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； and the fuselage did not disintegrate。 Its powerful Pratt and Whitney engines screaming as if in defiance of gravity； Nationwide Flight 353 held together throughout its final descent。
At some point Michelle would have realized that all hope was lost； that they were in a dying plunge。 With characteristic courage and selflessness； she would have thought only of the children then； would have concentrated on forting them； distracting them as much as possible from thoughts of death。 No doubt she leaned toward Nina； pulled her close； and in spite of the breath…stealing fumes； spoke into the girl's ear to be heard above the clamour： it's okay； baby； we're together； I love you； hold on to Mommy； I love you； you're the best little girl who ever was。 Shaking down； down； down through the Colorado night； her voice full of emotion but devoid of panic she had surely sought out Chrissie too： it's all right； I'm with you； honey； hold my hand； I love you so much； I'm so very proud of you； we're together； it's all right； we'll always be together。
In the Honda alongside the freeway； Joe could hear Michelle's voice almost as if from memory； as though he had been with her as she had forted the children。 He wanted desperately to believe that his daughters had been able to draw upon the strength of the exceptional woman who had been their mother。 He needed to know that the last thing the girls heard in this world was Michelle telling them how very precious they were； how cherished。
The airliner met the meadow with such devastating impact that the sound was heard more than twenty miles away in the rural Colorado vastness； stirring hawks and owls and eagles out of trees and into flight； startling weary ranchers from their armchairs and early beds。
In the Honda； Joe Carpenter let out a muffled cry。 He doubled over as if he had been struck hard in the chest。
The crash was catastrophic。 Flight 353 exploded on impact and tumbled across the meadow； disintegrating into thousands of scorched and twisted fragments； spewing orange gouts of burning jet fuel that set fire to evergreens at the edge of the field。 Three hundred and thirty people； including passengers and crew； perished instantly。
Michelle； who had taught Joe Carpenter most of what he knew about love and passion； was snuffed out in that merciless moment。 Chrissie； seven…year…old ballerina and baseball player； would never again pirouette on point or run the bases。 And if animals felt the same psychic connection with Nina that she felt with them； then in that chilly Colorado night； the meadows and the wooded hills had been filled with small creatures that cowered miserably in their burrows。
Of his family； Joe Carpenter was the sole survivor。
He had not been with them on Flight 353。 Every soul aboard had been hammered into ruin against the anvil of the earth。 If he had been with them； then he too would have been identifiable only by his dental records and a printable finger or two。
His flashbacks to the crash were not memories but exhausting fevers of imagination； frequently expressed in dreams and sometimes in anxiety attacks like this one。 Racked by guilt because he had not perished with his wife and daughters； Joe tortured himself with these attempts to share the horror that they must have experienced。
Inevitably； his imaginary journeys on the earthbound airplane failed to bring him the healing acceptance for which he longed。 Instead； each nightmare and each waking seizure salted his wounds。
He opened his eyes and stared at the traffic speeding past him。 If he chose the right moment； he could open the door； step out of the car； walk onto the freeway； and be struck dead by a truck。
He remained safely in the Honda； not because he was afraid to die； but for reasons unclear even to him。 Perhaps； for the time being at least； he felt the need to punish himself with more life。
Against the passenger…side windows； the overgrown oleander bushes stirred ceaselessly in the wind from the passing traffic。 The friction of the greenery against the glass raised an eerie whispering like lost and forlorn voices。
He was not shaking any more。
The sweat on his face began to dry in the cold air gushing from the dashboard vents。
He was no longer plagued by a sensation of falling。 He had reached bottom。
Through the August heat and a thin haze of smog； passing cars and trucks shimmered like mirages； trembling westward toward cleaner air and the cooling sea。 Joe waited for a break in traffic and then headed once more for the edge of the continent。
3
The sand was bone white in the glare of the August sun。 Cool and green and rolling came the sea； scattering the tiny shells of dead and dying creatures on the strand。
The beach at Santa Monica was crowded with people tanning； playing games； and eating picnic lunches on blankets and big towels。 Although the day was a scorcher farther inland； here it was merely pleasantly warm； with a breeze ing off the Pacific。
A few sunbathers glanced curiously at Joe as he walked north through the coconut…oiled throng； because he was not dressed for the beach。 He wore a white T…shirt； tan chinos； and running shoes without socks。 He had not e to swim or sunbathe。
As lifeguards watched the swimmers； strolling young women in bikinis watched the lifeguards。 Their rhythmic rituals distracted them entirely from the architects of shells cast on the foaming shore near their feet。
Children played in the surf； but Joe could not bear to watch them。 Their laughter； shouts； and squeals of delight abraded his nerves and sparked in him an irrational anger。
Carrying a Styrofoam cooler and a towel； he continued north； gazing at the seared hills of Malibu beyond the curve of Santa Monica Bay。 At last he found a less populated stretch of sand。 He unrolled the towel； sat facing the sea； and took a bottle of beer from its bed of ice in the cooler。
If ocean…view property had been within his means； he would have finished out his life at the water's edge。 The ceaseless susurration of surf； the sun…gilded and moon…silvered relentlessness of ining breakers； and the smooth liquid curve to the far horizon brought him not any sense of peace； not serenity； but a wele numbness。
The rhythms of the sea were all he ever expected to know of eternity and of God。
If he drank a few beers and let the therapeutic vistas of the
Pacific wash through him； he might then be calm enough to go to the cemetery。 To stand upon the earth that blanketed his wife and his daughters。 To touch the stone that bore their names。
This day； of all days； he had an obligation to the dead。 Two teenage boys； improbably thin； wearing baggy swim trunks slung low on their narrow hips； ambled along the beach from the north and stopped near Joe's towel。 One wore his long hair in a ponytail； the other in a buzz cut。 Both were deeply browned by the sun。 They turned to gaze at the ocean； their backs to him； blocking his view。
As Joe was about to ask them to move out of his way； the kid with the ponytail said； 'You holding anything； man？'
Joe didn't answer because he thought； at first； that the boy was talking to his buzz…cut friend。
'You holding anything？' the kid asked again； still staring at the ocean。 'Looking to make a score or move some merchandise？'
'I've got nothing but beer；' Joe said impatiently； tipping up his sunglasses to get a better look at them； 'and it's not for sale。'
'Well；' said the kid with the buzz cut； 'if you ain't a candy store； there's a couple guys watching sure think you are。'
'Where？'
'Don't look now；' said the boy with the ponytail。 'Wait till we get some distance。 We been watching them watch you。 They stink of cop so bad； I'm surprised you can't smell 'em。'
The other said； 'Fifty feet south； near the lifeguard tower。 Two dinks in Hawaiian shirts； look like preachers on vacation。'
'One's got binoculars。 One's got a walkie…talkie。' Bewildered； Joe lowered his sunglasses and said； 'Thanks。' 'Hey；' said the boy with the ponytail； 'just doing the friendly thing； man。 We hate those self…righteous assholes。'
With nihilistic bitterness that sounded absurd ing from anyone so young； the kid with the buzz cut said； 'Screw the system。'
As arrogant as young male tigers； the boys continued south along the beach； checking out the girls。 Joe had never gotten a good look at their faces。
A few minutes later； when he finished his first beer； he turned； opened the lid of the cooler； put away the empty can； and looked nonchalantly back along the sward。 Two men in Hawaiian shirts were standing in the shadow of the lifeguard tower。
The taller of the two； in a predominantly green shirt and white cotton slacks； was studying Joe through a pair of binoculars。 Alert to the possibility that he'd been spotted； he calmly turned with the binoculars to the south； as if interested not in Joe but in a group of bikini…clad teenagers。
The shorter man wore a shirt that was mostly red and orange。 His tan slacks were rolled at the cuffs。 He was barefoot in the sand； holding his shoes and socks in his left hand。
In his right hand； held down at his side； wa