Broken Wings

by Terri Blackstock

“I don’t know,” Lois said. She cleared her throat. Her voice was rasping, as it always did when she felt backed into a corner, but she forced herself to go on. “It just seems to me that we need to agree on exactly what kind of cuts we will accept, because we know we have to accept something. The flight attendants and machinists have. And we’ll have to negotiate. That’s obvious. I just think we should avoid talking strike for a while.”

  “Well, if we don’t talk strike, what threat can we hang over Zarkoff’s head? What motivation will he have to give us what we want?” Ray asked.

  Another relatively quiet member of the committee, Larry Miller, piped up. “If Zarkoff doesn’t care whether we go on strike or not, then a strike threat isn’t motivation.”

  “Right,” Lois added, her courage building now that she had an ally. “Look at it from his point of view. Some of you, the ones in this room with seniority, are making a lot of money. If he can get us to walk out and can hire all new pilots at starting pay, he’ll save millions.”

  “But if we all refuse to fly, he can’t run the airline,” someone said. “And then he’ll lose millions.”

  Voices of approval added to that sentiment all over the room, and Lois sank back into her seat.

  “We have to give him a threat,” Ray said. “And to do that, we have to call a strike vote. We have to get the members behind us.”

  “All right,” Larry, Lois’s ally, said. “But if we’re going to make that recommendation, I move that we also allow Lois to point out her side of the argument to the members, so that they can make an informed decision. And these articles need to be distributed first to each member.”

  Silence reigned, and Lois felt her throat constricting. Not her. Not a planned presentation in front of hundreds of pilots. Sure, she could stand up spontaneously, utter an argument or two, but to be one of the scheduled speakers? Oh, her mouth would glue itself shut and she wouldn’t be able to get a word out. Besides, they’d never listen…never…

  “I…I think someone else could really do a better job . ..,” she began.

  “All right,” Ray conceded grudgingly, ignoring Lois’s objection. “It couldn’t hurt to present both sides. Lois, have your argument ready for the Friday meeting. I’ll see that each member gets the articles well in advance.”

  They’re not listening to me now, Lois thought on a wave of panic. I’m trying to tell them I can’t do this, and they just…won’t…listen!

  “Now let’s talk about recommendations for negotiations. What will we accept? Bottom line,” Ray demanded.

  Lois felt dazed, and suddenly she knew the panic Erin spoke of in the cockpit. Hers always came on a podium…the dry palms…the cotton throat…the stuttering…the palpitations…the dizziness…It was terrible to have strong convictions that needed voicing, yet to be as anxiety-ridden as she was when she had to plan to speak.

  The rest of the meeting seemed a blur as she tried not to think about her presentation. Briefly, she wondered if Erin would consider swapping skins for a while. She’d feel much more comfortable copiloting in Erin’s place than standing up in front of hundreds of pilots and presenting the unpopular side of this argument!

  The sky in the mural took on a special life of its own as Addison worked with his paintbrush. He didn’t make fun of Erin’s amateur sketching on the canvas, or of the smaller children’s attempts at helping. He seemed to realize without being told that the mural was for the kids, by the kids, and about the kids.

  “So,” he asked, when he climbed off his ladder to change colors. “Did you do all these murals around here?”

  “We sure did,” replied ten-year-old Zeke. He’d been one of the first kids they’d reached at the center, and had since become a little preacher to the other kids. They’d even held his baptism in the youth center’s swimming pool.

  Erin glanced at Addison, knowing he’d been addressing her. They exchanged pursed smiles.

  “They’re good. It sure beats the heck out of graffiti scrawled all over the walls.”

  “Why do you think we started it?” the kid asked before Erin could answer again. He took his arm and pulled him toward the edge of the mural. “See right there? I painted that. It’s downtown Shreveport, and I painted that cross in, and all them people prayin’ and stuff. It’s about hope, this whole mural is. Prayer gives you hope. Did you know that?”

  Addison’s grin slowly faded as he began to take the boy more seriously. He stooped down and examined the area of the mural Zeke was showing him. “Yeah, I know it,” Addison said. “Prayer does give hope. It’s gotten me through some tough, tough times.”

  “Me, too, man. My big brother was shot down on Jackard Street last year. Man, talk about prayin’. I didn’t think I’d ever get over it.”

  Addison looked up at the rough kid. “Who taught you about prayer, Zeke? Your mama?”

  Zeke laughed. “No, man. I taught her. She didn’t know where to turn when my brother died. But I knew, ’cause Erin told me.”

  Addison’s eyes gravitated up to Erin’s, and she smiled self-consciously and turned back to the mural. “Zeke’s been a real blessing around here,” she said.

  “I can see that.” When Zeke went back to painting, Addison climbed back up the ladder. Erin couldn’t help watching him. His pants were ruined, with paint smudges everywhere. Green paint was smeared across his shirt. And a decidedly attractive blot of red decorated one jaw. For the most fleeting of moments, she allowed herself to make the mental note that red paint flattered him, too. But just as quickly, she shoved the thought away. She couldn’t be attracted to the man who would nail Mick. She wouldn’t allow it.

  “So…are you going to have dinner with me to keep me from having to eat alone?” he asked, as he painted in a bird flying overhead.

  “Well, I—”

  “Can’t,” Zeke cut in before Erin could get out the words. “Mama’s making spaghetti. But you can come if you want.”

  Addison dropped his brush and tried to maintain a straight face. “Thanks, Zeke. No, I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  “Sure?” the kid asked. “Since you hate to eat alone and all?”

  In spite of herself, Erin couldn’t help being moved by Addison’s efforts not to embarrass the boy. “Tell you what, Zeke. Since you can’t make it, how about I keep Addison company while he eats?”

  “Okay by me,” Zeke said, with an indifferent shrug. “If it’s all right with him. You two’ll have to work that out yourselves.”

  “What a good idea,” Addison said, eyes dancing with laughter. “But I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it. I kinda had my heart set on spaghetti.”

  Erin tried in vain to suppress her grin. He was good at this, she thought. Melting her carefully constructed ice barriers was too easy for him. “I’m sure Zeke’ll give you a rain check. And by the way, I’m not changing my clothes,” she informed him. “If I go, I’m going just like this.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, going back to his painting. “I like to go out with colorful people.”

  Although she had threatened to dine dressed—and painted—as she was, Erin had really expected to go in and change when she took her car home. But Addison, who had followed her in his car, had other plans.

  “How’s this?” he asked, driving up to the Sonic Drive-in.

  “Wow,” she deadpanned. “You really know how to impress a girl, don’t you?”

  He laughed. “There’s a price for getting me covered in paint. You’ll have to eat in the car.”

  “No problem,” she said, lifting her chin like a trooper. “I happen to like the food here.”

  “Then you aren’t insulted?”

  Erin turned her painted palms up. “Hey, who am I to criticize, when you gave up Zeke’s mom’s spaghetti for a burger with me?”

  “It was a sacrifice, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Their eyes met in the dusk of the car, and they both smiled. A moment of understanding passed between them, without thoughts of
the crash or the airline or the investigation to intrude.

  Then, just as quickly, came the unbidden defensiveness she clung to like a shield, reminding her that, in many ways, he was the enemy.

  “You know,” she said, deliberately shattering the moment, “I may be wrong, but I think you’re supposed to push that button to order.”

  “I know.” He smiled but didn’t take his gaze from her. “Listen, I was thinking. Why don’t we go over to those picnic tables to eat? It’s a nice night…”

  “You won’t be ashamed to be seen with a painted lady?”

  “Don’t forget, we match. It’ll give everyone who sees us something to talk about.”

  Erin shrugged. “I’m used to that.”

  He pressed the button, and a voice asked for their order. “What’ll you have?” he asked her.

  “Whatever you’re having,” she said.

  His eyebrows went up a notch. “We’ll have a couple of burgers, no onions…two fries, large…two large cokes, and a Butterfinger Blizzard with two spoons.”

  “Will that be all?” the voice asked.

  “We’ll start with that and see how it goes,” he said.

  The order taken, they left the car and wandered over to a picnic table. The wind was brisk but still held the warmth of a tropical fall. A subtle dusk fell over the picnic area, the twilight sky clinging to daylight while inviting the night. Addison leaned against the table and smiled down at Erin as she slipped onto a bench. Confused, she looked up at him, amused at the paint smudge on his chin, amused at his choice of restaurants, amused at the glimmer of delight in his eyes. Again, she told herself not to enjoy him, and her smile faded as her gaze drifted away.

  “I liked seeing how at home you were with those kids,” he said. “They treated you like you were family, and you had them so interested in the project.”

  “Kids love to paint,” she said matter-of-factly. “Those murals are their own personal touches to the center. We all like to be around something that’s a little bit our own. It keeps them off the streets, using their time constructively.”

  “But it’s more than that. You’re sharing your faith with them, aren’t you?”

  “That’s what it’s all about.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “How’d you get started doing that?”

  Good, she thought. A safe topic that didn’t involve intimacy of any kind. “A few years ago the local youth council came to the company in a big promotion for Big Brothers volunteers. It sounded like a good idea to me, so I asked if they could use a Big Sister. I started out with a thirteen-year-old girl who had a lot of problems, and I really got hooked on her.” She chuckled and propped her chin on her hand. At another table, several yards away, a baby cried. The mother picked it up, and the child hushed. “It was amazing to see how a little caring could change someone,” she went on. “When my church was involved in building the youth center last year, I thought working there a couple of days a week might be rewarding.”

  “Has it been?”

  “Are you kidding? Some days it’s my lifeline. I don’t have to take my problems there. The kids don’t judge or pry…at least not intentionally, and heaven knows some of them have problems much worse than mine. Of course, it isn’t all a picnic. Some of those kids are rough…troublemakers, always bucking authority, starting fights…” The thought of Jason and T.J.’s fight flitted through her mind.

  “But you don’t give up on even those, do you?”

  She paused for a long time, contemplating the disgust she’d had for T.J. after his cruelty to Jason. Would she turn him away if he came back to the center? No, probably not. “I’m tempted sometimes. You don’t know how tempted. But if they’re willing to at least meet me halfway, I’ll try…”

  “I wonder if they know how lucky they are to have you,” Addison asked in a quiet voice.

  “I’m not the only one. There are lots of other volunteers.” She swallowed and met his dark emerald eyes, holding her with a touch of awe…and more than a touch of intention.

  Footsteps on the gravel behind them startled them both, shattering the moment.

  “Two burgers, no onions, two large fries, two large Cokes, and a Butterfinger Blizzard?” the girl asked in a nasal twang, while she popped her gum.

  “That’s us,” Addison answered.

  When the girl was on her way and the food was laid out in an awe-inspiring spread, Erin and Addison ate and teased about each other’s appetites. After the food was gone, they cleared the table and sat back down, neither anxious to end the closeness that seemed to exist apart from time, the closeness that had no context in their lives or their problems.

  Darkness had fallen without warning, and the breeze rustled the palm trees skirting the picnic area as they sat on the tabletop. The other scattered diners had left.

  And they were alone.

  Something about that was comforting to Erin, and those objections that tried to surface in her heart grew vague…distant.

  Their shoulders brushed as they sat side by side, speaking in softer tones, comfortable yet maddeningly tense. Addison seemed to get closer each moment…his voice grew softer.

  He’s going to kiss me, she thought, her heart setting a sprint-rate rhythm.

  But he didn’t. Not yet.

  “I probably shouldn’t say this,” Addison said in a low voice, watching her lips as he spoke, “because I realize that it isn’t entirely professional…or sophisticated…or even particularly smooth.”

  “Say it,” she whispered.

  “I just…I like being with you, Erin. You make me feel good, and…well, I just hope you won’t let my investigation keep me from seeing you…like this…again.”

  She gazed at him in the darkness and watched him slowly wet his lips. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table. Slowly, he moved his head toward her, watching her mouth with enchantment. His lips grazed hers lightly, then withdrew. Her knuckles ached as she squeezed the table harder.

  Their lips touched again, lingering longer this time, and he shifted slightly and slid one rough, shaky hand up her arm. The touch sent her heart careening, and her hand released its hold on the table and rose tentatively to feather through his soft black hair.

  He moved both arms around her, crushing her against him as he deepened the kiss. Birds tittered in the trees and Erin’s heart. Wind whistled through the leaves and Addison’s head. Crickets sang, toads called, and Erin and Addison fell a little bit in love.

  The kiss broke after a small eternity, but it was too soon for either of them. They gazed at each other, stricken, without breaking their embrace.

  Addison stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “You’re beautiful, Erin.”

  She felt more heat warming her cheeks and opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. Instead, Erin dropped her head. He pressed his lips against her forehead.

  “Come on,” he whispered. “I’ll take you home.”

  The drive home was as quiet as it had been the day before, but this time their thoughts were far from airlines or flying or the tragic specters that plagued them both.

  He pulled into the driveway outside her house, turned off the engine, and sat quietly for a moment.

  Erin saw the light on in her window and noticed Lois’s car parked in the carport. “Lois is home,” she said quietly.

  “Come on,” Addison said. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  He held his arm around her as they walked, then suddenly stopped. Before she could say good night, he cupped her paint-smudged chin and lifted her face to his. “Hate me when I’m questioning you,” he whispered, “and fight me if you want. But when I ask to see you…apart from the investigation…don’t say no.”

  She didn’t have to answer, for the way she met his lips halfway and responded to his embrace and reacted to his kiss, told him she would be there.

  She didn’t invite him in, which was just as well, he thought. It would be excruciating to make small talk with Lois when all he could think
of was the way he was beginning to feel about Erin.

  Someday she might feel the same, he thought…if he didn’t make her hate him in the process.

  Chapter Ten

  His eyes are darker than Grandpa’s pond, but lighter than the weeping willow that droops all over his lawn.

  Southeast 34 cleared for takeoff.

  You’ll be fine, Erin. You’re doing fine.

  Eyes like summer. Like warmth. Like peace.

  What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t?

  Erin, don’t say no…You’re beautiful…beautiful…

  The tape…I need to know what happened…

  Southeast 34 cleared for takeoff.

  His kiss is as soft and restless as the wind before a storm.

  I can’t breathe…I can’t fly…

  Erin, you’re doing fine…Erin…Erin…

  “Erin? Erin, are you all right?”

  The words, both real and dreamed, merged together in Erin’s mind, cutting her senses with sharp edges.

  “Erin, wake up! You’re dreaming! Wake up!”

  Erin struggled to the surface of her sleep and sat up, disoriented. Perspiration had gathered on her upper lip and in her hair, and her body trembled as if she’d lived the nightmare.

  “Erin, calm down. It was just a dream.” Madeline sat beside her on the bed, a cool glass of water in her hand. “Here,” she whispered. “Drink this.”

  Erin tried to catch her breath and grabbed the glass with both hands, struggling not to spill it as she drank. “Thank you,” she said. She lay back down and shoved her bangs back from her damp forehead. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “You knocked over this vase,” Madeline said, referring to the ornament on Erin’s bedside table. “I came to see what happened, and you were thrashing around and crying…” Madeline’s voice trailed off, and she touched Erin’s arm. Her face held that maternal, best-friend-in-the-world look. “Do you want to talk about it, Erin?”

  Erin didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure.

  “Was it about your flight this morning? Are you still scared?” she asked quietly.

  Erin’s eyes filled with hot tears, and her mouth contorted in pain. She covered her eyes with her hand and nodded silently.