High Flying

by Kaylin McFarren

  He didn’t know she’d overheard his comment, and even if he had, Skylar doubted he would care.

  “Come on!” Skylar’s grandfather shouted from downstairs. As usual, he was vexed and impatient to leave. “I’ve got an important meeting to go to.” He passed his hand over the thin strands of hair combed across his bald head and clamped on his black cowboy hat. Skylar slipped her show ticket into her shirt pocket and tucked Roxy’s presents into her backpack. Then she followed him outside, climbing into his silver El Dorado. They didn’t speak during the entire ride to the fairgrounds. Instead, she watched him steer recklessly with one hand, while talking non-stop on his cell phone.

  After arriving at the main entrance, Skylar joined the growing line and handed off her folded ticket. She bought a large bag of popcorn with extra butter and found her seat in the bleachers. Throughout the afternoon and into the early evening, spectators came and went, but Roxy never showed up. She watched squadrons, fighters, and dozens of war planes perform acrobatic stunts in the sky. She oohed and aahed with the rest of the crowd, but the day didn’t have the same magic without her best friend sitting next to her, sharing in all the excitement.

  What could have happened to make her change her mind? Did her father prevent her from coming?

  The family she sat next to welcomed her boisterous enthusiasm. They shared crazy stories and performed cheesy antics, making her laugh. When the show ended, they even offered to drive her home. But of course, she had to refuse. Her grandfather’s driver picked her up in his black BMW. That way her grandfather didn’t have to adjust his all-too-important schedule.

  “Your chariot awaits,” Señor Vasquez said. He swept his hand toward the open car door and called out, “Did you have a good time?”

  “The best,” she replied, not wanting to admit it was far from the truth.

  After arriving home, Skylar fully expected to see her grandfather seated behind his mahogany desk in his library, but the wood-paneled room stood empty. Instead, she found him pacing in his elegant living room. He was holding the landline phone inches away from his ear, looking more cross than usual. After noticing her standing nearby, his glare made Skylar want to be any place but there.

  “Should I leave?” she said quietly and started to back out of the room.

  Surprisingly, he waved her over and abruptly handed her the phone.

  She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, ‘Who is it?”

  He waved his hand dismissively and stormed out to the balcony, collecting his lit cigar on the way.

  Skylar was hesitant to speak. “Hello?” She was half expecting Roxy to be on the other end of the line, explaining why she hadn’t bothered to show up. However, it was a man’s voice—Roxy’s father, Cesar Capellan, and he was mad. She was so startled that it took a few minutes to understand what he was saying.

  “Why haven’t you returned my calls? I called your grandfather’s phone three times today! Didn’t he tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Skylar said. “But I just got home.”

  “You just got home?” he mocked. “My wife and child were carjacked this afternoon! They were on their way to see you! I didn’t even want them to go, but they did. All they cared about was not disappointing you.” His voice shook with anger.

  “I…I don’t understand. What…what do you mean? Are they all right?”

  “I said they were carjacked! Do you hear me?” His voice cracked when he said, “They were…both shot.”

  Skylar gasped.

  “They’re dead! My wife and daughter are dead!”

  Around her, everything stopped. Skylar couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. “It can’t be true. It just can’t.”

  “Roxy asked for you…over and over again,” he said, barely audible. “Why didn’t you call? Didn’t you wonder where she was? Why didn’t you check on her?”

  Skylar tried to sit down, but it was more like a stumble and fall that left her in a trembling heap on the floor with the coiled phone cord stretched around her. Disbelief, anger, nausea and sadness. She had so many thoughts running through her head, in fact, that her mind ached and her body physically hurt—everywhere.

  It couldn’t be true.

  “They’d still be alive if it wasn’t for that goddamn airshow,” he snapped. She felt the sting of his words, as if she’d been slapped senseless. But Mr. Capellan wasn’t finished with her yet. “It should have been you and your goddamn grandfather. Not Sophie…not my Roxy. They didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. And believe me, he knows it.”

  What did he say? It should have been me? Skylar’s temper rose from her stomach to her chest to her head. “No, it should have been you!” she screamed. She slammed the phone onto its cradle, nearly breaking it.

  Using the edge of the couch, Skylar pulled herself upright. She stared at the Horses Stampede painting above the mantel, blocking out the how of it, the why of it. Roxy’s death was simply an awful thing that had happened. A thing she could put in a box and tie with a string. She tucked this little nugget—this packet of dreadful information—into a mental vault and locked it away. Rubbing her forearms, she stared down at the brown woven carpet at her feet with its red swirling pattern leading nowhere. She was done crying, done with self-hatred, done with all the fucking “what ifs” in her life.

  Her grandfather walked into the room, blue cigar smoke trailing behind him. “I should have warned you. That guy is a total nut case.” He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and softened his voice. “Don’t let anything he said affect you. Roxy was a real nice girl. I know you’re going to miss her terribly.”

  “Why didn’t you answer his calls? He told me that he called you three times. That Roxy kept asking for me. I could have said goodbye.”

  “My secretary held all my calls this afternoon and I didn’t check the messages on my cell phone until I got home. So I had no way of knowing about your friend—”

  “You always check your messages.” Skylar looked in his eyes. “Always.”

  “Well, I didn’t today. I was in a shareholders’ meeting all afternoon. Then Marie Alvarez arrived and brought her personal banker with her. They had never seen working treadle machines before and wanted to see the new production line for our garment bags before—”

  Skylar cut in. “Mr. Capellan said you knew…that you had something to do with Roxy and her mother dying. Why would he say that? Were you involved?”

  “No, of course not! That’s preposterous! I’m telling you Cesar Capellan is insane. He’s just a miserable, angry has-been. A loser who wants to blame someone for all the tragedy and misfortune in his life.”

  Unbelievable. Skylar pushed past her grandfather and headed upstairs to her room, refusing to hear more. But the “what ifs” were back, leaving her seething. If her grandfather had checked his messages. If she had her own phone. If Roxy hadn’t insisted they go. If she could have only said goodbye.

  After sitting down on the edge of her bed, Skylar pulled the two wrapped boxes from her backpack—the precious gifts Roxy had given to her. She debated on what to do with them. Her best friend wanted her to wait…to open them together. But now she was gone and only these two boxes remained.

  Skylar swallowed hard before opening the small one. Inside was a gold airplane lariat necklace, the perfect present for someone who wanted to be a pilot. But now Roxy would never see their dreams realized. Her hands shook slightly as she fastened the fine chain around her neck. She looked into the mirror on her desk and realized it was the same view Roxy had shared just twenty-four hours ago, when Skylar was slow to forgive her for the heartache she had caused. How stupid and pointless it all seemed now. Roxy must have been devastated about Adrian’s death, yet Skylar had said nothing. She had been too consumed in her own selfish feelings to even offer a sympathetic hug.

  Skylar shook her head. “I should be jealous,” she said to herself. “You got your wings before me.” Tears formed in her eyes again, but she refused to let them fall. She quickly wip
ed them away with the back of her sleeve and sank her teeth into her lower lip. She would never let pain and misery win again. Not ever. This was her promise to Roxy, along with the pledge to never give up. Soaring in the heavens, away from all civilization, would allow her the freedom she needed to escape from reality and the gravity of what people thought.

  Especially Roxy’s father.

  Skylar opened the second box. It was a shiny pink cell phone with a folded, handwritten note inside. She stifled a sob and read: Happy 16th birthday, Sky. Now break every rule!

  Looking up at the ceiling, she whispered, “Just watch me, Roxy. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” She fell onto her bed and covered her eyes with her arm. She was physically, mentally and emotionally drained—more tired than she could ever remember. Within seconds she drifted off to sleep and into another world.

  Black clouds were gathering, passing low over the ground. Lightning flashed and the earth shook with thunder. What was this place? Is this where Roxy was waiting?

  “Skylar!” Her grandfather’s voice boomed, startling her awake. “I’ve been calling you for ten minutes! Get down here right now! Margaret went to a lot of trouble for you. She even made a cake.”

  Skylar joined her grandfather in the dining room and sat down without a word. Her face was emotionless and blank. She watched him devour an enormous steak, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He scooped grilled corn from a serving bowl and piled a mound of mashed potatoes onto his plate, followed by seconds of everything.

  When their eyes met, he looked irritated and asked, “Is something wrong with your food?”

  Skylar looked down and absently pushed bits of her cobb salad around her plate.

  Her grandfather’s cell phone rang, and he turned away to answer it. “What did I tell you?” he snapped. “No, I don’t want to hear any more about it. Just handle it!” He hit several buttons before he successfully ended the call. “Unbelievable,” he mumbled. He put his elbow on the table, supported his chin with his fist, and directed his full attention on Skylar. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me, Skylar. Why aren’t you eating your dinner?” His gaze intensified, forcing her to look away.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Yes, you are. Everyone in Mexico is starving. Don’t you know that?”

  Skylar shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.” She said that at least three times a day. This situation was ridiculous and most of what he said was too, but that was who Jessop Haines was. A self-serving, self-absorbed man.

  “If you’re not feeling well, just say so,” he told her. “Do you want me to call a doctor?” He took a long sip of wine, never breaking eye contact. It was as if he was wanting her to confess something so he wouldn’t feel guilty for not asking.

  “No. There’s nothing wrong with me.” She finally looked away.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Now, tell me the truth. Why aren’t you eating?”

  “Are you serious?” Skyler was shocked.

  “Excuse me? Is that any way to talk to your grandfather?”

  “My best friend died today. Remember?”

  “Yes, I know. But starving yourself isn’t going to bring her back.”

  Out of respect for her friend, she bit back the bitter words at the tip of her tongue and pushed herself out of the chair.

  “Where do you think you’re going? You do not have my permission to leave.”

  “So now I need your permission?”

  “Yes, you do. As long as you live under my roof, I expect you to follow my rules. Now sit down and stop acting like a child.”

  “I can’t,” she half-whispered.

  “Really? So how is missing a meal going to fix anything?”

  Skylar stared at her plate and said nothing.

  He slammed his empty wine glass onto the table. “Fine, sit there and give me the silent treatment.”

  She swallowed her pride and said, “I’m not hungry, Grandfather. May I go to my room?”

  “Fine,” he huffed. “Starve yourself.”

  What Skylar wanted at that moment was to scream, but she did what she always did when her emotions were out of control. She bit her lip and walked out of the room.

  After putting on her bathrobe, she stepped on to her balcony and held the railing with both hands, trying to get control of her emotions. The fresh air would calm her. She took a deep breath and leaned against the chimney wall. From there, she had a good view of the security gates on her grandfather’s sprawling estate, which opened onto a private street lined with large impressive homes. She sat down on a wrought iron chair and rummaged in her backpack to find the apple she’d taken during breakfast. After finishing her last bite, she decided it was time to act—time to break free of her chains. From now on, Jessop Haines would control her no more.

  While he slept, she filled her backpack with essentials and tip-toed down the stairs.

  Then she slipped out the front door and used the keypad to get into the unattached garage. There sat his prized convertible and half a dozen other luxury vehicles. She smirked and imagined the fury if he found one of his precious cars missing. Of course, a car would have been easier to maneuver, but a missing motorcycle might be overlooked and his outrage postponed, for a little while at least.

  For the past eight years, they had fought and disagreed about everything under the sun: her clothes, her makeup, her music, her friends, and especially her curfew. Not a week went by without him demanding respect from her, and he used whatever tactics were at his disposal. She’d been kicked, shoved, slapped, and whipped with a belt. Not too long ago, he even pushed her out of his truck and left her on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. He said it was because of her negative attitude and her lack of respect. But the worst part of it all was the fact that after every outrageous act, she still craved his approval. She was always the victim, but no longer. She had never felt more confident—more determined to move on. This is what she had longed to do for years.

  Escape from her prison.

  After securing a helmet to her head, she climbed onto the seat of her grandfather’s motorcycle, and the moment she did so, her heart beat a bit faster. Yet she wasn’t worried or scared—not in the slightest. Sneaking into auto mechanic classes at school and working on engines with her grandfather’s driver had prepared her for this very day.

  Her bag was filled with jerky, dried fruit and energy bars, along with the allowance money she had collected for years. Every obstacle on her list had been addressed and checked off, or so she believed.

  It’s now or never, she told herself.

  She kick-started the black Honda Shadow, popped it into gear, and rolled down the driveway. When she hit the street, she gradually released the clutch lever with her left hand while gently and steadily rolling on the throttle with her right hand, accelerating the motorcycle to a manageable speed. She circled the block twice, feeling her confidence growing. Then, without looking back, she revved the engine and sped away from the scene of her crime, searching for a new Earth and place to call home.

  -2018-

  4

  Transported

  “Sometimes you have to stand alone to prove you can still stand.”

  — ANONYMOUS

  It was the opening day of the Reno National Championship Air Show and the energy in the air was electric. Aviation enthusiasts had traveled from around the world to witness the best-of-the-best in aerobatic shows, including a performance by Jake Brennen and his new pilot, Skylar Haines. With the crowd’s excitement growing, they stood by waiting on the sidelines for the opportunity to demonstrate a remarkable set of stunts in their matching silver Pitts World War II biplanes. However, their mechanic, friend, and father figure, Ethan Edwards, had been grumbling all morning and seemed overly concerned about their performance.

  “Jake, I know Skylar is an excellent pilot and has been going to airshows for years, but do you really think it’s a
good idea to let her tackle those stunts alone?” The grimace on his narrow face had become a regular expression in his limited repertoire.

  “Skylar says she’s ready to do it,” Jake assured him. “We’ve been going over these stunts for several days now.”

  “In the air?”

  “Yes, of course. We went through the whole routine twice. I’m pretty confident that—”

  “You of all people should know that it takes months to perfect maneuvers.”

  “I realize that. But Skylar’s got her mind set on doing this, and I believe in her abilities.” Jake glanced at her and smiled. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

  Ethan followed Jake to his plane, shaking his head, and Skylar trailed close behind. “Honestly,” Ethan grumbled, “I just hope you’re not making a huge mistake.”

  “I agree with you there,” Jake said, settling into his seat.

  “Okay, fine…if that’s the way you want it. Come on, Skylar. I’ll help you get strapped in.”

  “Thanks, Ethan!” Jake called out.

  A short, middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown hair approached Skylar, waving her hand excitedly. “Miss Haines! Miss Haines! Please wait. I’ve been trying to reach you for two days now. I’m Samantha Jackson. I can’t tell you how exciting it is to meet you in person.”

  “Exciting?” Skylar’s lips held a faint smile.