Claire Voyant Read Free Page A

cockpit.
    First Officer Freeman hadn’t yet laid eyes on the old man lying face up in the aisle, but he looked sickly in anticipation of the moment. Then, mindful of his oath to stay cool so that passengers didn’t panic, he crossed his arms, indicating his comfort level with the job his coworkers were performing in the forward galley. “I understand this is your grandfather?”
    Jeez. Not again . “No sir. We just met.” I sniffed into a cheap tissue from the lavatory. “She gave me his wallet and I found identification.” I pointed to the perspiring flight attendant who was frantically alternating between administering CPR and shocking the man with the automated external defibrillator. “His driver’s license is expired, but it says he lives in Miami.”
    First Officer Freeman didn’t bother pretending that this little tidbit interested him. “The tower cleared us for an emergency landing in Jacksonville,” he whispered to the crew. “Until then, do the best you can.”
    â€œIt’s too late.” One of the flight attendants clutched the masks and gloves from the emergency Grab-n-Go kit. “There’s no pulse or respiration. He’s blue.”
    â€œPlease don’t give up on him,” I cried. “I once was on ER and there was this scene where the third shock was the one that worked…. Hetold me his whole family is waiting for him…. It’s…his birthday.”
    â€œOh Christ. Second Code Red this month, too.” The copilot looked away. “Well, it’s best we’re removing the body before the passengers get alarmed. Gayle, prepare the cabin for landing.”
    â€œNo. Wait.” I grabbed First Officer Freeman. “Look. I think his foot just moved.”
    â€œMaybe you should come sit over here.” A flight attendant ushered me away. “Believe me, we’re doing everything humanly possible.”
    â€œThen why isn’t he responding?” I yelled so that other passengers heard. Maybe if they witnessed the airline’s clear-cut negligence, they would demand an investigation. And the reinstatement of meals. And those really good macadamia nuts they used to pass out.
    â€œDon’t worry. We can’t stop trying to revive a passenger until we land, even if we know he’s gone,” she sighed. “It’s an FAA regulation.”
    â€œOh.” I buckled myself into a vacant seat. So if the old man died, I should presume it had nothing to do with the crew being heartless or incompetent. Simply, his time had come.
    â€œI sure hope they know what they’re doing,” the man seated next to me said. “If it was a myocardial infarction and not ventricular fibrillation, that little machine can kill you.”
    â€œAre you a doctor?” I wondered how a knowledgeable medical person could just be sitting here, while a flight attendant more experienced in pouring coffee without spilling was trying to save a person’s life.
    â€œNah. My brother sells defibs to casinos and airports. But it wouldn’t matter if I was a doctor. The FAA won’t let anyone other than the crew use them. Liability laws and all that crap.”
    â€œMakes sense,” I said. “Why let a trained medical professional pitch in, when someone who’s got to first read the manual can do the honors?”
    A mother holding her infant son patted his back and leaned over to join the discussion. “I saw this thing on 20/20 or Dateline, or one of those, where you’re supposed to get the victim to cough vigorously, and then take deep breaths so they get oxygen into their lungs.”
    Good thinking! Let’s wake him and ask him to cough! I couldn’t listen to these imbeciles gab, not while Mr. Fabric Softener, or whatever his name was, was teetering between here and the hereafter. I unfastened my seatbelt and returned to the scene.
    When I’d first moved to L.A.,