“You act like I’m a pariah and can’t find anyone for myself,” I exclaim. “I agree we should take a trip. Not to go man hunting, though. There’s so much I want to see and do there.”
Her thumb hovers over her cell. “Are you sure about Caleb though? You could be done with this tonight. He’s really good at it, and everyone knows he holds a torch for you. I bet he’d be gentle and loving.”
“Should I puke on your lap or hold it in my mouth? I’m a grown woman. I refuse to share a man with my best friend. Why do you sleep with him if you know he holds a torch for me?”
She widens her eyes like I’m daft. “I just said, he’sreallygood at it, Caroline.”
“That’s all it is then? Just sex for you? Has it ever been something more?” Merely kissing Tahoe electrifies my body. I thought that was normal. When his hands are on me, I forget planet earth exists. It’s beyond a craving. The longing didn’t disappear when his love did. There’s no way I’d have that kind of luck. I dream about him touching me. Holding me. Kissing me. The dreams feel surreal and I always wake with frustration that morphs into sadness.
“Well, I guess it’s for the company. I’m not like you. I’m not happy in a spinster tower all by myself with only airplanes on my brain. I like having someone to talk to.”
“Why not a boyfriend, then?”
She hops down and dusts her palms on the sides of her jeans. “Too much work. I never said I want to be tied down.”
I sort a stack of paperwork on the desk, completely distracted by my thoughts and tell Shirley to call Malena to finish the party planning. That’s one good thing I have learned about a break up. Your friends feel bad for you so you can ask for things without having to reciprocate. I may have underestimated that facet in the past. She agrees, tells me she might have Caleb keep her company tonight and leaves the office. By the time I finish paying bills and returning emails I’m enraged with the thoughts racing back through my mind. How Tahoe barged in and took exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. He punched me where it hurt. My hometown. My life. The Homer property. Crick’s Beach. Hangar five. My heart. I’m not sure which is more complicated. Losing yourself to a man or finding yourself because of one.
I’ve put on a good front for my parents, only telling them tiny bits of truth when asked point blank, but mamas always see the things we try to hide. She handed me half a pie, pulled out two forks and demanded to talk about airplanes. Using my love of airplanes as a distraction technique is one thing, but I know she hears more about aircrafts from my father so it clued me in to her intuition. She never did ask what happened between us. Maybe her super powers extend to that too and she already knows.
I make a visit to one of the hangars on the property that we do the large projects in. It has extra space for builds and rebuilds. It was decked to the nines for my high school graduation party, lights strung across the ceiling like wild stars in the sky. One Christmas long ago my daddy built a dollhouse in here. He thought he could hide it from me in the remote back corner, but even then I wanted to be exactly like him. I followed him, quiet as a field mouse, and snuck in behind him to find the glorious present. It was the last year I believed in Santa Claus. And the first year I realized just how much he loved me.
Sitting in a dusty wooden chair, I try to erase my current pain with happy memories of the past. It works for a little while, and no one would ever look for me here, but the loneliness gnaws at me. That might be the worst part of almost having something spectacular. Being a part of something. Having someone to share everything with. Never feeling alone even when you are. The worth in that is something no one appreciates until you’ve tasted it for yourself. And then lost it. When the nostalgia wears off and Tahoe fills all of my senses, I grab my bag and run to the closest aircraft. I need to fly. Get into the air—among the clouds. The technical aspect forces me to dwell on things that are easy for me. Gauges, wind speeds, and things that are second nature. It doesn’t take me long to maneuver onto the wide runway and get the plane in the air. It might even be a record. I’m too upset to check. My mind is fixated on one thing: rewind and erase. Like those old VHS tapes you could record shows on. One accidental move and you’d clear the whole thing without the ability to recover. I’m begging whoever will listen for that accidental move.
Some might call what I’m doing running away. I always come back. The thought of leaving for good crosses my mind every time I reach the furthest peak of a short fly. It’s almost as if I can feel my borders and boundaries even if I don’t truly have any. He pressed me forward. Challenged me to look at things in a way I never considered. Nothing holds me back except myself.
It happens then. The stark realization of my inadequacy in checking and double checking everything. The clouds wrapping my airplane are a sinister hue, the wind a foe of the worst possible caliber. The sun, my only friend at the moment, even looks wrong. My stomach turns and flips as emergency procedures trickle into my awareness. It happened so quickly.
Then again, that’s how all disasters happen, isn’t it? I prayed for an accident, now I better start praying I live through it.
Chapter Eighteen
Tahoe
The phone call from Aidan is brusque, the information delivered in a matter-of-fact way. I’m used to that. Rarely does it affect me, but suddenly I can’t breathe—my chest motionless because of the shock. The call for help came as we were unloading our gear from the airplane to the trucks. We flew back to Bronze Bay using our private plane. There’s only one in which we can all fit. Now that we have a contract with May’s Airfield we flew straight here. I was on pins and needles with the intent of going to see Caroline the second I stepped on land. Support staff carry cumbersome pelican cases from the hold and stack them in the truck beds as I take stock of my own bags.
Aidan was loading up his stuff when he received the phone call from our base. An airplane crash. It landed on an island off the coast of Bronze Bay and the SOS system is down with a clear visual of smoke rising at the place of impact. It’s her. I know it is. Even if they didn’t say names, they mentioned the type of aircraft that was missing from the airport, and connecting the dots was easy after that. The rain falls down in an angry tirade, the drops pelting the side of my face. Why would she fly in this? Where was she going?
“Tahoe you stay here. We’ll take the boats from the base over to the island with the fire department,” Leif says, overhearing the conversation that is spreading like wildfire among our surly, tired pack. It’s been one hell of a mission. Admitting to being out of practice would be the same as admitting defeat. My muscles are coiled with annoyed rage, and I’m pretty sure even my bones are crying out in protest. All of this doesn’t touch the drowning sense of dread I feel right now. Caroline.
My cell rings in my pocket. It’s Shirley. She’s squealing into the phone, her voice a panicked version of a hysterical cat. “I just landed,” I state calmly, trying to let her know I can’t solve anything that quickly. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll figure it out,” I reply, trying to keep my voice even. “We’re getting all of the information right now.” I cover the mouthpiece of my cell while she cries in the background.
“I’m not staying here,” I respond to Leif. “There’s no fucking way I’m staying back.” Does he know me at all?
“You don’t even know if it’s her,” he replies, slinging the response over his shoulder as he organizes the masses in front of us, doling out instructions and tasks.
I shrug. “If it’s not her it’s even more reason for me to come. You’re not keeping me here,” I say, shaking my head. I let go of the mouthpiece to talk to Shirley who finally mentioned something that piqued my interest. “What did you say?” I ask.
“She texted me. It only said Shell Island. It is her,” Shirley says in between sobs. I ask when she heard from Caroline last and she says she was at the airport with her earlier today and then just the text message. I ask a few more questions, and I promise to take care of everything. Even if it’s the hugest lie in the history of deceit.
My focus shifts. Caroline is okay. She made it if she could send a text message. She has to be okay. I’ve made my decision. The only decision that matters. One of the trucks is in my line of vision. Without thinking twice, I hop into the cab and tear out of there as quickly as humanly possible, skidding around on the dirt road like one of those assholes in the drifting movies.
All caution is thrown to the wind as I dismantle every rule I’ve ever formed for myself. Always use care and caution. Nope. Don’t take anything too seriously. That’s out the window too. Keep it light. Nothing has ever felt heavier. I just returned from weeks of hunting bad guys. A task that is just as complicated as it is difficult. SEALs are tapped to do these types of jobs for a reason. We’re the best at it. The irony that I suck harder than a hoover vacuum in my personal life would be funny if it wasn’t so awful. I see two other trucks in my rearview driving just as reckless as I am. The rain tames the dust making the visibility better. By muscle memory, I pull into my usual parking spot and throw the truck in park. I jog through the parking lot to the office, the rain soaking the rest of my uniform. It’s torrential at this point so even my boots are sloshing each step I take.
Aidan greets me as I blaze into the doorway. “The boats are started. They’re waiting for men,” he says coolly, his palms outstretched. He’s trying to pacify the beast.
“Anything else? Any other updates?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “The fire department loaded their equipment and they are ready. The rain will work to our advantage. Hop on the second boat, brother,” Aidan says.
