Free Saving the World by Gary Ponzo Page B

“That’s your theory?”
    Bryant rubbed the side of his face, thinking of a plausible way this could happen. “Maybe she was never on the flight to begin with,” Bryant said.
    “Her boarding pass was scanned at the gate,” Turkle said. “She was onboard when the plane took off.”
    “That’s just not possible,” Bryant said, stretching his imagination to its limit. When he looked up, he realized Turkle had been measuring his reaction. As if Bryant was somehow involved with the accident.
    “Wait a second,” Bryant said. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
    That’s when Turkle’s expression softened. For the first time, his eyes had the sympathetic look of a man about to announce the death of a relative. Only Bryant had no more relatives left to die. So why was his throat thick enough to make it hard to swallow?
    “You okay?” Turkle asked.
    Bryant needed water. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
    “Well, here’s the thing. . .” Turkle hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Margo’s plane crashed on March 19th.”
    Bryant became lightheaded. It was too hot. His tongue was now permanently sealed to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to open the door, but didn’t have the strength. Then Turkle said something that would forever change the rest of his life.
    “At 9:16 a.m.”
    Bryant jerked forward and hurled tiny drops of acid from the pit of his stomach. He choked and gagged until acid ran up his nose and burned him.

Chapter 12
    Bryant woke up to a knock on the door. His pullout couch sat in the middle of his waiting room and three steps from the door. Bryant peaked at the clock on the wall: 6:45. When he glimpsed through the shades, Father Joe stood patiently outside. Bryant unlocked the door and headed straight for the bathroom.
    “Good morning to you too,” Father Joe said.
    “I need to pee,” Bryant said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
    After he flushed, Bryant pulled clothes out of his bathroom closet. He heard Father Joe lift up the pullout couch and squeak it back into place. Bryant knew the cushions would be replaced as well.
    “The clouds seem to be lighter than usual,” Father Joe said, raising his voice to get through the closed bathroom door.
    “I know. Some of the aliens might’ve gotten bored with Chandler,” Bryant quipped.
    “Good riddance,” the priest said.
    Bryant washed up and brushed his teeth. When he returned to the waiting room, Father Joe held out a steaming cup of coffee he’d just made.
    Bryant took a sip from the Styrofoam cup.
    “You look terrible,” Father Joe said.
    “Yeah, well I was up late getting interrogated by the FBI,” Bryant said, sitting down on the couch and placing the coffee on the end table. “Margo’s family died in a plane crash the same morning the girls died.”
    Father Joe pulled up a waiting room chair and sat next to Bryant.
    “The very first phone call Margo made was to my office,” Bryant said. “Apparently someone has removed the word coincidence from the official FBI dictionary.”
    “That’s incredible.”
    Bryant reached over and picked up a picture of his wife and daughter posing for his sister-in-law’s wedding. They were all made up and happy to be with each other.
    “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Bryant said, “but talking with that FBI agent last night, well, it just convinced me to start over.”
    Father Joe sat quietly.
    Bryant stared at the picture of his family. “There’s nothing here for me anymore. Just bones and dirt.”
    Father Joe’s nose curled up like he’d just smelled a skunk. “Is that what’s become of your faith? Bones and dirt?”
    Bryant sipped some coffee while staring at the picture, as if someone dared him to cut open a stitched-up wound. “Spin it however you like.”
    They sat in silence for a minute, then Father Joe said, “I had a visitor last night.”
    “And?” Bryant raised his eyebrows.
    “Margo Sutter came by. She spent the night praying. I found