Page 137 of Meant to Be

“Fuck!” Joe yelled, ripping off his headset and throwing it to the floor between us. From there, his lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and I wondered whether he was coaching himself or praying.

“Grab the life jacket behind the seat,” Joe yelled at one point, his eyes still on the horizon.

Feeling paralyzed, I couldn’t move.

“Now,Cate! Life preserver! Now!”

I took my seatbelt off and followed his instructions, grabbing my life jacket and putting it on, my hands shaking.

“Sit down! Head down! Brace for impact!” Joe yelled.

I got back in my seat while we continued to sink, gliding downward, careening toward the water. I realized we were going to crash and maybe—probably—die. Meanwhile, Joe kept steering, concentrating, swearing. His lips never stopped moving.

In those final few seconds before we crashed, the cabin was eerily quiet, and my thoughts scattered. I pictured my mother and then my father, forgiving them both. I saw Elna, then Curtis and Wendy. Mostly, though, I saw Joe and me together, a hundred scenes and memories flashing through my mind.

Then we hit the water. I screamed and closed my eyes, but we didn’t die. Instead, the belly of the plane skipped across the surface, once, twice, three times. Unscathed. It felt like a miracle. Then we hit the fourth time, and the wing on Joe’s side dipped into the water, and we were thrown violently sideways. Water surrounded us, and instantly began seeping in everywhere. I looked over at Joe and saw blood on his forehead, his eyes closed.

I screamed his name, but he didn’t answer or open his eyes. He couldn’t hear me.Nobodycould hear me. I was alone. I told myself that I had to calm down and focus, that I didn’t have much time. The plane began taking on more water, and I could feel us sinking. I took off my seatbelt, then reached over and unlatched Joe’s. I shook him, trying to wake him up, still calling his name. He was breathing, but motionless, and didn’t respond. I pulled him free from his belt with all my strength, then stood and reached for the latch to open the door. I heard it click, but it didn’t open, so I kicked it as hard as I could and it finally released, more water pouring in. I scrambled back to Joe, dragged him from his seat, and pulled his body toward the door. The water in the cabin was now knee-deep, which helped me get him to the door, as by thenhe was floating. I looked out, straight into the Chesapeake, which was still rushing into the plane. We had to get out—or sink with the plane. It really was sink or swim. I pulled the cord on my life jacket, relieved when it inflated. Then I took a final deep breath and paddled out into the freezing water, pulling Joe behind me.

It was almost dark by then, and so hard to see with waves hitting my face. I looked around and noticed that one wing of the airplane had broken off and was floating nearby. Shivering uncontrollably, I struggled to swim over to it while barely holding Joe’s head above water. After a few strokes, I was exhausted, and it suddenly felt hopeless. The wing was too far away, and I was getting numb. I told myself I had to keep going. I had no choice. Somehow, I got us there, reaching out to grab the wing with one arm, gripping Joe’s head with the other. As I turned to look back, I watched the plane disappear, becoming completely submerged in the bay.

The next few minutes got colder and darker and more hopeless, and I began sobbing as uncontrollably as I was shivering. It was the end, and I knew it. I told Joe that I loved him, hoping he could somehow hearme.

At some point, I was completely numb—so numb I could no longer feel the cold. Then, just as I started to fall asleep, I heard an engine in the distance. I tried to yell but couldn’t—I was too exhausted. I had no voice—and no free hands to wave. So, I just prayed they would find us. The last thing I remembered was an incredibly bright light shining in my eyes.

—

Days later, Iwould learn exactly the way things happened. How Joe’s Mayday to the tower was relayed to the Coast Guard, who immediately dispatched a boat to save us. At the same time,witnesses saw our crash landing, and news reporters were immediately on the scene, our rescue broadcast all over the country and world.

But that night, when Dottie rushed into my hospital room, I was unaware of any of that. I pictured a much different scenario—that she’d been quietly summoned from her hotel in Annapolis, the public unaware of the accident.

“Oh, darling,” she said, her heels click-clacking on the floor as she crossed over to my bedside. “Thank God you’re okay!”

I caught the nurse staring at us for a beat before she closed the door, giving us privacy, and it suddenly occurred to me that Dottie and I had never been completely alone before. I’d also never seen her so disheveled, including in the photos taken the day her husband died. Her hair was mussed, her eye makeup smudged, and her lips bare.

“Have you seen Joe?” I asked. My voice was hoarse and sluggish, like it wasn’t my own.

“Yes, dear. I’ve seen him. He’s going to be fine. Just fine,” she said in a soothing voice. Nurses had told me the same, but I’d feared they weren’t telling me the truth—and I knew there was no way Dottie would lie to me about her son. I felt a final surge of relief.

“Can I see him?”

“Soon,” she said. “They’re keeping you both overnight—out of an abundance of caution. Joe got a pretty good knock on the head.”

“I know,” I said, welling up with tears, remembering everything.

Dottie reached out and patted the heavy heated blankets that were pulled up and tucked around my chin. “Sweetheart, he’s fine. I promise.”

I nodded, blinking back tears. She swallowed, then added, “Thanks to you, Cate. You saved his life.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He savedmine. That landing…I don’t know how he did it. I thought we were going to die.”

“Cate,” she said, her voice suddenly strong. “Hewouldhave died without you. The Coast Guard told me what happened…how you were holding on to him.”

I felt my chin quiver, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Shh—shh, sweetie. Please don’t cry,” she said. She reached into her handbag, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed my cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling, pulling my arms out from under the blankets, taking the handkerchief, and wiping my nose. “I shouldn’t have let him fly….”

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