Donna Weaver didn't look at the leaden Atlantic Ocean below. Fighting a three-headed monster of fear, mourning, and nausea, she didn't dare. Donna hated flying in even the largest jets, and this tin can hurtling above the Bahamas -- a claustrophobia-inducing cylinder stuffed to capacity with nineteen passengers and a couple of pilots -- was barely a plane. But the journey to Andros Island had to be made. It was time. After more than 21 years, it was time. She was finally going to her... More >>>