Chapter Seventeen Claire
Chapter Seventeen
Claire
The higher we soar, the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.
—FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
Today I don’t mind being alone in my crash pad. I don’t mind that I haven’t been called out yet. I wonder whether I’m going to need this extra recovery time to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling after every trip, or if it’s only because I flew with Nathan yesterday.
Angel might be right about his attraction to me. Right before our go-home leg, we shared a gaze that made me panic. I blurted out “Home, James” to send him up to the cockpit and create needed space, but now that I know the origin of the phrase, even that feels too personal.
Maybe I imagined it, but no other pilots have bought me cake and serenaded me horribly over the PA. No other pilots have looked at me as if they wanted to see inside my soul. My own boyfriend hasn’t even done that in a while.
I feel guilty for comparing the two, but if Wyatt would simply call, then I’d focus on him.
And he hasn’t. Not even last night when I texted to tell him I’d made it back to my crash pad safely and that I ended up having a good birthday because the first officer bought me cake and the whole plane sang.
I wonder if Wyatt would have called if he’d known I’d been flying with Nathan.
Now I’m wishing Angel were here so I could share this with her. Plus, I need to hear more about the guy she’s dating. I’m hoping she can put my mind at rest. Maybe it’s not about age gap but about sharing the same stage of life.
If Angel were here, we could also do yoga and Pilates together. She has an app on her phone that offers thirty-minute routines. I followed along in one of her workouts even though I could teach the class. I might as well do one myself since I’m here and healthy again.
I pull on some leggings and roll my yoga mat next to the wall by the fireplace so I can use it for leverage. I’m upside down with my toes on the wall and only my forearms on the floor when I hear the other bedroom door creak open. I guess I wasn’t alone after all.
Since I’m facing the wall, I can’t tell if it’s Vivienne, Brittany, Sparrow, or someone I haven’t met yet.
“Headstands strengthen your upper body, build your core, improve digestion, stimulate blood flow to oxygenate facial cells, and help release endorphins.” Sparrow evidently.
“Want to join me?” I ask my robotic roommate with the whimsical name.
“I can’t. I’m still recovering from whiplash sustained in severe turbulence on my last flight.”
Whiplash? I tuck my chin, round my spine, and roll forward to a seated position to stare in shock. But Sparrow has disappeared.
With all my concerns over germs on airplanes, I never really considered the possibility of head injuries.
I guess if flying across a stage en pointe is dangerous, then so is flying at thirty-two thousand feet.
I hope my roommate is covered by the company’s insurance for an on-the-job injury.
Also, I clearly need to do more headstands for some of those endorphins she was talking about, because the talk of injuries gets me down.
The front door squeaks open, and since I’m sitting directly in front of it, I’m hit by a blast of cool air.
A thirtysomething Black woman with flawless cornrows looks down at me in surprise.
She’s wearing a flight attendant uniform, as if she just got off a trip, but her red jacket and matching sparkly lanyard tell me she must work for a different airline.
“Who are you?” she demands, obviously forgetting she lives with nine other people.
“I’m Claire. I’m doing Pilates,” I say apologetically. “Who are you?”
“I’m hungry, that’s who I am.” She closes the door, parks her luggage in the middle of the living room, and heads toward the kitchen.
Sparrow pops her head out of her room. “Her name is Journey.” She vanishes again, and I can’t help wondering if she really sustained an on-the-job injury or just gives herself whiplash with all her disappearing acts.
The refrigerator door seal slurps open.
“Did you eat my cheese, Claire?” Journey yells. “I know you’re new here, but you’re not supposed to eat anybody else’s food.”
My eyes widen in alarm. I don’t remember eating cheese, but her accusation makes me question if I’m a sleepwalker and thus ate her cheese without remembering.
My brother once moved his car in his sleep, but I feel if my subconscious were to desire food, it would be the leftover ramen Brittany had in the fridge.
It made the whole apartment smell rich and savory last night.
“No.”
“Sparrow,” Journey shouts, “did you eat my cheese?”
Sparrow pokes her head from her den, and I don’t blame her this time. She’s prepared for a quick getaway. “I threw it in the garbage when I was cleaning out the refrigerator. It expired last week, and the dangers of eating spoiled cheese include nausea, diarrhea, stomach cramps, and fever.”
“It wasn’t yours to throw out.” Journey stomps to the doorway and plants a hand on her hip. “What am I supposed to eat now? I’ve been up since three a.m. Eastern and eaten nothing but first-class’s leftover overnight oats.”
“Well, you shouldn’t eat expired cheese.”
I think of yesterday’s grilled cheese sandwich and how it satisfied. Journey needs to be satisfied to save us all. “I made granola,” I offer.
Journey turns on me. “Didn’t you hear me say I already ate oatmeal?”
See if I offer to feed her again. I don’t need my hand bitten off.
She whirls, and I hear the fridge slurp open again. “Whose ramen?”
“Brittany’s.” Sparrow answers without fear. She’s braver than I thought. “But as you already pointed out, you’re not supposed to eat anybody else’s food.”
“My girl won’t mind.” The microwave beeps.
I jump to my feet, roll up my mat, and escape to my room. I don’t want to be a witness in case Brittany does indeed mind. Good luck to any muggers who want to steal Journey’s purse and scratch her retinas.
My gaze slides toward the window. It’s gray out but dry. Perhaps I’ll see if Nathan really meant the offer of taking his dog on a run.
I hope this is the house Nathan pointed out to me.
It’s blue with white trim and black shutters, like he said.
The roofline makes a perfect triangle over three upstairs windows, a redbrick fireplace sticking out from the middle.
The entrance adds character, positioned asymmetrically on the left side under a white archway with an old-fashioned lantern hanging above.
The place is surrounded by trees and shrubs, so the leaves must have been raked recently, leaving the small yard cleaner than that of neighboring homes.
I climb a couple of cement steps and knock on the black door.
A dog barks, confirming I’ve come to the right place, but now I’m questioning whether this is the right time.
Sure Nathan offered, and I am scared to run around here by myself, but after that look he gave me yesterday, I could be leading him on.
I’m not here because I appreciate his attention, am I?
I groan and turn away. We’ll both be better off if he’s not here. What are the chances of a pilot being home anyway? He’s probably flying.
The door behind me clicks. My breath hitches.
I turn to find a man wearing safety goggles, covered in bits of white Sheetrock and balancing a sledgehammer over his shoulder. “Nathan?”
He slides the goggles up, mussing his short hair in all directions but revealing the dark eyes I’ve come to recognize. Today they lack their usual glint of humor. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t expect you.” His tone sounds strangely dry.
I glance past him to find a gorgeous goldie watching us with tail wagging. I smile. At least he’s happy to see me. “Is the offer to walk your dog still good?”
He blinks a couple of times, then steps back, opening the door wide enough for me to enter.
The place is a blank canvas. For its age, it offers an unexpectedly open concept.
There’s a set of stairs at the back and an island designating the kitchen area.
Other than that, there’s nothing but a recliner and television.
“You going for the crew lounge look?”
He chuckles, then studies his own home. “All it needs are a couple of posters about safety and credit cards, huh?”
This is a side I haven’t seen of him. At work he’s perfectly polished. Here he’s rugged. There’s even a bit more scruff on his chin.
I look away, propping my lower back with my hands because they need something to do. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
He shrugs. “I’m just knocking down walls.”
“Where?” There are no walls to knock down.
“Upstairs. I’m turning two bedrooms into a gym since I won’t need them anytime soon.”
I wish we had more bedrooms in my apartment. “No crash pad roommates here?”
“No children.” He looks away.
The sentiment stops me. From the conversations I’ve had on trips, I’ve gathered that most airline crew either don’t want children or come into the industry already having them.
Parenting would be extra challenging when being away from home so much.
Sadly, it sounds as though Nathan wants kids, but he has nobody to start a family with.
His heart must still be broken over Joey. They’d been engaged. They’d planned a life together. How egotistical of me to think that in just over two weeks he might be more interested in me than in the woman he loved.
I offer an encouraging smile. “Not yet.” Just because I had to give up on my dream doesn’t mean he has to.
His chest rises and falls. Then he swings his sledgehammer to the floor to rest it against a wall and heads toward a closet door.
The goldie pads after him, tongue hanging out.
He retrieves a leash. “Wanna go on a walk, Maverick?”
The dog might as well have been flying a jet with how fast he runs toward me, then back to his master. I hope I can control him and not end up like Goose in Top Gun.
“Sit.”
Maverick sits.
Okay, I can handle him.
Nathan clips on his leash and hands it to me. “How far are you going?”