Afraid to Fly

by L. A. Witt

  “Nah. I usually only smoke when I drink anyway, and I don’t drink very often.” I shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything about it.” I scowled. “Now if Paul would get off my back . . .”

  Maxine snickered around her cigarette. “Good luck with that.”

  “Right?”

  She’d only met Paul a few times over the years, but she’d witnessed us giving each other shit about our respective smoking habits. During one of my virtuous smoke-free periods, I’d harangued him every time he’d so much as glanced at a pack of Marlboros. After I relapsed and started chain-smoking, he’d threatened to call my mom again every time I lit up.

  I took a drag and tapped some ashes into the tray. “So how are you doing these days?”

  She looked out at the backyard, and pushed her shoulders back. “I’m doing all right.”

  “Are you?”

  Her eyes flicked toward me, and she offered a tight shrug before putting her cigarette between her lips again. “The VA’s been jerking us around to no end. Between that and my bosses throwing around the idea of layoffs . . .” She blew out some smoke, her posture deflating a little. “Hopefully we won’t have to move, but if I lose my job, there’s no way we can afford to live here.”

  “Damn. Sorry to hear it.” I studied her. “If you guys need anything, you know—”

  “We’ll be fine, Travis.” Her expression hardened just enough to warn me against pressing the issue, so I let it go. She was a proud woman, and I knew she’d never ask unless they were in absolute dire straits, but I at least wanted her to know the option was there. It always was.

  Facing the yard again, she took in and blew out some more smoke. “It’s stressful, but we’ll be okay. Charlie’s making enough now that we won’t be on the streets or anything, and I’m getting us some health insurance that’s . . . well, expensive, but better than some of the other options out there. We just won’t be able to afford to live here.”

  “I’m surprised anyone can live here.”

  “No kidding.” She rolled her eyes. “Southern California is highway robbery with beaches.”

  I laughed dryly. “Sums it up, yeah.”

  She laughed too, though she sounded tired. Then she faced me. “So how are you doing?”

  I shrugged as much as my tight muscles would allow. “I can’t complain.”

  “Yes you can, sweetheart.”

  I turned to her.

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “You’re still having a lot of pain, aren’t you?”

  I looked out at the yard again. Yeah, I was in pain, especially after my flight, but I couldn’t justify bitching about it to the woman whose husband had been paralyzed—and nearly died—after the plane I’d been flying had hit the ship. Sure, the weather had been to blame more than anything. Sure, I’d corrected enough to keep us from getting killed. There’d been a million factors, most of them way beyond my control, but I’d obsess over those I could control until the day I died. What if I’d pulled up a second or two sooner? What if I’d—

  “Travis.” She touched my arm, startling me. “We’ve been through this. The fact that you can still walk after the crash doesn’t mean it didn’t mess you up. I know you’re in pain. I can see it.” She smiled faintly. “It’s okay to acknowledge it.”

  I slowly released my breath. Somehow we never made it through a visit without having this discussion, so might as well get it out of the way now. “I’m doing okay. Just . . . a lot of pain.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. I’m surprised the Navy hasn’t tried to force you into retirement.”

  “Long as I keep passing my PRT, and the pain isn’t interfering with my job . . .” I shrugged.

  “It’s interfering with your life.”

  “That won’t go away when I retire.”

  “Maybe not.” She crushed her cigarette and rested her elbow on the railing. “But doing the PRT twice a year probably isn’t helping your back.”

  “Probably not.” I cringed, expecting another lecture about killing myself for the Navy. We’d beaten this dead horse into the ground, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t beat it again. She’d been on me for ages to at least stop running the PRT, and probably knew by now I’d run it until I had to crawl.

  Thank God, though, she let it go for now.

  She glanced in through the sliding glass door. “You and Clint seem to be pretty close.”

  I laughed softly, thankful for the subject change. “Yeah. He’s a good guy. And, um, thanks for letting him come along. I don’t usually try to bring strangers around, so—”

  “Travis, if you’re dating someone seriously enough to bring him along for the holidays, then he’s not a stranger.”

  That gave me pause. How serious was this?

  I shook myself and banished the thought. “Well, and he’s on his own. New to town, no way to go visit family for the holidays—couldn’t let him spend Christmas by himself.”

  She raised her eyebrow and gave me that lopsided grin that meant she saw right through me. “Uh-huh. And that’s the only reason, right?”

  “Well. I mean. I didn’t say it was the only reason.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” She winked and elbowed me playfully. “Seriously, though, he seems really sweet. And to tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised to hear you were actually dating someone.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.” I blew out some smoke and crushed my cigarette in the ashtray. “Feels weird to actually date a man. After . . . I mean . . .”

  “Travis. Honey.” She put a hand on my arm. “You’ve grieved for Dion long enough. No one’s going to fault you for letting yourself move on.”

  I winced.

  “Especially after all this time.” Squeezing my arm, she added, “He’d want you to be happy. We all do.”

  “I know.” I focused on pulling another cigarette from the pack. “And it’s not . . . I mean, I know it’s been long enough. I guess part of me is afraid of . . .” The thought tightened my throat. My hand shook as I lit my smoke.

  “You’re afraid of the same thing happening with Clint?”

  Heart pounding faster, I nodded. “It’s completely irrational, I know. Especially since I can date women without worrying. But every time I think about getting close to a man . . .”

  “Just because the fear’s irrational doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

  “It’s . . .” I paused for a deep drag. After I’d released some smoke, I tapped the ashes. “It’s not just everything with Dion. I guess I’m . . .” My cheeks burned, and I sighed. “To be honest, I’m terrified he’s going to get tired of me being limited at every turn.”

  “He will.”

  I turned so fast I was surprised I didn’t snap my neck, and blinked. “What?”

  “He will.” She shrugged, waving a hand toward the house. “It’s exhausting. It is what it is. The difference is that when you love someone, you stay around.”

  My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard.

  She touched my arm again. “I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass and tell you it’s easy or that it’s for the faint of heart. Chronic health problems are hard for everyone involved.” She glanced in the general direction of where we’d left Clint and Charlie. “You think I don’t have days where I scream into a pillow, or I cry about the things we can’t do and the places we can’t go? I saw a travel blog post about Machu Picchu last year, and bawled for an hour because I know Charlie and I will never be able to go there.”

  I absently tapped my cigarette, not sure what to say or how to take her candor.

  “It’s okay to be pissed about the shitty cards you’re dealt,” she went on. “But don’t let that stop you from enjoying the good cards.” She gestured over her shoulder. “Especially the aces.” I didn’t know if she meant Clint or Charlie, but the message came through just the same.

  Barely whispering, I asked, “How do you do it?”

  “It’s not easy sometimes. What keeps me going is realizing how lucky I am th
at Charlie is alive, and how much would be missing from my life if he were gone. I can have my moments of being sad that there are things we can’t do, and I can be depressed sometimes, but then I think about when I was at the hospital in Germany, waiting to find out if he’d even survived that first surgery. I remember how I felt when I was absolutely certain Charlie was dead.” She shrugged tightly. “And it puts things in perspective. We might never make it to Machu Picchu, but he’s still here.”

  I blew out a breath. “And thank God for that.”

  “Right?” She paused. “Look, I know it’s different for me and Charlie because I was sticking with him after his injuries. Clint’s coming onboard when your pain is already part of the package. So no, it’s not the same.”

  “Okay, that’s fair.”

  She nodded. “And the thing is, if Clint is the kind of guy who can’t deal with you being in pain, then he isn’t someone you want in your life anyway. Let him go.” She waved her hand dismissively, as if it were that simple. “But if he’s as good a man as he seems to be, and he’s strong enough to be there when you’re hurting . . . hold on to him, sweetie.”

  I stared at the cigarette smoldering between my fingers.

  She absently tapped her cigarette pack on the railing. “I just don’t want to see you jump ship and miss out on something amazing. Being with someone means there’s always a chance you could lose them. And the more you love them, the more it’ll hurt if you do lose them. But some people are worth that risk.”

  If it were anyone else on the planet, I’d have mentioned that was easy to say. But Maxine knew exactly what she was talking about, and exactly what a person could lose by taking that risk.

  I tapped my cigarette over the ashtray. “You’re right. And I guess . . . I mean, I guess I’ll see where things go.”

  She smiled. “That’s all you can do. And for what it’s worth, I hope things work out with him.”

  I returned the smile but said nothing.

  “Well.” She nodded toward the house. “Should we go see how those two are doing without responsible adults present?”

  That broke the tension enough for me to laugh. “Good idea.” I finished my cigarette, put it out, and followed her inside.

  Clint and Charlie had moved into the kitchen and were cleaning up from dinner. Charlie was loading the dishwasher while Clint was scrubbing out a pan. They both glanced at us, nodded in acknowledgment, and went right back to their conversation.

  I stopped in my tracks. One look at the two of them took my breath away. It was like seeing my past life and my current one colliding right there in Charlie’s kitchen. The man I’d torn up the skies with until that all went down in flames, and the man who I . . .

  The man I was quickly . . .

  Oh my God. You fit right into this world. It’s like you belong here.

  I looked at Maxine. She met my eyes with that knowing look on her face, and as warmth rushed into my cheeks, she smothered a chuckle.

  I started to mutter something snide about her smugness when Clint went to take a step, and his foot caught on a wheel.

  He stumbled. The wheelchair jerked to one side.

  Charlie grabbed the counter, and so did Clint, and they both froze for a second.

  “Shit.” Clint stared at Charlie in horror. “My God. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Relax.” Charlie waved a hand. “I trip over it all the time.”

  “You . . .” Clint blinked. “Wait, what?”

  Charlie snorted and clapped Clint’s arm. “I’m fucking with you. Don’t worry about it.” He paused and must have seen the horror still on Clint’s face. “Seriously, it’s no big deal.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Clint exhaled.

  “Relax, honey,” Maxine said. “We’ve all done it. In fact, it’s pretty much a rite of passage.”

  “Yep, she’s right.” Charlie paused to pour detergent in the dishwasher. “So I guess your initiation is complete.”

  Clint shook his head. To me, he said, “I’m starting to see why you get along with them.”

  Charlie, Maxine, and I all nodded, murmuring in agreement. Wasn’t like any of us could argue—we were some smart-assed little peas in a pod.

  And you fit right in, Clint, so don’t judge.

  I gulped.

  He did, didn’t he?

  So what? Just means we’re all going to get along while we’re in town. Quit reading so much into it.

  I cleared my throat. “Can I help with anything?”

  “Nope.” Charlie shut the dishwasher and turned it on. “We’re almost done in here. If you two want to have a seat in the living room, we can get some coffee.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said.

  “I’ll get the coffee.” Maxine shooed the three of us out of the kitchen. “You boys go sit down.”

  While she prepared the coffee, Charlie hoisted himself onto the couch, and Clint and I took the same places where we’d been sitting earlier. A moment later, she joined us, and over coffee, they continued effortlessly chatting like we’d been doing all day.

  I sat this one out, though. As the three of them talked, I let my gaze shift from Clint to Charlie to Maxine and back.

  I still remembered when Charlie had first met Maxine. We’d been dumb kids, and even then I’d envied their relationship from the start. I’d only ever fallen in love like that once—with Dion.

  Then Maxine had nearly lost Charlie. And even though Dion and I hadn’t been together, I’d still loved him so much it hurt, and losing him had been a type of hell I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy.

  The first couple of years after the crash, none of us had been sure if Charlie and Maxine’s marriage would survive. It had been such an enormous upheaval, and the adjustment had taken its toll on both of them. With some time and the help of a counselor who specialized in disabled veterans, though, they’d pulled together and come out stronger on the other side. The crash and its aftermath had tested them at every turn, that was for sure, but they’d made it through the worst. Almost twenty years together, with more hell behind them than most couples ever faced, and they still looked at each other like newlyweds.

  I’d eventually gotten back on my feet after losing Dion, but I’d been alone ever since. But it didn’t mean I didn’t want to fall in love. I did. Very much. I wanted what Maxine and Charlie had. I envied them. I wanted that. I wanted to know what it was like to be that much in love with someone, but I’d been terrified to go there because my one taste of it had nearly destroyed me.

  Even now, all these years later, the prospect of being that much in love scared the shit out of me.

  So did the fact that every time I looked at Clint, my heart sped up.

  Oh shit . . .

  I barely touched dinner on Christmas Day. I told them I was still stuffed from the enormous breakfast they’d cooked in the morning, and everyone seemed to buy that. Well, maybe not Travis—he’d eyed me from across the table, but he didn’t say anything.

  When the clock said seven, I excused myself to the guest room, and while they all relaxed in the living room, I fired up my laptop.

  As it always did, my gut wound itself into knots as the Skype call initiated. The screen came to life, and I couldn’t help smiling.

  “Hey guys,” I said to my three kids, who were crowded in front of the camera.

  “Hey, Dad,” they said in unison. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas.” Oh God, don’t get emotional. Keep it together. “You guys having a good Christmas?”

  They regaled me with everything they’d been doing since we last talked. My ex-in-laws had been to visit recently, and the kids were going down to Phoenix next week to see my mom and stepdad. It was hard to hear about some of our family Christmas traditions—the chocolate oranges in their stockings, the annual addition to the Disney DVD collection, spending Christmas Eve in pajamas while watching the original Grinch—but the kids were all smiles. That was the important part. The first Christmas aft
er the divorce had been rough. The one before that had apparently been a disaster too, but I didn’t remember any of it. Last year was better. This year . . . well, I couldn’t ask for much more than this.

  They thanked me for the gifts I’d sent, which had apparently arrived on time. That was an improvement over last year. While they watched, I opened the package their mother had sent on their behalf.

  “Oh wow.” My throat tightened as I pulled out the framed photo of the three of them grinning in goofy sunglasses. They’d each written their names on the frame, and it was a recent photo, since Crystal had lost both her front teeth. I forced my emotions to stay solid, and smiled at my kids. “This is great. I’m going to put it on my desk when I get back to work.”

  After they took off to go play with their new toys, their mother took their place in front of the camera.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.” I took a breath. “Merry Christmas, Mandy.”

  “Merry Christmas.” She leaned closer to the camera and squinted. “Where are you? That doesn’t look like your apartment.”

  “No, I’m, uh . . .” I glanced around as if I’d never seen this place myself. “I’m in San Diego. A friend invited me along for the holiday.”

  Her lips tightened, and she sat up again. “So that’s why you aren’t coming to see us.”

  It took all the self-control I had not to roll my eyes. “You told me—repeatedly—you didn’t think the kids were ready for that. Where was I supposed to go?”

  “I . . .” She chewed her lip. “I guess I didn’t . . .”

  “Was I supposed to stay home alone?” I asked coolly. “I can’t at least try to enjoy Christmas?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Slowly, she deflated, and then she shook her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess sometimes I forget you’re . . .”

  Our eyes locked.

  Alone? Not allowed to come near my family outside of scheduled visits? Exiled?

  I muffled a cough. “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. You’re . . . I hope you’re having a good time.”

  “I am.” It was all I could do not to tell her exactly why I was having a good time. Now that I was seeing Travis, I desperately wanted to tell her, but . . . not now. Not on Christmas. Things were tense enough, and this wasn’t the time to drop a bomb on her.