the middle of the road, his car in flames behind him. Blood stained his burned clothing as his chest heaved and he gasped for air. Mia came charging to his side, kneeling beside him, lifting him into her lap, cradling his broken body to her chest. He was always bigger than life to her, but now…
“Dad? Look at me.”
Joe struggled to breathe, his body convulsing in short bursts, his eyes struggling to stay open.
“Please!” Mia cried out. “Oh, God, please don’t…”
The three guards looked at Joe, instantly assessing his condition. They formed a perimeter around the lieutenant and his daughter, guns aimed out, searching for the perpetrators, protecting Mia and her father in what they knew would be their final moments together.
Sirens blared in the distance as the soldiers spoke into their radios, but Mia heard none of it. All of her senses were focused on her father.
“Dad!” Mia pleaded as the tears poured down her face. “Please-”
His wheezing breaths grew shallow as every muscle in his body went limp.
Without a word, he looked up into Mia’s eyes, a world of emotions passing between them, and he died.
Joe Sullivan had fought in three wars, had been in countless battles and firefights, had spent his naval career in some of the most hostile locations on earth, only to be felled by a car bomb in his own country.
What was first thought to be an act of international terrorism turned out to have been committed by a small domestic group known as Peace for All whose members preached passivity while demanding the withdrawal of U.S. forces from all countries and the abolition of the U.S. military. After a one-week manhunt, the three American perpetrators were captured by the FBI, tried, and executed.
Mia’s world was shattered. Her father was everything to her. She felt adrift without his words of wisdom, his guidance in life, the sound of his voice as he arrived home at night after work. She couldn’t wipe the image of his dying in her arms from her nightmares. And while her mother comforted her, Patricia Sullivan was equally devastated, often lost in her own grief, unable to function.
Within six months, her mother moved on, falling for the FBI agent who had captured the killers of her husband. No one spoke of the Freudian influence on her heart.
Sam Norris took them in, adopting and embracing Mia as his own. Against her wishes, Mia’s mother made her change her name from Sullivan to Norris, explaining that she couldn’t go through the pain of explaining how her daughter had a different name, that it would force her to relive the agony all too often, never realizing the betrayal it caused for Mia.
They moved to Washington, where her stepfather was made deputy director of the FBI. A year later, he began serving three years as director. He retired and moved to New York to start a security consulting business, a firm where he could capitalize on his vast government connections.
As Sam Norris’s business expanded, their creature comforts grew. Mia’s mother embraced their large home, her fancy car, their life of privilege, but to Mia, none of that could replace her father. The money made her uncomfortable. It seemed to be a patina over the lack of love and affection in their new family.
And so she became focused on herself. Although Sam Norris hadn’t filled the vacancy left by her father’s death, he did offer a window into the FBI, entree into fighting people like the ones who killed her father. As she rose through the ranks, investigating and arresting criminals and terrorists, it was as if she was taking down her father’s killers again and again and again.
Jack would have liked her dad. They were alike in so many respects: wise, selfless, extremely athletic yet always modest and always believing nothing was ever out of reach.
Mia looked around the small room, locked away in who-knows-where, thinking of the impossibility of escape,
