Chapter 8
Chapter
“They’re just some pilots. Nothing scary.” I give the pep talk to my steering wheel as a plane takes off in the distance, soaring the length of my windshield before disappearing into the clouds.
I don’t know exactly why I agreed to come to this get-together. It’s not like I can join the club. The annual dues are more than a hundred dollars a month, and that’s only after a joining investment that’s multiple thousands of dollars.
But when George held out the offer, the chance to meet more people living the life I hope to grasp one day, I couldn’t keep away.
“I bet they’re all super kind and supportive and won’t judge me for only having flown three times in my life,” I murmur.
A tap on my window shocks a squeak out of me, and I glance over to see George leaning against the truck beside my car. His eyes are hidden by his shades, but I get the sense he somehow knows I’ve been talking myself through a bout of anxiety.
After another deep breath, I grab my bag and plate of spicy brownies, then push my door open. And I’m kind enough not to whack the man with it.
“Were you on a call?” he asks.
“No.”
“Who were you talking to?”
I will not blush. I will not blush. “Myself.”
George crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Do you do that a lot?”
“I find my conversation stimulating.” I attempt to cross my own arms and match him pose for pose, but the brownies make that impossible.
George watches my awkward arm flailing. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I end up cradling the dessert in my hands as if that was my plan all along. “Anyone who can’t converse with themselves is probably boring. If you don’t find your own thoughts interesting, then why would anyone else?”
The corner of George’s mouth twitches before he smooths it out. “Are you ready to talk to other people? I can’t promise none of them will be boring.”
They’re all pilots. How could they be boring?
I wave for him to lead the way, and George starts a slow stride from the parking lot toward a stretch of familiar hangars.
“You’re sure I’m allowed to come to this?” I ask, when what I really wonder is…
You really want to introduce me to your pilot friends?
But I guess want has nothing to do with it. I really need to sit Shawn down and tell him to stop guilting his best friend into doing things for me.
“I’m sure. You can come to two club events before you have to join.” He said the same thing at the diner. “The club is always looking for new members.”
New paying members, I’m sure.
And I’m also sure I won’t become one of those. Not because I don’t want to. But because of money. It always comes back to money.
We walk side by side, the wind tugging at my hair until I wish I had a hat like George to hold the short locks in place. As I push red strands out of my eyes for the fifth time in five seconds, a thought occurs to me.
Will anyone here recognize me?
As far as I know, Karl Newton has done his best to stomp out any indication that he has a second child. I’m sure just the fact that we share the same shade of red hair must aggravate him.
And the guy might have been successful sweeping me entirely out of his life if it wasn’t for Shawn. Maybe if the Newtons had given my brother another sibling, he wouldn’t have latched on to me so hard.
So this leaves the question: Who knows who I am and how I came to exist?
“Are any of these BBN people?” It’s a transportation company, after all. With a whole fleet of private jets.
George tilts his head in thought. “A few of the pilots in the club fly for BBN. Not sure if they’ll be here. No one from corporate, though.”
No one other than you, I silently add with a sigh of relief. The people in the cockpits of BBN planes would have no reason to keep up with the corporate gossip enough to know about one of the CEO’s illegitimate kid. I should be safe from those kinds of sneers.
We’re almost to the club hangar, from which I can hear the rumble of chatting voices and smell meat on a grill, when George stops me with a hand on my arm. When we face each other, he slips his sunglasses off, hooking them on the neckline of his Henley that fits entirely too well.
“These are good guys.” His gray stare holds mine.
“Cool.”
“You don’t need to be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I grumble, my fingers fiddling with the plastic wrap covering my food offering.
George’s lips tighten. What’s up with him? Does he think I’m going to be rude or something? He’s the one who’s always dismissing me.
“Just stay by me. I’ll introduce you.”
Does he think I need him to hold my hand? That I can’t handle myself in a group of strangers? I’m a pro at strangers. Serve them with a smile every day.
Or maybe he wants me close so I don’t embarrass him.
Like someone will ask how I know George, and I’ll reply, Oh, his dad co-owns a company with my dad.
Though calling Karl Newton dad is generous, seeing as how the man was so furious when he found out my mom was pregnant with me that he bullied her into quitting her job—where he was her boss—and then he’s spent the rest of his life trying to forget I exist. A decision I bet his business partner, aka Mr. Bunsen, was in full support of.
So I guess you could say our families know each other.
“Of course,” I say, affecting my bubbly waitress voice. “I’ll stick to you like glue.”
George’s brows furrow. He opens his mouth, then seems to rethink whatever he was going to say and continues on to the club gathering.
We ease into the BBQ mixer, swinging by the food table so I can set down my brownies among a whole stretch of cookout food.
I’m glad this is a casual hangout and not an official meeting because it means I can hold a drink instead of trying to find a place to put my hands while I talk to people. The ginger ale is my safety blanket.
“Tim is working on his pilot’s license,” George informs me after introducing me to a group of guys ranging in ages. They all appear to be cis white males, not that I’m surprised. I’m literally the only woman at this gathering.
Maybe that’s why George told me to stay close. Although that way of thinking doesn’t seem to pair well with his insisting that they’re all “good guys.”
I smile at Tim, who I’d guess is mid-twenties, like me. “That’s exciting. Is George your instructor?”
“Nah. I’ve been going up with Aden.” He nods to another guy in the group. “Only a few more hours of flight time, and I’ll be ready for my check flight.”
I enjoy chatting with Tim and Aden for the next half hour about which routes they’ve flown and how Tim has performed on the different skill tests.
Our group grows and re-forms. George disappears at one point only to show back up with a guy at his side. He introduces me to the tall white man with suntanned skin, who only appears a touch older because of the handful of gray strands snaking through his blond hair.
“This is Vernon Roswell,” George explains. “He’s the president of the club. He was also my instructor, ten years ago.”
“Don’t tell her that!” Vernon gives George’s shoulder a friendly shake. “She’ll think I’m ancient.”
“If the worn shoe fits.”
Vernon scoffs and pretends to elbow his former student in the gut. George chuckles, and the sound surprises me.
He’s relaxed around Vernon. The two of them must be close.
This is probably how George and Shawn are when I’m not there.
“It’s always nice to have fresh faces in here, Beth. Don’t let this grumpy ass scare you away.” Vernon gives George a hearty backslap before letting his hand drop. “I’m tired of looking at the same old ugly mugs. It’s nice to have a pretty view once in a while.”
My smile that came so easy a moment ago feels brittle on my face now.
I don’t want these men to think of me as a pretty view.
But from the way the others throw lighthearted jeers Vernon’s way, I get the sense he’s always making these kinds of jokes. And maybe the descriptor wasn’t because I’m a woman. Maybe he would’ve said the same thing if George had brought Shawn along.
Still, I can’t help thinking his voice sounds similar to the one from that voicemail. I guess I’ll know for sure if he starts calling me “sweetheart.”
While Vernon is busy regaling a group of guys my age about his ability to spin some aerobatic airplane for ten revolutions and get out of it no problem, I slip away, murmuring a vague comment about food.
Aerobatic planes don’t really interest me, and I still have a lingering bad vibe, as well as a suspicion that the club’s president might not have changed since I was nineteen.
When my plate is full, I aim back toward Tim and Aden, the two of them seeming happy to chat about ground school and what I should expect.
“I think I still have a few of the study manuals I used in my trunk. You want them?” Tim jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward the parking lot.
“Seriously? You’d give them to me?”
He grins. “You’d be doing me a favor. My car is a mess. The more I can get out of there, the better. Though I can’t promise a mouse hasn’t made a nest in one of them.”
“That’s fine.” I find myself smiling back, at ease around this down-to-earth guy. “They can be friends with the mice that keep sneaking into my basement.”
Tim laughs loud.
Suddenly I feel a heavy presence at my back.
George. I know without checking. Still, my body demands I glance over my shoulder at the man. Just to take in how good he looks in his casual clothes.
Damn him for still being handsome.
“You want to grab them now?” Tim asks, pulling my attention back to the group. “I’m about to head out.”
“Grab what?” George asks, his voice stiff.
“Some study materials,” I explain, reaching out to drop my empty plate in the trash. “Tim’s giving me his old books.”
George flicks a look between us. “I have some. I can give you mine.”