6/11/2023 0 Comments What remains radziwillAfterward I tried to find something to explain what had happened - was it cloudy, were the stars out? But the night was ordinary. I hung up the phone and opened the book I was reading and an hour later she was dead. One they'd made many other weekends, from a small airport in New Jersey to the islands off Massachusetts - a well-worn ninety-minute path up the coastline. I was staying in her house, their house, on Martha's Vineyard, with my husband, and they were taking a simple trip. It was a short conversation, because I was going to see her the next day. "We'll fly to the Vineyard tomorrow, after the wedding. While we were still making plans, before they took off from Caldwell, New Jersey, she called me from the plane. A quiet night, unremarkable except for the fog, which rolls in and out of New England like a deep sigh. A still, hot summer day had melted into a warm and sticky night. She was sitting behind him next to the only other passenger, her sister, Lauren. His wife, Carolyn Bessette, was my closest friend. The pilot was my husband's cousin, John Kennedy. It was reported in the news as 9:41, but I knew the general time, because I had spoken to the woman less than an hour before. Three weeks before my husband died a young couple smashed their plane into the Atlantic Ocean, off the Massachusetts shoreline, well after the mid-July sun had set.
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