Skid

  “Thanks.” Lucy smiled and tried to take deep yoga breaths, but it felt like her heart might punch through her breastbone. She covered her chest with her hands.

  “Are you feeling ill?”

  Ill. No, she wouldn’t claim that for herself. “No, I’m feeling excitable.”

  The flight attendant returned with a cup of water. “How are you feeling? Cooler?”

  “Yes. And happy.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to talk herself out of the idea that she had just heard Jeff’s voice reply to a blonde with hair like silk. It was a figment of her imagination. A negative energy burst caused by the guy on her left with the permanent frown marks between his eyebrows.

  She turned toward Hank and felt a peaceful warmth fill her. “Tell me why you like life.”

  Jake continued to flip page after page in the SkyMall catalog, though he wasn’t focusing much on what one could purchase at forty thousand feet. Strangely, he missed his parents. His father was killed in a car accident when he was eighteen, then two years later his mother succumbed to a cancer she’d fought for five years. He’d mourned deeply, then decided to move on. That’s what they would have wanted him to do.

  But he felt a sense of solitude that made him think about why he’d taken this gig. He had nobody to rely on but himself, no parents to ask for money or wisdom. A sense of self-survival, of desperation came over him as he slumped in his seat, his hands casually entwined over his belly.

  The man sitting next to him looked over. He had a round, wide face, and bulging eyes. His hair, oily and scraped to one side, made him look older than he seemed to be. Jake guessed midforties, but he was never good with ages. When he waited tables and a group of women came in for cocktails, his worst fear was that one of them would ask him to guess their ages. He’d purposefully go low, but he still usually offended someone. Once, to be safe, he told a lemonade-guzzling woman she didn’t look a day over twenty-seven. Turned out she was nineteen—a nineteen-year-old who smoked and whose forehead creased like an accordion with every expression. They’d tipped a measly five percent.

  The man next to him said something, not noticing or caring that he was listening to his iPod. Jake unplugged himself.

  “They’re late. Again. When are they going to figure this thing out and get us where we need to be—on time?” said the man. His voice was too small for his body.

  He stared at Jake, waiting for a response. “Yeah.”

  “It’s called professionalism. There’s no storm outside. We waited ten minutes for that chick and her boyfriend to board, probably because she couldn’t find the right color lipstick, you know? Meanwhile, the rest of us have to wait.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be in the air—”

  “I’m a pilot myself.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I pilot the Global High Airship.”

  “Interesting.” Not.

  “Those guys up there,” he said, nodding toward the cockpit, “they’re just a bunch of airborne computer operators. My ship, it’s all about skill and talent. You get hit with a burst of wind in a blimp and it can kill you. One hundred and fifty-two feet long, sixty-eight feet high, thirty-seven feet wide. Seventy thousand cubic feet of helium, my friend.” Helium Head had a flair for drama, since Jake knew nonflammable helium was only dangerous in the hands of boys who wanted to sound like girls or bands who were bored to death on the road. The man droned on. “It’s six inches taller than a 747. Anybody can fly a plane, but there’s nothing like hovering over a baseball stadium, you know?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Name’s Eddie.” Eddie waited. “Yours?”

  “Jake.”

  “You gotta have a bladder of steel, man.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Those guys are up there sipping their coffee, probably reading a book or two when they’re in the sky. I can be up in the air for six hours, no bathroom breaks. There’s no bathroom in my gondola.” Eddie then conceded that the Fuji Blimp, which he made a goal to fly one day, came complete with a bathroom and six passenger seats.

  Jake nodded, smiled in a way to convey that he didn’t mean it, then began putting the buds back in his ears.

  Eddie, though, kept talking. “How many pilots do you think work for this airline alone?”

  “Ten billion.”

  “There are only a hundred and fifty blimp pilots in the world. That’s one-five-o. More people have flown the space shuttle.”

  Jake wondered if they all came with an inferiority complex like this guy. Eddie was the Toyota Yaris of the aviation world. No matter how fuel efficient it was, there was no getting around the fact that it could be crushed like a soda can by a midsized sedan. The vividly colored Yaris, its only impressive attribute in Jakes opinion, had nothing on the colorful personality beside him.

  Jake noticed Eddie’s sweater. Pinned above his chest were aviation wings—except it was only half a set. No wonder the guy had a complex. One lonely wing: can’t go airborne without a lot of hot air.

  As Eddie described the time he nearly had to land on Virginia Beach during tourist season, Jake rolled his head toward the aisle. Maybe when the flight took off, he could find an excuse to sit elsewhere. Closer to the bathroom might be a step up.

  Then again, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  Chapter 10

  Have you ever pulled a circuit breaker for the beacon light?” James asked. He’d been quiet for a total of one and a half minutes. Danny wished the captain would tell him to shut up, but strangely, she seemed not to notice.

  To Danny, James sounded like white noise he couldn’t turn off, especially after the five-minute explanation on why Ann Coulter was hot. That opinion confirmed that he would not be going out to dinner with James when they landed in Amsterdam. Usually the pilots, sometimes accompanied by the flight attendants, found a restaurant near the hotel. Danny liked going with the group. Interesting conversations usually emerged. With James, though, it was hard to tell what would emerge.

  “You know you can do that, right?” James asked. “It’s especially helpful in Amsterdam, where they can fine you a bazillion dollars for turning it on too soon. So you pull the breaker and the beacon light on top doesn’t show, but it starts logging flight hours. You know, when you’re, like, stuck at the gate forever. Once you push back, you just plug it back in, the light goes on, and all is well.”

  Danny glanced at the captain. She was busy writing something on a sticky note.

  Everyone knew this. They normally didn’t talk about it.

  The airline had been having trouble with breaker pulling since the pilots took gigantic pay cuts after 9/11. A memo went around telling everyone to stop turning their beacons on early, so a few pilots figured out the breaker trick.

  Admittedly, Danny had been tempted. His pay cut seemed to be at the core of his problems lately. He never actually pulled the breaker himself, but he hadn’t objected once when it was done, especially since the captain had done it.

  On this flight, though, he didn’t think that would go over well. Captain Brewster-Yarley seemed unpredictable when it came to acceptable and not. Danny respected her for making James apologize for the pig comments, as she seemed to have a certain level of morality. But she also drugged the pig without informing Anna Sue.

  Now, though, she studied the maps and seemed oblivious to the conversation.

  GiGi came to the door. “We’re ready.”

  James grinned. He didn’t say anything, but his face did, and Danny prayed it wouldn’t come out of his mouth, whatever insult he was about to let fly.

  “All right, secure the doors and prepare for takeoff,” the captain said.

  “Finally,” growled GiGi, and she left, slamming the cockpit door.

  James laughed as he stood and secured it. “You gotta love the Slam and Clicks.”

  “You keep saying that,” Danny said. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s the sound they make when they slam the
cockpit door and it clicks. The Slam and Clicks.”

  Danny cut his eyes sideways to his female captain. That sort of line was the kind of insult you lived to regret for a very, very long time.

  “Just do me a favor,” Danny said. “Don’t call her that to her face, okay? Chucky and Old Man Felon are already making this an interesting flight.”

  James grinned and nodded toward the captain as if to say, Don’t leave her out of the equation.

  Danny sliced his hand across his neck like his mom used to do when he started to say something inappropriate. James put his hands by his face and shook them back and forth, pretending to be scared.

  “What’s going on?” the captain suddenly asked.

  Danny rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t James just shut up? “Hey, I didn’t say it,” Danny said. “I call them flight attendants to their faces and behind their backs. James is the one who’s fond of nicknames.”

  James wasn’t pleased, and Danny felt like a fifth-grade tattletale. Then again, he didn’t want nine flight attendants mad at him either.

  “I’m talking about the cabin door. It just opened again.” She pointed to a glowing light on the console that indicated the cabin door was open. “Bubba, go find out what’s going on.”

  Danny climbed out of the cockpit to find Kim about ready to knock.

  “We just got orders to unarm the door,” she said.

  “Orders? We’re already behind schedule. Why are we waiting for another passenger? And unarming the door is at the discretion of the captain.”

  “I don’t know. No explanation was given.”

  Danny watched the Jetway. Who was it? Some celebrity? That was all he needed.

  A man the size of a twelve-year-old, with a thin mustache and strides too long for his legs, walked toward them, carrying a hard briefcase and an even harder expression. A laminated photo ID swung back and forth across his tiny chest.

  “Who is that?” Kim whispered.

  Danny wasn’t certain, but if it was who he thought, the sinking feeling in his stomach was about to last the entire flight.

  “…so I was the mime in the family. It was really great. I got to make the kids laugh but never had to speak.”

  It took every ounce of her energy, but Lucy focused on Hank and not the urge to stand, pretend to need the restroom, and spy on the back half of the cabin to see if that was really Jeff she’d heard.

  “I’ve never met a clown, at least out of makeup. What an interesting job.”

  “I enjoyed it very much.”

  “But you don’t do it anymore?”

  “No. My parents died in an accident, and my brother decided to sell the company so that we could all go to college.”

  “What did you major in?”

  “Indecision. I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I knew I loved cars, so I worked as a mechanic. Then my sister, who is a police officer, let me help her with an auto theft task force. I had to fly out to Las Vegas, and that’s when I realized I really liked planes. Now I’m flying on a plane.”

  Lucy snapped her fingers. “That’s right! See it, believe it, receive it. You know, Hank, don’t let it stop here. Why not own your own plane? Why not own your own airline?”

  “I guess nothing’s impossible with God, right?”

  “Nothing’s impossible, period. So many people are held back by fear. If there’s something you want out of life, nothing can stop you.”

  “Except a plane crash over the Atlantic. Sorry…I’ve been told I have a dry sense of humor.” Hank smiled. “Anyway, you gotta walk—or fly—by faith, not by sight.”

  “It’s the sight part that’s crucial, Hank. If you can’t see what you want, you’ll never get it.” She patted her book. “In these pages, Hank, is the power. The power to live a fulfilled and successful life. The power not to worry about who might or might not be on the plane.”

  “The pig looks pretty nice to me.”

  “Don’t let his good looks fool you.” Lucy blinked as she realized he meant the actual pig onboard. That made two of them. Her eyes filled with tears. As her cheeks dampened, Hank noticed.

  “Are you okay?”

  Lucy waved one hand in front of her face and laid the other on top of her book like she was about to be sworn in. “I’m getting there. My heart believes this, but sometimes my tear ducts don’t.”

  “It’s okay to doubt,” he said softly.

  “No, it’s not doubt. It’s not. I can see my happiness clearly before me. I see marriage. Three healthy kids. A four-thousand-square-foot home.” More tears fell. Her voice a tiny squeak, she whispered, “He’s back there.”

  “Lucy, you and I don’t know each other well, but I can guarantee that pig is not going to get you. Pigs are not violent.”

  “But they can be emotionally detached.” Lucy gave Hank a forlorn look. “I’m not talking about the pig that oinks.”

  “You’ve lost me if there’s a pig that barks.”

  “A lot of bark but no bite.” She laughed and wiped her tears. “I think my ex-boyfriend is onboard.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not sure, but I thought I heard him. He has this sort of scratchy, annoying voice. He was with a woman.”

  “Maybe you’re imagining it.”

  “No. My imagination is filled up entirely with positive energy.” She stared at the stark, plastic ceiling of the airplane. “But somewhere in the universe, a stream of negativity is pulling at me.” That was the only explanation for Jeff’s being onboard. That, or the fact that she and Jeff already had this trip planned, so he went ahead with it. As did she. She just didn’t think to bring anybody with her.

  She took a few deep breaths of the stale plane air, pungent like the smell of a portable toilet. See it. Believe it. Receive it. See it. Believe it. Receive it. The problem was that she couldn’t see Jeff, but believed he was at the back of the plane, and needed to receive confirmation that he wasn’t to keep her tears at bay.

  She turned to Hank. “Listen, you can relate, right? I mean, what would you do if an ex you just broke up with came on an airplane with someone else? You’d ask why, right?”

  “Personally, I’d ask Z.”

  Lucy smiled and looked into his ocean blue eyes. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

  “I think anyone would be curious. It’s a natural reaction.”

  Lucy stared at the seat in front of her, resolve building inside. “It doesn’t matter whether or not he’s on this plane. Whether or not he’s taking another woman on our trip. Whether or not she’s a fake blonde. Whether or not she’s a size eight trying to squeeze into a six. None of that matters to my happiness and the purpose of this trip. He’s not in my vision for my future. Not at all.” Lucy grinned. “You can feel it, can’t you? Neutrons buzzing around the positive energy we’re putting off?”

  “I don’t know. I’m getting a little annoyed that we’re still at the gate.”

  “Don’t let yourself go there, Hank. Nothing you can do will get this plane off the ground any faster. Enjoy this moment. Our moment.”

  Hank flagged down a flight attendant. “Any magazines available?”

  “Sir, as soon as we’re in the air, I’d be happy to—”

  “I might fall asleep, and I’d really like to get some reading done before I snooze.”

  The flight attendant blinked four times, then left to retrieve a magazine.

  “You should,” Lucy said.

  “Should what?” Hank asked.

  “Take full advantage of the service the flight attendants offer. That’s what we’re paying the big bucks for, right?”

  “That and fuel.”

  The flight attendant returned with Popular Mechanics. “Perfect!” Hank said. “Thank you. This is exactly what I love to read. You really know your customers.”

  The flight attendant smiled politely. “Enjoy.”

  “You know what?” Lucy said. “I think I’ll take a magazine too. Why not, right?”


  “Sure,” the woman said flatly. Lucy noticed the flight attendants were nicer to men, but she didn’t dwell on it.

  “You know,” Hank said, “it’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to be angry that someone didn’t treat you well. God understands. His Son, Jesus, was rejected and betrayed. Jesus allowed it, but He also prayed. And He forgave them.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m going to try another route.”

  Chapter 11

  Danny straightened as the man walked toward him. The suit gave him away as a fed. Air marshals used to have the same problem until they allowed their agents to dress casually; otherwise, the suit always gave them away since hardly anyone flew in suits anymore. This guy was no air marshal, but he was definitely with the federal—

  “Is he a…?” Kim trailed off as the man approached.

  “I was delayed by some very unprofessional security people,” the man said. “I’m Miles Smilt, and I’m a federal aircraft inspector. I will be accompanying you on your flight.” He spoke with a straight expression and a hint of superiority.

  “Right this way,” Danny said, gesturing toward the cockpit. He remembered the first time he flew with an aircraft inspector, or ACI, as they were known. The inspector came onboard bound and determined to cause trouble. He sat in one of the two jump seats, his long legs crossed to reveal one gray and one blue sock. It kept distracting Danny. He wondered how a man with mismatched socks could look so smug. The ACI had checked and marked and snarked his way through the eleven-hour flight.

  “You’re the captain?” Mr. Smilt asked.

  “That’s what her stripes say,” James inserted as they all gathered in the cockpit. Maybe James would be enough of a distraction that Danny wouldn’t have to worry about the ACI watching him. Thankfully, Danny was the relief pilot going, so all he had to do was stay in the jump seat and keep his mouth shut.

  “C. J. Brewster-Yarley,” the captain said, offering a hand.

  “I’m Miles Smilt, and I’ll be your ACI for this flight.”

  “Mr. Smilt, take a seat. And next time, make sure you board on time.”

  Danny sat in the jump seat across from Smilt, who cleared his throat but kept quiet. Danny put on his headset and waited for the captain to contact the ground crew, hoping they didn’t miss a procedural step. Without the ACI, it would be just another day in the cockpit. With the ACI, everything came under the microscope. The “sterile cockpit” rule was in order for sure. Most of the time, especially if they sat in a long line waiting for clearance to take off, pilots disregarded the sterile cockpit rule and chatted until takeoff. “By the book” meant absolutely no chatter besides operational until they’d cleared ten thousand feet.