Chapter 2
SAMANTHA
“If this baby could talk,” he teased.
“No kidding.” I laughed. “If it could talk, it would tell me to get far, far away. I put this old girl through some hell.”
“That’s what she’s made for.” He chuckled. “This plane is a workhorse.”
I inspected the engine that we had recently rebuilt together. It was in beautiful condition. The hundred and fifty horsepower engine was one of the best in small planes, in my opinion. It was enough to go but not too much to learn to fly on.
“Has the carb given you any trouble?” I asked.
“Nope. This baby runs as smooth as the day she was born.”
I laughed at the idea. “Your other child. Are you going to do the paint or leave it?”
He rubbed his jaw. “You know, I thought I wanted to update the paint and make her look shiny and new. Then I thought about preserving the original. What do you think?”
I stepped up to the plane and ran my hand across the door. “I would say the paint is about an eight, maybe an eight and a half. It’s in remarkably good condition. I think keeping it as-is would be okay.”
“I thought I wanted to make it different but I guess I’m feeling nostalgic,” he said.
“Me too,” I said. “I have a lot of fond memories in this baby.”
“She was good to you,” Dad said.
I stared at the plane that I felt was a part of our very little family.
He used to take me up in the little two-seater all the time.
After Mom died when I was ten, we both leaned into the flying thing.
I couldn’t explain it, but it was our escape.
I loved being in the sky. It was like being just a little closer to my mom, who Dad assured me was in heaven.
“This plane will always be my favorite,” I said. “I know she’s not fancy, but I love the simplicity of her.”
“Amen. Now let’s get lunch,” Dad said.
I took one last look at the plane sitting in the hangar before following him out. He stopped and let out a long whistle. “Look at that bad boy,” he said.
We both admired the DA 62. It was shiny and new and probably cost close to two million dollars. It was a beautiful plane, but I liked the old-school Cessna. Although it would be nice to take the Cadillac of small personal aircraft up for a spin.
“Unless you have a money tree growing in the backyard, that gets to be admired from afar.”
“Eh, I like my old girl just fine,” he said, grinning.
We headed for one of our favorite restaurants in Warrington. The humidity was doing its thing today. My blonde hair was usually bone straight. Today, I actually had a bit of a curl. I sucked down the glass of water before reaching into my purse for a hair tie and pulling my hair up into a ponytail.
“Are you doing anything this weekend?” he asked me.
I wanted so badly to say yes. I wanted to tell him I was going out with a good man and we were going to spend the weekend together. Unfortunately, my weekend plans included laundry, yardwork, and maybe an exciting new book. I wasn’t exactly living footloose and fancy free.
“Nope. Never. I should probably start shopping for my spinster outfit and collecting cats. I’m officially on the shelf.”
He laughed because he thought I was joking. I wasn’t joking. I was serious, but I wasn’t going to burden him with my drama.
“Hon, the right man is out there.” He pointed out the window. “You have to be out there to find him. You spend too much of your time under the hood of a plane.”
It wasn’t exactly an accurate statement, but I knew what he was getting at. “You’re probably right,” I sighed. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I think I might have made some wrong turns in life.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked with confusion. “You’re doing a job that very few people get to do, and even fewer women. Getting to inspect and work on fighter jets is pretty impressive for a young lady of just thirty years.”
“Maybe, but it does nothing for my love life,” I pouted. “I’m around other mechanics or flyboys all day every day. Most of them hate me on principle and assume I’m a diversity hire. The other ones are intimidated by me and run the opposite direction.”
“You don’t need to date a flyboy,” he said. “Those guys are just not for you. Why don’t you go out? Go to a club or whatever.”
“I think I missed my club window,” I said. “I’m thirty. Thirty-year-olds don’t do the club thing. At least not the ones I know.”
“The right man is out there,” he said.
“I don’t know. I’ve had exactly two boyfriends in my life.”
He snorted. “There’s been more than that.”
“I’ve dated a few others, but I would never call them boyfriends.
And those relationships didn’t work because I traveled too much.
One of the guys was convinced I was cheating on him with the men I worked with.
I just can’t seem to win. Yes, I know I’m feeling sorry for myself.
I just keep wondering if I should have chosen a different career. One that wasn’t so man heavy.”
“Most ladies would choose a career for that reason alone.” He laughed.
“Until they figured out it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be,” I muttered. “They’re either looking at my boobs and wondering if I accidentally stumbled into the hangar or trying to find a way to discredit me.”
“I doubt all of them are like that,” he said.
“No, the good ones are married and have been trained well.”
He laughed again. “The right man exists. You’ll find him. I have no doubt in my mind you’ll find him when you’re not even looking. That’s how true love happens.”
“Or I could make a Tinder profile,” I said.
He wrinkled his nose. “What the hell is that?”
“Dad, come on. You’re not that old. You know it’s the online dating app.”
“That’s just not a good idea,” he said with a shake of his head. “You just wait. The right man will show up soon enough.”
“I hope you didn’t want grandkids,” I said with a heavy sigh.
Thankfully, my dad was used to my moods.
I would often get down and out before he reminded me it was not so bad.
I was so grateful to have such a good relationship with my father.
I didn’t really have any girlfriends. I had acquaintances, but I traveled a lot and had very little in common with most women.
I’d met some female pilots and I would say we got along, but I couldn’t call them at two o’clock in the morning because I spilled wine on my favorite dress.
“I’m not worried about that yet,” he said. “You do whatever makes you happy.”
He was Switzerland. He was always encouraging me and staying neutral whenever I had a problem. He was both mom and dad. He had to be the good guy and bad guy, which was why he usually went with neutral.
The waitress delivered our burgers and fries along with a bottle of ketchup. As I took the first bite of my burger, my phone vibrated in my purse. Because my work was kind of a big deal, I almost always answered. I had to.
“Sorry, Dad,” I said.
He bobbed his head while chewing. “Go ahead.”
“This is Sam Reid,” I answered in my professional voice. Didn’t we all have a phone voice?
“Miss Reid, my name is Laura Swisher. I got your name from a mutual acquaintance. I work with the Blue Angels. Have you heard of them?”
I didn’t live under a rock. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We’ve had a situation with one of our inspectors for the team,” she explained.
“Inspector?”
“Mechanical inspector,” she clarified. “I know this is terribly short notice, but we’d like to offer you a contract to finish out the year with the team.
You would be responsible for providing the final inspections for each of the jets prior to practice and shows.
The team has a busy schedule and travels the country. ”
“You want me to be the mechanical inspector for the Blue Angels?” I repeated while looking at my dad.
His eyes widened. I knew he was probably feeling the same thing I was. My head was spinning, and my heart was pounding. But I didn’t understand why they would be calling me. They were the Navy. They had thousands of trained mechanics and their own safety teams to do this kind of thing.
“Yes. I reached out to a few friends and you come highly recommended. You already have the clearance and the experience.”
“You want me, a civilian?” I asked again. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to talk myself right out of a very good job. A dream job. Getting to touch those Hornets would be one of the many fantasies of my childhood coming to life.
“We need someone that isn’t afraid to irritate a commanding officer,” she said. “We need someone who will put safety first. Safety is our priority. We cannot have a mishap. Your reputation is one of being by the book and take no prisoners. You’re our first choice.”
If I wasn’t careful, I was going to float right out of my chair. My dad was sitting across from me making all kinds of goofy faces. “Take it,” he whispered.
I cleared my throat and tamped down the excitement. “I would love to take the job.”
Dad fist-pumped the air and stomped his feet. I quickly gave the woman my email address to send over the necessary paperwork. I thanked her and hung up. I was in shock.
“Please tell me that wasn’t a prank,” Dad said.
I shook my head. “No. That really happened.”
“You’re going to be working with the Blue Angels?” he asked breathlessly.
I nodded. “I guess so.”
“You deserve it,” he said with a huge smile. “This is your moment to shine. You always wanted to be a jet pilot. Remember all those posters you had in your room? And how many times did you watch Top Gun?”
“Well that ship sailed, but I’m so pumped about this chance.”
“Are you going to be part of the team?” he asked. “You’ll be flying in Fat Albert?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She is going to send me all the information.”
My dad and I went to the show in Pensacola every year.
We loved all things that flew. Planes were our favorite because we couldn’t very well go out and buy a jet.
I knew jets though. I had been a private contractor for years and often went to Miramar and Pensacola to inspect the jets and offer insights, but I had never gotten close to the Hornets that were a part of the Blue Angels fleet.
“Congratulations,” Dad said. “You’ll have to tell me everything. And get me a picture.”
“You know I can’t get pictures,” I said.
“You’ll be traveling to shows, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then you’ll be able to snap some pictures on the runway at least,” he said. “I’m so, so proud of you baby girl. You deserve this. You’re amazing.”
“Thanks, Dad.”