by Leigh Dreyer
He broke the silence that had fallen upon them. “That went much better than I had hoped.”
“Lydia was always so free-spirited,” said Jane.
“Wild, you mean?” asked Elizabeth.
“I should go check on her before she breaks a window…or Kitty. Lizzy, I’ll come grab you when I’m finished.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I’ll go. I shouldn’t have risen to her bait. I’ll check and see if Mom needs some tea too while I’m at it. You stay here and keep dear old Dad company, and I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Lizzy, you shouldn’t take the stairs.”
“That’s why God made crutches, so I can use my arms…”
“Fine. I know nothing I say will stop you anyway. Just call me if you need help, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself, especially since you already had therapy today. I know your legs are tired.”
Elizabeth waved behind her choosing to ignore the truth of that statement as she placed her crutches on the first step and slowly maneuvered her way to Lydia’s room, where screams and screeches of unfairness continued to emanate through the door.
They watched Elizabeth’s uncomfortable climb and then heard the eventual knock at Lydia’s door several minutes later.
“How is Charles this evening?”
“Quite well. He’s flying last go1 for today, so he should get in around eight.”
“I thought they normally got in a little earlier.”
“They do, but they had some weather this morning, so everything was delayed.”
“Hmm.” He nodded thoughtfully.
“Darcy told me to say ‘hello’ to you this morning.”
“How thoughtful. That young man might be given to brooding, but he is polite for all his faults. Is being overly polite but still looking like a miserable sort of person a fault or a virtue?”
Jane shrugged. “He also asked if I knew some friend of yours named Phillip. I told him I’d never heard of him, but maybe you remember?”
His gray eyes glistened. “Phillip, you say? I wonder how he knows him. Some old Air Force connection, no doubt. Would you like to see a picture?”
“Love to.”
He led Jane into his office, which was littered in books and papers. A dusty shoe box on top of the book shelf nearest his untidy desk was retrieved and opened. Her dad shuffled through it, finding a stack of pictures bound in a rubber band and pulled it from the box.
“Phillip Johnson was my best friend in high school and college. We all ran around in the same group, you see.” He took a picture out of the stack and handed it to Jane. She took it and looked down on the face of a young Thomas Bennet, his gray eyes pierced through the old photo and, while he was younger, thinner, and had darker hair, he was immediately recognizable. To his left was her mother. While her mother was beautiful still, she had obviously born several children and wore the heaviness of middle age. Twenty-five years ago, she was stunning with clear blue eyes, dirty-blonde hair, and a trim body dressed in the 80s fashions. She did not recognize the other man in the photo but assumed he must be Phillip. The man exuded happiness. His young face sported laugh lines and a wide smile. Even her father’s typically mordant expression was joyful in the photo.
“He looks…kind.”
“He was. A pity you all never met him, really. Shortly before your mother had Elizabeth, he was in a crash.” He paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your mother was distraught for months. At first I thought it was just the hormones from being pregnant, but she’s never quite got over it. You see, Phillip had been our best friend. He was always so fun, made us laugh. Lizzy is very much like him in that respect, always bringing you into good humor whether you want to be or not. Back then, before you were born, we were still very happy together, your mother and me. I’m sure you can’t tell from our relationship now, but I do love your mother.”
He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment as if he had not considered the fact he cared for his wife in some time. He returned to the pile of photos and leafed through them absentmindedly. “You babies and his crash changed her. We were all young and thought ourselves invincible to time and death, much as I’m sure you and Charles view yourselves, but we were even younger than you are now. Your mother was only nineteen when we were married, and I was only twenty-one. We hadn’t even lived life yet. Losing someone so close to us so quickly, and in such a tragic way, threw your mother for a loop. One minute, we would live forever, and the next, I would leave her or die, just like Phillip. We were so happy before everything. I’m sure life would have been very different had he survived. Lizzy is similar to him, and I admit, maybe that’s why we’ve always got on so well.”
Jane looked at her father. His light eyes focused on the picture of his wife. Jane watched his stare glaze over and could almost hear the gallop of his thoughts racing back through time. After a long minute of silence, Jane spoke, her voice soothing, as if she was calming a child.
“May I take this to Darcy? Since he asked about it? I’m not sure how he knew about Phillip, but I know he was interested enough to ask about him. I’d love to show him the pictures.”
“Of course, of course. I haven’t looked at these in years. Take the whole box.” His hands quivered as he hurriedly placed items back in the dusty box. “I think there are some letters in there (no email in those days) and several pictures of him and us and you as a baby. You all might find it…interesting.”
Jane placed the picture on top of the stack, replaced the band around it, and put it back into the dusty box. As the lid made contact, they heard the faint sound of crutches on the stairs.
“You should go check on Lizzy and make sure she’s okay with the stairs. She puts on a brave face, but I know she hurts.”
“Yes, sir.” Jane turned to leave, box in hand, and looked back at her father. “Dad? Thanks.” She held up the box and saw her father nod, his eyes in a faraway place as he sat down behind his desk and pulled a large book to him. Knowing her father as she did, he likely would not reemerge from his study for several hours.
5
Darcy had been fortunate enough to survive the flight with Anderson, though it was a near thing. Darcy was not precisely sure how Anderson had even been selected to go to T-38s. He was also confused how he had not hooked in T-6s and been washed out of the pilot training program all together, but the Air Force was bleeding pilots with current retention problems so maybe a warm body—any warm body—was good enough. It was a rough class this go around. Lucky for them, it was not five or ten years earlier. If it had been, they would never have had the opportunity to earn their wings.
Lunch and a rousing class of academics followed. Darcy brought a red-topped Tupperware of leftovers which had been placed in the fridge at Netherfield. He quite liked Jane Bingley, but if there was one thing he could compliment her on without reservation, the woman could cook.
“Thank you,” she had said sweetly, “but my mother has the real talent.”
“What are you making?”
“It’s just a little sugo rosso,” Jane had said while she poured crushed tomatoes over a garlic concoction in the pan.
“Excellent. And what is that?” She had laughed then. Darcy had noticed that her tinkling burst was very different from Elizabeth’s deep, resonating laugh.
“Just a simple red sauce. You can put it over some pasta and it is great for taking to work. Why don’t you take some with you tomorrow?”
He had taken the Tupperware Jane had proffered and happily finished the red-sauced noodle concoction five minutes before the four-ship brief.
He arrived at the briefing room at the same time as another captain he had never met. The other paused to allow Darcy to enter first, motioning grandly into the room, and then entered behind him. They both found their seats and the brief began.
The new captain, a recent medical school graduate, had just been given his first assignment to flight medicine at Meryton Air Base. Darcy glanced at the man’s name tag
, noted his name, and recalled that this was the flight doc he would be flying around, and sized him up. Willoughby was tall, broad, with short brown hair in as stylish a cut as the Air Force regulations would allow. He was a good-looking man, Darcy admitted to himself. More than that, the way he carried himself bespoke confidence. That swagger, though, reminded Darcy of Wickham. Still, Darcy introduced himself and shook hands politely.
During the brief, for every general knowledge question asked, Willoughby quickly and efficiently produced the correct answer. While not quite as cocky as Anderson, Willoughby even produced the page and checklist of the answer before the instructor provided it himself. And yet, Willoughby’s brief was a thing of beauty; Darcy could not have critiqued a thing, even in his harshest mood. With this example of academic competence, Darcy became excited for the flight.
When flying, Darcy could relax. He could think clearly. When on the ground, he was often distracted by social and work pressures that he wrestled to calm. Most recently, his pressures came by the name of Elizabeth Bennet.
He had been unable to finish talking to Richard about his transition to the Guard; a tiny seed of hope that he might be able to return to Pemberley had begun to swell in his chest. The morning’s flight with the idiot Anderson had been so harrowing, and his thoughts had consisted of checklists to protect his life and the five-million-dollar aircraft. Flying was the balm he required to make his decision whether to accept the Guard position. He let his mind wonder how to break the news to an Elizabeth who was more obsessed with returning to the pilot seat with each passing day.
At length, the brief ended and the group stepped to the jets. Willoughby smoothly took the aircraft through its paces. Their formation movements were precise, wings sharply moving from turn to turn. Their acrobatics were exhilarating―tactical formation, steep turns, echelon and wing work; each procedure executed with methodical grace.
Darcy gently handled the jet as it flashed through the skies and felt a thrill shoot through him in the tight turns. Eventually, the gas gauge indicated it was time to return to base and the stimulating concentration in the cockpit was at an end. Willoughby began chatting on the intercom before their landing.
“So, Darcy, where are you from?”
“New York.”
“You don’t have an accent.”
“Most central New Yorkers don’t. I’m not from the city.”
“Huh. I’ve only ever been to the city. Loved it there though. I love the energy.”
“It certainly has its allure. I prefer the country though.”
Darcy recalled how Wickham used to longingly describe the energy of the city. He decided to change the subject and give his prejudices a rest. He had learned enough from Elizabeth to at least try.
“So, you’re a flight doc, right? How did you decide to go that route?”
“I enjoy it. I don’t like to stay doing the same thing for too long, so the flying breaks up the monotony of medicine, and medicine does the same for the flying.”
“Not often you hear someone say they get bored of either one.”
“I suppose not, but what can you do? I’d rather get bored than be obsessed with either one. I saw this poor girl today, I guess she’s got it bad for flying, but I doubt she’ll make it back to the cockpit any time soon.”
Darcy frowned under his oxygen mask. Elizabeth had had an appointment with flight medicine in the morning, but he assumed it was with Colonel Frye, her physician from the last appointment.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, it was pretty sad. She was hot though. Great legs. Nice ass. Normally, you know, the female pilots are kind of dogs. Or worse, lesbians. I hate competition for women, especially from women—it just seems unfair, you know.”
Darcy made a grunting noise as he was too disgusted with Willoughby’s flagrantly offensive views toward women to say anything.
“Anyway, she was beautiful. Curly brown hair, big brown eyes. I’ve always had a thing for brunettes—really intelligent looking. Make for great arm candy at medical events. Only downside was she had small boobs. Petite, but kind of athletic, you know. I tell you one thing, I’d make her my pocket rocket for sure. Too bad she won’t be in much longer, although might make it easier with her as a civilian.”
The static buzzed for an uncomfortable moment after Willoughby’s intercom clicked off. Darcy’s stomach churned with anger.
Darcy kept a cool tone despite the additional tendrils of outrage threatening to strangle him.
“Well, I don’t typically share information with the competition.” Darcy could practically hear the wink. “She was in T-6s before her accident.”
Darcy’s blood boiled. Of course it was Elizabeth that Willoughby was disparaging! Who else could it be? There were few enough females in the flight world and even fewer that fit his vulgar description. And less that had been in a T-6 accident in the past year. One to be precise. Today’s flight had been beautiful, perfect even, but now, Darcy could not get out of this metal tube fast enough. He prayed the landing would come quicker; they were only two minutes out, but they still had debriefing to look forward to and Darcy was unsure he could do so without throttling Willoughby. He gritted his teeth.
The static crackled once more as they initiated a maneuver before Willoughby’s voice slithered once more through Darcy’s headset.
“I’d heard you prefer to stay focused. I admire that about you. I’m too social. I’ve always loved getting to know new people. Love the rush, you know.”
“What new people—” Darcy had started to ask when Willoughby interrupted again.
“Anyway, that works to my advantage. Sets a wider net, you know.”
Darcy slammed the stick to the side, quickly rolling the aircraft. He heard a satisfying thump of a helmet against cockpit. “Hey!”
“I’m sorry.” Darcy smirked. “I thought you would want to do another roll before finishing up. We’re only a minute out or so.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess. Next time a little warning would be appreciated to prevent a concussion. Just because I am a doctor doesn’t mean I want to practice on myself.” Darcy heard the static change as he switched on the radio. “Tower, Doc 11-14. Request five mile initial for the overhead.”
“Doc 11-14, tower…” Darcy listened and routinely noted the vectors to begin his landing. He was too angry to concentrate on anything else and was grateful that Willoughby had briefed that he would work the radios.
“Doc 11-14 in the break.” His own static voice filled Darcy’s ears as he turned the plane, descended, and slowed as they approached the runway. “Doc 11-14 base, gear, stop.”
“Doc 11-14 cleared to land.”
“Doc 11-14 Cleared to land.” As Darcy went through his procedures for landing, he worked to control his anger before having to climb out of the cockpit and face Willoughby. Fortunately, after being exposed to years of the best schooling and high society functions in New York, Darcy had learned to mask his emotions. Elizabeth had once recognized that mask as disdain for the feelings of others, but now she knew him too well. The mask was off around her. He pulled the comfort of the guise down around him and smiled as Willoughby nattered on the bus back to the squadron.
Debrief and paperwork done, Darcy found himself at his desk checking his email. The usual spouse activities, Airman Family Readiness Center classes, and squadron-wide emails were quickly read or deleted. One from his flight commander, however, was the disappointing icing on top of a disappointing day.
Darcy,
Just talked to Ops and we’ve got a problem. Captain Young (Ghost) just found out she’s pregnant, so she’s DNIF for the next 9 months. Major Walker (Two-Ball) just got a divorce and he has sole custody of the kids. Childcare is sketchy for right now and he has to stay in town. Lastly, Captain Sanders has gone DNIF for suicidal ideation for the next 6 months per medical. With those 3 down, we are seriously undermanned. Sorry to do this to you, man, I know about the situation with Bennet and how you’re assisting the fami
ly, but I’ve got 10 cross-countries that have to happen in the next few weeks to stay on schedule and the bulk of them will go to you. I’ll see if I can do anything, but I don’t know that I can.
V/R,
Captain Ryan “Socked” Mendoza
Flight Commander
DSN- 555-1354
Darcy sighed deeply. First Anderson, then Willoughby, and now he would have ten cross-countries, nearly a month out of town. He shut down the computer without even replying. He could do that tomorrow. The timing of his email would not change the situation. He gathered his things and stood tall. He walked out with an expression of nonchalance, ensuring no one would know how upset he was. He needed to get home—to see Elizabeth. She had been distracted and he was being patient, but she was his and that comforted Darcy in his current distress. For him, only the arrival at Netherfield and seeing Elizabeth’s face would cheer him, regardless of her lack of focus on their relationship lately.
“Sir?” Lieutenant Mayard’s head popped in the door. “Colonel Forsythe just called and asked you to go down to the wing.”
“He would.”
“Sir?”
“Tell him I’ll be there in five.”
What does the wing commander want with me now? First the Base Closure Committee, then this. I hope my aunt has nothing to do with today.
Darcy found himself sitting in an uncomfortably large office chair across from the wing commander in minutes.
“I didn’t want to put this in an email, for reasons which will soon make themselves abundantly clear.”
Darcy cleared his throat and shifted his weight.
“It has come to my attention that you have residing in your home one Lieutenant Elizabeth Bennet.”
Darcy felt hot under his collar and pulled it away from his neck.
“You are aware, sir, that a student remains a student until they have completed their follow-on training?”
Darcy nodded, unable to speak while searching his mind furiously for any excuse for his current habitation situation.