An Impossible Distance to Fall

by Miriam McNamara

  The sounds of insects buzzing and birds calling filled the silence between them. A car puttered past on the distant road.

  “So what if you don’t fix anything.” June turned so she faced out toward the field with Birdie, their elbows brushing. “We’re all excited and hopeful again. That means something, all by itself.” June leaned into her a little. “It means something to me, anyway.”

  June’s skin against hers sent a tingle through Birdie. “I have a question.” She answered June’s touch with a lean of her own.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “That flying lesson you mentioned before.” Her voice was shaky, and she took a deep breath. “I was wondering if the offer still stood?”

  June glanced sideways. Her mouth twitched. “You seemed pretty sure that it wasn’t for you.”

  “I know,” said Birdie. “I wasn’t ready when you asked me before. I am now.”

  June smiled. “All right then.” She turned to the Jenny and climbed onto the wing. She pulled her leather helmet and goggles out of the rear cockpit.

  “Oh, um. I didn’t necessarily mean right now.” The feeling she had last time she’d gone up in a Jenny—off-balance and terrified, cowering on the wing in panic—rushed over her.

  June held out the helmet and goggles. “Why not? The paint’s dry enough. And I can’t risk you changing your mind again.” She pulled off her pirate hat and the sun gilded her dark hair a deep, rich gold.

  “There’s just so much to do before …” Birdie trailed off. She had to go back up in the air sometime before the show; might as well be now. She took the helmet and goggles and climbed into the rear cockpit.

  “Okay, here’s your tach.” June hung over the cockpit edge and reached a long arm toward the front panel, pointing to one of the round gauges.

  “The tachometer.” Birdie tried to calm her mind as she tucked her hair under the helmet. “Tells me how fast the propeller’s going.”

  “You sure you haven’t flown before?” asked June.

  Birdie smiled nervously.

  “Twelve hundred’s a good speed, once you get up there, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You can basically ignore the rest of these gauges. You know how it’s supposed to feel when it’s up in the air, right?”

  Birdie did know how it was supposed to feel. The thought calmed her.

  “Throttle,” June said, pointing. “Makes it go faster or slower.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dad had given her similar lessons a thousand times before, although she’d never put them to use. Her heart clenched unexpectedly, which just made her mad. He had left her—why did she still feel like she was somehow giving up on him?

  “The stick makes it go up and down,” June continued. “You pull it back, the nose goes up. You push it forward, the nose goes down. Left, it banks left. Right, it banks right.”

  Birdie made herself focus. “Got it.”

  “The rudder makes it slew left or right, different from banking with the stick. Watch your feet on the rudder cables.” June pointed at Birdie’s feet, and Birdie adjusted them.

  June walked to the front of the plane. She reached up to the topmost propeller, stood on her tiptoes as she worked her fingers around it—then lunged downward and spun out of the way.

  The propeller caught, and the engine sputtered to life.

  “You got plenty of time once we’re up there.” June raised her voice over the idling engine. Ticktickticktick, that familiar, electric sewing machine sound. She held on to the wing so the plane wouldn’t start rolling forward, but Birdie could feel the plane fighting. It wanted to go. “The tank’s almost full, so don’t worry about that.”

  “Okay.” Birdie needed this. She needed to get back up in the air and remember how good it could feel.

  “These Jennys fly themselves. It’s really impossible to mess up. If you dropped dead in the cockpit, the Jenny would keep flying in a straight line till it ran out of gas.”

  Birdie pinched her lips together. “So, that doesn’t really make me feel better.”

  June laughed as she climbed into the front cockpit and pulled on a pair of goggles. She turned, smiling broadly as the plane began to roll forward. “What are you waiting for?” she yelled. “Go, girl!”

  Birdie pulled on her own goggles and looked over the instruments again. She didn’t really understand any of them.

  Just go. Just feel it.

  She pulled the stick into her stomach and gave it some power. The Jenny shuddered, then lurched ahead. She brought the stick forward, then pushed the throttle all the way in. She felt the tail come off the ground as the plane started bumping down the field in earnest, and she pulled the stick back.

  The nose rose in front of her, strands of June’s hair whipping out beneath her helmet. June’s arms went up. Birdie could hear her whooping and hollering, the sound dimmed by the wind and the rattling of the plane as it climbed into the air.

  The plane was still vibrating more than she was used to. She glanced down, and the rpms were high. She eased off the throttle, bringing it back down to twelve hundred. Birdie adjusted the stick and leveled out the plane. She wasn’t just along for the ride. She wasn’t waiting for someone to grab the stick and take her somewhere. June had been right—she knew what it was supposed to feel like.

  Her nerves were settling. She climbed out of the rear cockpit. June laughed at her when she appeared on the wing beside the front cockpit. “I should have expected you wouldn’t stay where you were supposed to.”

  “Can you take over for a minute?”

  June nodded, and Birdie walked out onto the wing.

  However the show went on Saturday, it wouldn’t fix everything. She might never find Dad. June might not want to kiss her again. She might fall, or get hurt, or end up hurting somebody else. But she wasn’t terrified. The chance of failure made it more exciting.

  Warm wind. Loud, friendly engine buzz. Upper lip sweat. Thin wires, sturdy struts. Air, air, and more air. She grabbed a strut and leaned out over empty space. She swung out, holding on with both hands, her tiptoes still connected to the wing. She arched back, closed her eyes, and let her head fall back. The sun felt hot on her skin.

  She opened her eyes and looked over at June, and began to hum a tune.

  June looked back at her.

  Birdie took a foot off the wing and swirled it around over empty space.

  June shook her head, a smile on her lips.

  Birdie took a hand off the strut as well, and used it to blow her a kiss.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THEY PERFORMED A FULL DRESS REHEARSAL THURSDAY AFTERNOON, AND the whole thing went perfectly. The paint was dry, the costumes sewn. Birdie loved her green tights and sparkly, sequined leotard, hair braided and pinned tight to her head. Colette actually squealed when she saw all of them in full costume: Merriwether and Milosh as pirates, June as Wendy in a well-tailored, light-blue flying suit, and Hazel in her fringed costume. Bennie looked larger-than-life in a crocodile tuxedo, beaming inside the mouth of a giant, paper-mache crocodile head.

  Birdie had dropped the flyer off at the front desk of the Standard Club the day before, with instructions to make sure Sinclair Stevens got it.

  She’d done everything she could. Everyone would give it their best.

  She hoped it was enough.

  That night they ate Henrieta’s delicious pigs-in-a-blanket, ground pork rolled up in cabbage leaves and cooked until they were silky. Merriwether pulled pies out of the oven—she had made a cobbler out of a bucketful of blackberries that Henrieta had picked by the creek—as everyone trickled outside to enjoy the evening while they cooled.

  Birdie watched from the porch as Milosh built a fire and talked John and Henry through his methods. John threw logs onto the fire as Milosh protested. Henry held a handful of sticks and listened. She could tell the difference between the twins instantly now, because it was always John who dove in impatiently, while Henry held back and watched. Henry would do it perfectly
the first time, but he would carefully observe Milosh do it over and over again before he tried. John would build a bunch of sloppy fires before he caught on. But both of them would get the hang of it.

  Merriwether pushed the screen door open and bellowed over Birdie’s head, “Dessert, kids! Come and get it!” Her lips and fingers were tinged purple from the blackberries, a rich, sweet fragrance wafting from inside. Henry carefully set down his sticks while John threw his on the ground and sprinted toward the house. He crashed through the screen door, and Henry followed at a trot, holding the door open as Birdie stood up.

  A big bowl of pillowy whipped cream sat in the middle of the kitchen table with a huge spoon sticking out of it. On either side sat pans filled with steaming, golden-brown topping and black, bubbling ooze. John and Henry knocked the piles of bowls over while grabbing for them, and Merri slapped their hands away. John stuck a finger in the whipped cream as Merri served them cobbler and put generous dollops of cream on top. Henry added an extra scoop to his when her back was turned.

  The rest of the crew filed into the kitchen, exclaiming over the spread. Oscar took a seat and offered the one next to him to Hazel, but she ignored him and sat at the far end of the table. Merri handed Birdie a bowl. “Butter, flour, salt, and sugar. Oh, and the berries. That’s it! I’m not much of a cook, but Henrieta convinced me to give it a shot.” Birdie sat next to the boys and took a bite. Tart and tangy and sweet and rich and buttery, the cobbler was heaven after a long day of practice. Birdie almost beat the boys, finishing her bowl. When she looked up, everyone was around the table in a homey, boisterous tableau, except for June.

  Birdie grabbed a bowl, filled it with cobbler and cream, and went out on the porch. June sat next to the fire, poking it with a stick.

  “You coming to relieve me?” June called. “I’m starting to regret volunteering to tend this damned fire while everyone eats my share of the pie.”

  Birdie lifted up the bowl to show her, and June applauded as Birdie came down the steps.

  “My savior!” she exclaimed as Birdie handed her the bowl. “Lord, this looks amazing.” She took a bite, rolling her eyes in ecstasy. “You feeling good about the show?” she mumbled as she took another.

  “If Sinclair Stevens appears tomorrow, we’re gonna give him a really good show. But no luck getting Hazel and Oscar back together.” There was a slight chill in the air. She picked up a blanket and pulled it around her shoulders. “You should see them in there. It’s pitiful.”

  “Oh, don’t beat yourself up too much,” said June around another mouthful. She was finishing the cobbler in record time. “He was quite the ladies’ man before he met Hazel. Hasn’t always been in the right in these sorts of situations, but I’m thinking she’ll come around.”

  The fire popped. Birdie’s stomach fluttered. She wasn’t sure where to sit—next to June? On the other side of the fire? Suddenly she felt shy. “You heading back to the boarding house soon?”

  “Yeah.” June scraped out the sides of the bowl and licked the spoon. “Yum.”

  “You and Hazel have a room there together?”

  “Yeah, we do.” June set the bowl down and picked up her tobacco pouch. She opened it and fished out a paper.

  “And Ruth’s still staying there, right?”

  June flattened the paper against her thigh, sprinkling a thin line of tobacco on top of it. She picked it up delicately and start to roll it between her fingers, back and forth. “Umm, yeah. She is.”

  Birdie swallowed. “She was so mad at you—at the club, but then when I saw you—later—it seemed like she forgave you.” She knew something had shifted, watching them lean into each other under the porch light.

  “She did,” said June.

  “That’s great. I’m glad—that kiss—didn’t mess things up. You two make quite a pair.”

  “We mighta made quite a pair,” said June, not looking up, “if she hadn’t ruined all the chances I gave her.”

  June’s tone was neutral, but her words took Birdie by surprise.“Oh?”

  “She’s been hot and cold with me ever since we met. Every time she comes on strong, swearing it’ll be different. And every time I buy it.”

  Birdie tried to read into the tense curve of June’s shoulders. “Buy what?”

  “That she’s all in.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice. “And I’m over the moon, only to find the next week she’s on to someone else, and didn’t have the decency to tell me.”

  Birdie tried to imagine how June must have felt when she walked in on Birdie kissing Oscar. Had it hurt in the same way? “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” said June. “Sometimes you’re never going to make it work, no matter how hard you pretend that everything’s okay. Sometimes you gotta give up.” She looked up at Birdie. “It’s not always a bad thing,” she finished softly.

  Birdie walked around the fire and sat down next to June. The log was rough against the back of her thighs, and the crickets were loud. June dropped her eyes to the cigarette she was rolling between her fingers.

  Birdie stared at the flames, which were going strong now without any tending. “I was in love with my best friend,” she whispered. She never thought she was going to say that out loud, ever. In her old life, she wouldn’t have dared. “We kissed once. After that, every time I saw her with someone else, I felt like my heart was going to collapse. Every time I was with someone else, I could only think about her.” It felt like the first true thing she’d ever said, and it made her sick and scared and relieved all at once.

  June glanced at her. She brought the cigarette to her mouth and ran her tongue over the paper to moisten it, then carefully sealed the edge, holding her gaze. Birdie started to tremble, but she kept going. “Until I kissed you.” The second true thing, this time a hundred times more terrifying. “Now every time I’m with someone else, I think about you.” Birdie was intensely aware of the space between them. How her arm brushed June’s, how her knee touched June’s knee.

  June set the cigarette down deliberately. She turned to face Birdie. Her eyes held Birdie’s, flickering dark and warm in the firelight.

  “It was a really hot kiss,” Birdie said breathlessly.

  June’s arm slid around Birdie’s waist and pulled her in.

  Lips met and fingers tangled in a rush of breath and a flurry of motion—Birdie wasn’t sure of how they got to every inch of their bodies pressed together so quickly, the kiss urgent and sugar-sweet. June’s tongue brushed her lips and Birdie slid her hands around June’s arms, shoulders, neck, tangling her hands into the silkiness of June’s hair. June tugged at the fabric tucked at Birdie’s waist, then impatiently lifted her onto her lap and Birdie pressed against her, heat rushing beneath her skin. She’d wanted this since she’d seen June rolling that cigarette at Coney Island. She’d wanted more when they’d kissed at the club. “June—” she whispered against her lips.

  June pulled away. She stared at Birdie’s mouth, her hands tightening against her waist. “Yeah?” The hoarseness of her voice flooded Birdie with longing.

  “I’m sorry. What happened with Oscar. I just—I wanted it to be him, you know? But it wasn’t.”

  The corner of June’s mouth lifted. “I remember that feeling. Thinking, if I don’t fight this with everything I’ve got, it’ll ruin my life. I thought I was the only one in the world.”

  Birdie touched June’s jaw and brushed her lips softly with a fingertip, feeling her intake of breath. The blanket that had been around her shoulders had slid off onto the ground and the air felt perfect, just barely cool, the smoldering fire warm against her skin. June’s hands brushed her skin along the edge of her skirt. Birdie pressed her hands against June’s chest and arched against her as she leaned in for another kiss.

  The screen door banged, miles away. The sound of voices as someone came outside.

  June groaned and put her forehead against Birdie’s shoulder. Birdie’s cheeks were flaming. She laughed giddily as she looked
to the porch, where Milosh and one of the twins were silhouetted in the door.

  “Dang,” said June. “Guess we better pretend like nothing’s happening?” She looked like that was the last thing she wanted to do. Birdie’s heart was racing. She couldn’t imagine acting normal in front of the others when all she wanted to do was touch June’s smooth, warm skin. She picked up the crumpled blanket and grabbed June’s hand, tugging her up. June followed her into the cool dark that lay outside the fire’s ring of light.

  Birdie felt the same aching from the night June had woken her, held her hand, and led her inside. That same sensation, as the dark closed around her, that she could be dreaming. June’s warm hand in hers, her own breath and skin damp with longing. But this time she led, this time she knew what she ached for.

  She dropped the blanket, pushed the corners out, and pulled June down. Though it was dark, she could feel June’s smile as it met hers. She didn’t miss the fire’s warmth. Her skin burned so hot, she must be glowing. If she took off in that moment, she’d be a light in the sky. She’d blend right in with the stars.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  BIRDIE CAME OUT OF HER ROOM, BLEARY-EYED, IN HER NIGHTDRESS TO find that everyone had woken up before her and was full throttle preparing for the show. Henrieta bustled down the hallway and shoved a steaming cup of coffee into Birdie’s hands. “Chance of rain today,” Henrieta yelled over her shoulder. “That’s what the papers say.” Birdie heard Merriwether grunt from the kitchen.

  “I know, I know,” said Henrieta. “A small chance. But still.” She squeezed Birdie’s shoulder. “How are you, love?” She patted her cheek before she went back to the kitchen. Through the screen door, Birdie saw Bennie pointing at something on the Jenny’s engine while Henry listened, already dressed in his Lost Boy outfit. Hazel stood in the hallway with her hair pulled up and her Tiger Lily flight suit on, letting Colette mend a spot where the fringe on one sleeve had come loose. “Morning,” Colette called cheerfully.

  Hazel put a hand to her forehead. “I have that damned headache again,” she said. “And my stomach is in knots. I took the plane out to practice early this morning, one last time, but I had to land. I felt so sick.”