did he carry on his person — watches , rings , good luck charms ? She didn ’ t know . When she was a girl he ’ d never even talked about getting on a plane . All around her she witnessed the spasms of grief , the uncontrollable tears and animal wails , glassy eyes and slackened jaws , but didn ’ t feel moved to such reactions herself . Her father had raised her alone after Mom ’ s passing , but that didn ’ t mean he ’ d mothered her .
They were in the hospital room when she ’ d died . Cancer . She ’ d suffered . Neda sat on her father ’ s lap . Where a piece of tape had one held an oxygen tube , there was a patch of residue on her mother ’ s cheek . Neda wanted to lick her thumb and clean it .
“ There ,” her father had whispered . “ Did you see ? Mommy ’ s an angel now . She ’ ll watch over you from heaven . I ’ ll protect you down here .”
Theirs became a quiet house in her absence , almost a chilly house , which Neda knew to be grateful for , but didn ’ t adore . At some point in the years that followed , her father became his stiff upper lip , the kind of father remembered as a good provider . Neda would mourn him quietly , as he ’ d once taught her to mourn .
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The crash was ruled a catastrophic failure of the fuel system . By this time , most of the identifiable remains had been turned over to the families , and people had been leaving the site for weeks . The investigators couldn ’ t identify anything that belonged to Ed Fleming . Neda checked out of the motel and drove to Caruthers to put his affairs in order .
She left Highway 41 south of Fresno and navigated the unlined roads through vineyards and orchards to the mouth of their long driveway . Rooflines in the distance , set back inside the trees and vines , the flatlands going all the way to the brown haze , heat and dirt in the air . She parked beside the flowering pear tree her father had planted the year after Mom died , located the spare key in the garage freezer . The house smelled of dust and dry rot . On every surface in the kitchen , the cabinets , the fridge , windows and doors , Post-It notes were stuck with the Irish word for the thing in her father ’ s square handwriting . Some had lost their stick and lay curled on the floor . She wondered if he knew they spoke