Chapter 12
Hank’s head felt as if someone was chiseling it apart. He opened an eye to find the morning light blinding him through his bedroom window. Looking down, he realized he was fully dressed, including his shoes. He was going to kill O’Donnell next time he saw him.
Why did they drink so much whiskey?
Rory Belmont. That was why.
He squeezed his eyes shut. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world.
Rolling over, he picked up the milky white card on his bedside table with gold print inviting him to Aurora Belmont’s birthday gala, a benefit for the Pilots’ Benevolent Association to be held at the Waldorf on July twenty-first. Major Fleet handed out the invitations himself, saying he received them from Major Belmont.
He told them he expected every one of them to attend.
Hank didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, not that he could do either in front of Major Fleet.
It had only been a week since he last saw her.
Despite his determination to let her go, the woman had arranged a goddamn gala in honor of an organization he invented, all to get his attention.
As if she didn’t already have it. As if he could think of anything else after that night on the roof of the Flatiron building.
It was unbelievably reckless and more than a little flattering that she would go to such lengths, but the risks were too great.
What did she hope to accomplish by inviting him to a grand affair where everyone would be watching?
Yesterday, after the invitations were handed out, O’Donnell immediately turned to him and waggled his eyebrows.
The moment they were dismissed, O’Donnell’s onslaught began and didn’t end until Hank spilled everything to him in a bar over far too much whiskey.
Well not everything. He refused to provide details of what happened that night at the Flatiron, but O’Donnell drew his own conclusions.
Christ. He’d gone and told the biggest gossip he knew his biggest secret.
Sure, O’Donnell had sworn he wouldn’t tell a soul. “I’m your friend, you big oaf,” he said. “I’m not going to let you or her get in trouble because of me. Besides, you’re going to need my help if you want time alone with her at this shindig.”
“How do you figure?” Hank asked, already dreading the response.
“You’ll need an alibi when you sneak away, someone who can swear you left for reasons wholly unrelated to Miss Belmont. You wouldn’t want people drawing conclusions when the two of you sneak away at the same time.”
It was a fair point but not one Hank was ready to concede. “There will be no sneaking away. It’s too dangerous. There will be no gossip because nothing will happen.”
“Really? She’s throwing this whole party for you, and you’re going to turn her down? On her birthday?”
Hank had a momentary vision of sneaking away from the party to a quiet hotel room, stripping off her evening gown, and making love to her until dawn. And it would be making love, not fucking. He felt altogether too much for her, which made it all the more important that he stay away.
“I’m not going to let her get disowned on her birthday.” He emptied his glass.
Signaling the bartender for another round, O’Donnell said, “And you don’t think she’ll have a plan to avoid getting caught? Besides which, do you really think she’ll let you refuse?”
And that was why he drank an ocean of whiskey last night. He wanted her and couldn’t have her and couldn’t say no.
With a groan, he put down the invitation and sat up. His mouth tasted like a distillery. Still. He had to pull himself together. At 1 p.m., he had to fly the mail to Philadelphia. It was already—he grabbed his alarm clock and squinted at it—eleven thirty.
He got up and stumbled into his pristine kitchen, filling the percolator with water and coffee, turning on the gas range.
As he fried up some eggs and bacon, he thought about how well his bachelor’s life suited him. He was quite capable of keeping house, gardening, and cooking his own simple meals without assistance. It was a good thing, too, because as he told Rory, he had no plans to settle down.
If only it wasn’t such a lonely life. Not that he couldn’t find female companionship when he wanted it, but what would it be like to be with someone who truly understood him—someone like Rory?
He shook his throbbing head. If he was having thoughts like that, he must not have been entirely sober yet.
Five minutes later, he sat down at his compact kitchen table with his coffee and giant plate of hangover food. The caffeine, grease, and salt did their magic, and he was able to look out the front window at his blooming pink roses without wincing.
But try as he might to focus on his food, he couldn’t stop thinking of Rory.
What would it be like if she was a nobody like him and they could be together?
Instead of waking up late and hung over, he would have woken up early with her in his arms. He’d cook her breakfast because he couldn’t imagine Rory being domestically inclined in any universe.
She’d kiss him goodbye as he went off to a responsible job that paid him well and didn’t require him to risk his life.
If she wanted to work, she could, but she didn’t have to.
He’d come home in the evening to her abysmal attempt to make dinner. They’d laugh over it, and he’d cook up some simple steak and potatoes, maybe with some home-grown carrots on the side. After dinner, he would take her to bed and make furious love to her until they were sated and exhausted.
On weekends when the weather was nice, they would go to the airfield and rent a plane, enjoying the thrill without the risk and discomfort of going up in all weather, year-round.
Maybe she would get her pilot’s license, though the thought of Rory terrorizing the airspace above Long Island was somewhat frightening.
Children would come eventually. The thought of a tiny Rory running amok around the neighborhood made his heart ache—a little daredevil, just like her mama, jumping off ledges, climbing tall trees.
Maybe he would finally finish his engineering degree and start his own aeronautics business like a responsible family man.
Who knew airplanes better than him? He could build something of his own instead of working for others.
The kids would be proud of their Pops. Rory’s face would shine with pride.
It was an idyllic picture, he thought to himself, scooping up the last of his breakfast with a piece of toast. It was also impossible.
Her father would never allow it, and even if he did, she wasn’t interested in anything more than a bit of fun.
She said so. Not that it mattered, because he was perfectly content as a bachelor.
He looked at his kitchen clock. Time to call Kate.
He walked over to the living room and picked up the phone.
It was lucky the house was wired already when he moved in.
Most of the other houses weren’t yet. Kate was standing at a pay phone, he knew, so he had to be precise about what time he called.
The farm was unlikely to get wired anytime soon.
“Hello, operator?”
“What number, please?”
“I’m placing a long-distance call to Michigan. It’s Grand Rapids 5-9354.”
“Just a moment. Let me connect you.”
He heard a crackling noise and then ringing. “Hello, Hank. Is that you?”
It was always a relief to hear Kate’s voice on the other end. “Hi Kate. It’s me.”
“It’s so good to hear your voice.” That was always the first thing she said, but he felt the same way.
“You too. How are the boys?” The last time he saw them, they were three and five. Now they were four and six and he was willing to bet, inches taller than the last time he saw them.
“They’re making me pull my hair out, as usual. Pete says he wants to be a pilot, just like his Uncle Hank. He climbed onto the roof with cardboard wings. Jeremiah—that’s my husband—had to go up there and get him down.”
Hank laughed. “He’s just like me. I’m so sorry, Kate.”
“He’d love to see you.”
Hank ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I’ll come out. I promise.”
“Soon?” He could hear a touch of hope and a lot of disappointment in that single word.
“Soon.” He really did need to buy those tickets. “How’s Ma?”
“She twisted her ankle out in the barn and now she’s laid up. She’s driving us all nuts. You know she’s never been one to sit still.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she heals soon. For all of your sakes.” He fiddled with the cord, not sure what to say.
“How have you been, Hank? Have you been staying safe?”
He thought about what he had been up to and lied once again. “Always,” he said softly. “Things have been good for me. The weather has been cooperating, so the flights have been easy. I’m looking forward to some nice fall breezes when summer comes to an end.”
“Met anybody special?”
So they were going to have that conversation today. Kate always was persistent when she wanted information out of him.
“What makes you think I’d tell you if I did?” he asked with a smirk.
“Oh, so there is someone? When there isn’t, you just say ‘no one.’”
Damnit.
“Yes. Fine. There’s someone, but it’s hopeless.” It felt good to unburden himself, even if he couldn’t share details.
“She doesn’t like you?”
“She likes me just fine. Her parents don’t like me.” That’s an understatement.
“Ah. Tricky. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to win them over. Who can withstand a Hank Hawley charm campaign? Speaking of which, Suzie Green still asks about you.”
“If she’s waiting on me, she’s going to wait a very long time.” Suzie Green. There was a name he hadn’t heard in ages. They dated for two months in high school, and she left him for George Simpson. It seemed she might have regretted her choice. Well, it was too late now.
“I’ll let her know you’re taken. Does this mystery woman have a name?”
What harm was there in telling? “Her name is Rory, and she likes danger as much as I do. Maybe even more.”
“Oh my. Then it’s serious between you?”
How to answer that… “I’m not sure.”
“Because of the parents?”
She was too perceptive by half. “Mostly.”
“What does that mean?”
It means she’s throwing me a gala at the Waldorf, but I still don’t know if she wants anything more than a fling.
“It means I’m not sure.”
“Well, Hank, you’d better work on getting sure. You’ll never convince the parents if you don’t convince yourself.”
This conversation was not helpful. “How’s Jeremiah doing?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“How is Pete doing in school?”
“Hank.” There was a long pause. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll find out when you call me up to say you’re married.”
“Katherine, if I ever get married, and that’s a big ‘if,’ you will be at the wedding. And don’t get your hopes up about me marrying Rory. It’s not going to happen.”
“We’ll see.”
“Listen, Kate, I have to go, or I’ll be late for my flight.”
“Fine. Same time next week?”
“Yup.”
“Goodbye, Hank. And good luck.”
“Thanks. I need it.”
He hung up and drove to the airfield, wondering exactly how charming he’d have to be to convince Major Belmont to let him court his only daughter.