Chapter 7 #2
“Then you know what you need to do, don’t you?” Ellen looked up at me, her expression filled with empathy but also with a no-nonsense clarity that cut through the fog of indecision that had clouded my mind for weeks. “Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.”
I didn’t respond, but her words echoed in my head as we continued working, the comfortable silence stretching out between us.
By the time the engine purred to life beneath our ministrations, the decision I’d been wrestling with felt clearer than it had in days.
Patrick had been apologizing, sure, but I hadn’t seen any real understanding in his eyes.
He still thought this was about one bad day or one misstep on Alyssa’s part.
He didn’t grasp the systemic way he had let me down, over and over again.
“Thanks, Ellen,” I said finally as we cleaned up our tools.
“For what? Teaching you something you already knew?” Her smile was teasing, but there was warmth there too.
“Sometimes we just need someone to remind us.” I glanced toward the hangar doors where the afternoon light filtered through, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. “I should probably get going. There’s still a museum to run.”
“And a husband to dodge,” she added with a knowing smirk.
“And that too.” I left the restoration area with a lighter heart than I’d had that morning, knowing that despite everything, I wasn’t alone in this.
There were people who saw me, who respected what I brought to the table without needing to repackage it or take credit for it.
As I walked back through the museum, past the displays that chronicled the history of an industry I loved, I made myself a promise: no matter what happened with Patrick, with Holbrook Aviation, I would never again let anyone make me feel like I had to diminish myself to fit into their story.
This museum, this work, this legacy was mine, and I’d protect it with everything I had.
But the moment I reached my office, my computer chimed with an email.
My first thought was Patrick trying another avenue to reach out to me, to bridge the gap between us that needed time, not effort.
Yet, the moment I sat down behind my desk, I found myself staring down a whole new problem that had absolutely nothing to do with my marriage or Patrick.
The subject line said it all: “I’m Sick!!!”
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach.
This wasn’t from Patrick, and it was a more urgent matter.
I clicked it open, bracing myself for what I was already certain I would see.
While I had been working and talking with Ellen, one of my tour guides apparently became violently ill.
He went home before he could tell anyone.
I didn’t fault him for that, but now we had a tour group that needed to be handled.
There was no one to fill in, no back-up plan because I hadn’t thought I needed to have one for this time of year.
Schools usually didn’t plan field trips this late in the school year. This one had slipped in under my radar.
I drummed my fingers against the desk, glancing at the schedule for the next week.
My entire volunteer roster was stretched to its limits thanks to the new summer exhibition, and now I was supposed to just wave my hand and make something appear.
I let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing my temples in a way I’d picked up from Patrick, a habit that felt bitter to acknowledge.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself, determined to solve this. “I guess I’m giving a tour.”
I only had minutes to change out of my coveralls before the school bus pulled up outside.
The museum was about to flood with curious children, eager eyes, and endless questions.
My phone vibrated again in my pocket as I buttoned my blouse, my fingers rushing to make sure I at least looked somewhat professional. It was Patrick.
I ignored the call. I didn’t have time to deflect another apology right now.
Instead, I stepped out of my office and prepared to face the challenge head-on, like I always did.
Because that’s what people like me did: we stepped in when things fell apart, even when no one else seemed to notice.
I wasn’t invisible, even if sometimes it felt like it. And these kids would know it, too.
As I greeted them at the entrance, forcing a cheerful tone that felt just out of reach, I reminded myself that I had built this place with my own hands.
My name was on the foundation of the museum, both figuratively and literally.
It didn’t matter what Alyssa did at Holbrook or how Patrick failed to see the cracks in our marriage.
I had something here, something real. And I’d protect it at all costs, even if that meant being the tour guide on short notice.
But as I led the group inside, I reminded myself that this was why I did what I did at the museum.
While most of these kids would barely remember today by the time their summer vacation started next week, there might be that one kid who would be inspired.
Maybe that one child would realize, as I had many years ago, that flying wasn’t just a dream for the extraordinary.
It was a world that belonged to anyone who had the passion to reach for it.