Such a Rush (23 page)

Alec laughed into the phone. And even though he clearly had been bullshitting his mother about how things were going, his laugh sounded genuine. It started as a low manly rumble and ended in a higher cackle like a little boy, cracking up and not caring how he sounded because the joke was that funny.

While laughing, he’d moved his mouth away from the phone again so he didn’t hurt his mom’s ears on the other end of the line. He took the opportunity to suck in another quick drag from his cigarette before he told her more somberly, “That’s Grayson’s problem. You’ll have to ask
him
about that.”

They chatted for a few more minutes about the weather, it sounded like, and the temperature of the ocean, and whether the beach was crowded, while Grayson taxied his plane closer.

Finally Alec said, “I will. Love you too. Bye.” He pocketed his phone.

“Your mom called to check on you?” I asked. “That’s sweet.” I said it like I was teasing him, but I really did think it was sweet. My mom didn’t call to check on me.

Alec nodded toward the approaching red Piper. “Checking on Grayson. There’s something wrong with him.”

“Of course there is,” I said. “Both of y’all have been through so much in the past few months.”

Alec sucked in smoke and huffed it out his nose. “Yeah, Dad died and Jake died, but I’m still the same person I was at Christmas. Grayson isn’t. He had to go to counseling for impulse control when we were kids. They taught him to grip his fist really hard to keep himself from doing or saying something he’d regret later. Like this.” He made a fist and squeezed until his hand turned white, just like Grayson did. “Mom and Dad would make him do it at the dinner table when he interrupted the conversation or tried to steal all the rolls. He would
never
do it unless they made him. And nine years later, have you seen how often he’s doing it?”

He shouted these last words as Grayson parked his plane next to ours. The engine cut off. Grayson jumped down from the cockpit and strode across the tarmac toward us.

“Put that garbage out,” he told Alec, sounding exactly like Mr. Hall. Not his imitation of Mr. Hall, but Mr. Hall himself, annoyance and superiority behind those gruff words.

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Alec’s comment was harsh, but his tone was mild. As he said it, he stubbed out his cigarette on the asphalt and stood. He tossed the butt into the trash can at the corner of the hangar, then walked back to me. “See you on the other side.” We bumped fists, and he jogged toward the yellow Piper without another word to Grayson.

Grayson sat beside me in Alec’s place. “
You’re
not smoking, are you?” he grumbled.

“Not anymore. Your dad made me quit.”

“Really?” Grayson seemed surprised. “Why?”

Alec started his engine. I waited for him to turn his plane and taxi toward the far end of the runway, engine noise fading, before I explained. “Your dad said it took him thirty years to quit and he was going to save me the trouble. This was back when I was still paying him for lessons. I told him he couldn’t tell me what to do, and he refused to take me up unless I quit.”

Grayson said knowingly, “You could have faked quitting.”

“He would have smelled it,” I said. “My hair is large and aromatic.” For emphasis, I ran one hand through my back-to-normal curls. Grayson wouldn’t have believed my real reason for quitting: I had made a promise to Mr. Hall, and therefore I had kept it.

“Do you ever want one?” Grayson asked.

“No. Sometimes I think I do, and I start one, but it’s been more than three years since I finished one. I didn’t want to sit out here and watch Alec smoke, but… no, I don’t want one.” Something in Grayson’s hungry tone made me ask, “Do you?”

“Yes. I’m like”—he inhaled deeply through his nose—“ahhhh, secondhand smoke.”

“When did you quit?”

“Saturday.”

“God!” I exclaimed. “No wonder you’ve been acting that way.”

Tiny on the opposite end of the runway, Alec took off. Molly lost her hold on a banner and chased it through the grass on a breeze, which was picking up ahead of the approaching storm.

Finally Grayson said, “Alec and I both were smoking more because of the stress, I guess, and it got out of hand. We agreed
to quit because thirty years of smoking was part of what killed Dad. Alec’s having a harder time than I am.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “I would think
you’d
have the harder time.”

“Why?” he asked flatly.

“Alec says there’s something wrong with you. You’ve changed.”

A new engine started up. In front of the airport office, the Admiral was getting ready for his afternoon flight.

Grayson said quietly, “I changed that day I crashed last December. I’d never been scared before. Never. I’ve been scared ever since.” He sounded so uncharacteristically solemn that I turned toward him.

He still didn’t look at me as he continued, “I understand cause and effect now. Life was more fun when I didn’t, but I can’t undo it.”

At the far end of the runway, the Admiral had finished his run-up of the engines. He raced forward and sailed into the air, sweeping toward us and then away, headed for the sun.

“There’s something wrong with Alec, though,” Grayson said. “I’m doing all the brainwork for this business. It’s like him to be worry-free, but it’s not like him to trust me.”

His phone rang in his pocket. He drew it out and glanced at the screen, then answered it. “Hello, this is your favorite son. May I help you?” His imitation of Alec was dead-on, both the words and the teasing tone of his voice.

I didn’t offer to walk away and give Grayson privacy for his phone call with his mom, like I had for Alec. I wanted to hear this.

His tone returned to normal: a pleasant voice. A radio voice, as in a DJ rather than a pilot, not too high or deep,
friendly with just a hint of the sarcasm under the surface, waiting.

“Everything is going great,” he said. He didn’t have a cigarette to fidget with like Alec had, but I heard him playing with a rock, tapping it on the hard tar beside him. “No, that hasn’t been a problem, because I planned it out before, remember?” The rock tapped faster as she said things he didn’t want to hear.

Finally he tried to interrupt her. He was imitating Alec again. “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mo-
ther.
The business is running just as smoothly as when Dad was here.”

I looked at him incredulously before I realized what I was doing.

His eyes darted to mine and away. He reared back and hurled the little rock he’d been tapping. I followed its trajectory across the sunny tarmac. It sailed a long time, bounced on the asphalt, and kept going. I couldn’t see where it went.

“Okay,” he said. “Love you too. Bye.” The instant after he pressed the button to end the call, he turned to me and said angrily, “It
is
running just as smoothly as when Dad ran it, because when Dad ran it, it didn’t run smoothly at all.”

He probably suspected again that I’d figured out his secret by listening to his conversation with his mom. I hadn’t. All I could hear was how worried he was. About what, I had no idea.

“I didn’t say anything.” I stood to duck inside the hangar and snag a drink before taking my last flight of the afternoon. “By the way, thanks for feeding me today. And yesterday.” I paused. “And Sunday night.”

He shrugged. “I’m just doing what Dad would have done.”

“He fed his pilots?”

“Yes, because they were hungover.”

Alec and I were
not
hungover. Grayson had made sure of that. He was just ensuring I had enough to eat after he peeked inside my empty refrigerator. I didn’t want to discuss this any more than I’d wanted to tell him I couldn’t drive. But I didn’t want him to think I was naive, either. I was about to tell him I knew why he was feeding us.

He tilted his head to one side, the blond curls beneath his cowboy hat moving against his shoulder. “You looked really beautiful last night. I do like your hair better now, curly, but it was pretty last night too.”

“Ha-ha,” I said.

“And you look sexy when you dance.”

I put my hands on my hips. He probably thought I was trying to look sexier. I put my hands down. “I told you yesterday. It’s enough for you to make me date Alec. You can’t insult me too.”

He gaped at me. “I’m not insulting you. How is that insulting?”

“You’re being sarcastic.” I wasn’t sure whether this was true.

“I’m
not
being sarcastic.”

“Well, you can’t make me date Alec and then compliment me, either,” I said.

“It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact. You looked beautiful last night, and you looked great dancing.”

This was how things had started with Mark a few weeks ago. We’d been talking in the airport office about a job flying with his uncle, and suddenly he was asking me out.

Except that Mark had not been blackmailing me.

And when Mark had told me I was beautiful, I’d felt flattered. I hadn’t experienced this rush of pleasure through my body, my face flushing, my skin tingling like sunburn in the heat. I hadn’t fallen for Mark’s line like I was falling for Grayson’s. I hadn’t felt stupid.

“Are you coming on to me?” I asked sternly.

He lowered his shades on his nose and looked over them at me, his big gray eyes serious. “Considering your reaction, I guess
not.
”

“You can’t come on to me and make me date Alec.”

He pushed his shades back up so his eyes were hidden. “I have to make you date Alec.”

“Then stop talking to me.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath and tapped his tightly balled fist against his mouth.

The airport was eerily quiet, no airplane noises at all, no traffic noises this far out from town, just bugs screaming in the long grass.

Finally I said, “Exhale.”

He let out his breath in a long sigh, his broad shoulders sagging with it.

“You’re having a hard time,” I said gently.

He nodded, gazing at the sky.

“I’m sorry.” I closed the two steps between us and put my hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch or shrug away, I rubbed his shoulder in a comforting way. I
meant
the gesture to be comforting, anyway, but I was distracted by how hard and muscular his shoulder was. And then I noticed that chill bumps popped up on his skin.

I was so confused about what he intended. But if I’d asked him for a straight answer, I doubted he could have given me one. He was confused himself.

It was time for me to fly, and there was no room for confusion in the cockpit of an airplane. Sliding my hand from his tight shoulder, I grabbed my drink from the hangar, then walked to the orange Piper. Grayson sat there watching until I took off.

This time
I didn’t bother to stand on the toilet and check my look in the mirror over the sink. My sympathy for Grayson had faded. Now I was only fed up with him for coming on to me but making me date his brother. Fed up with Alec for playing along. Fed up with Molly for dragging me to this party. Also, I’d already worn my one clubbing dress and rinsed it in the sink. It hadn’t dried yet. Whatever I wore next would be inappropriate. If Molly was going to force me to a party where the girls would call me trash, and Grayson was going to treat me that way, I would dress the part.

I chose a pair of shorts that were too small a couple of years ago and obscene now that I’d grown a few inches taller. Molly, who had good fashion sense except for the glitter, would have told me that if I was showing that much leg, my top should be more demure so the whole outfit wouldn’t be overkill. I went for overkill with a tight, low-cut knit shirt. I ventured into my mother’s catastrophe of a closet for a pair of stilettos.

I wasn’t waiting for the boys outside my trailer this time. I listened for Alec’s car, then made my grand entrance down the wobbly cement-block staircase, watching their expressions. I couldn’t read them, really. They both stared at me openmouthed. Alec said something without taking his eyes off me. Grayson said something back. He jumped out of the front seat, left the door open, and slid into the back. Normally he would have focused on his phone again immediately, but he watched me cross the yard.

I slid into the car beside Alec. My shorts rode even higher on my thighs. You’re welcome.

I was so exasperated with everybody that I hadn’t even thought the whole night through. But when I walked with the boys into the café, suddenly I was embarrassed. Molly’s mom and dad hugged me as warmly as always. To judge by their reactions, I might as well have been wearing footed flannel pajamas. I was embarrassed anyway. It was almost like dressing this way for a flying lesson with Mr. Hall, which I
never
would have done.

And then, when Molly walked from the kitchen into the café, she cackled. “Jesus Christ, girl, you really
don’t
want to go to this party.”

“What do you mean?” Grayson asked her.