An Impossible Distance to Fall

by Miriam McNamara

  “Here’s an aspirin,” tutted Henrieta, scurrying back with a pill and a glass of water. “Plenty of time for that to kick in before the show. Let me know if you need another.”

  Hazel smiled gratefully. “Thanks. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Oscar came thundering down the stairs, stopped halfway, swore, and clattered back up them. He reappeared a moment later with his shoes in his hand and a cigarette between his lips.

  “Anyone seen June?” Birdie tried to sound nonchalant.

  Oscar winked, and she felt herself turning red. “She’s around here somewhere. I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

  Birdie nodded and fled back to her room. She took a sip of coffee and set the mug down on the washstand, heading out to get some water to bathe with, but Henrieta had read her mind and handed her a full pitcher. Birdie closed the door, set the pitcher down, and untied the neck of her nightdress. She flushed as she unknotted the strings, remembering June’s hands on the nape of her neck, their legs tangling as June pressed her back against the ground, kisses long enough to get lost in and not close to long enough—

  The door opened and Birdie whirled as June shut it behind her. June strode across the room intently and the bed met the back of Birdie’s knees. She lost her balance and sat as June leaned in and kissed her hard, hands on the mattress on either side. The room shifted as Birdie clung to June’s waist, breathlessly happy.

  June pulled away. “I heard you were looking for me?” she said hoarsely, smiling. Her blue flight suit was open to the waist, white shirt underneath revealing collarbones and lean chest. Her hair was pulled back in a low, short ponytail.

  “I was,” Birdie said, disoriented. She stared at the tan smoothness where June’s shirt met her skin.

  “You need a hand getting into costume?” June’s fingers grazed the open tie at the back of Birdie’s neck, sending shivers down her skin. “I could help if you want.”

  Birdie tried to pull her in but June backed away. “Hey, bank’s closed!” she said cheekily, swatting her hands away. “You’re way behind schedule, young lady.”

  Birdie bit her lip. “Guess I could use some help.” She stood, turned, and pulled her hair over her shoulder, waiting. She could feel June shift behind her. She held her breath as June grazed her shoulders and parted the nightdress—then paused. “What’s this?” June’s fingers traced the outline of her tattoo.

  “Oh, it’s—Colette gave that to me.” Birdie didn’t know what to say. Just another one of my many mistakes.

  “When I met you, I thought you were just some pretty girl.” She could hear June’s smile. “Then you said you wanted to wingwalk. Then you did it for the first time in your life in front of a huge crowd. Then you invented a stunt and planned a whole show around it. Then you went to Sinclair Stevens and convinced him to come see our show.”

  “Maybe convinced him.”

  “And now this.” June’s fingers moved against her skin. “You keep surprising me.”

  “Not always in good ways,” Birdie reminded her. “You forgot to mention all the bad surprises.”

  “Well this is a good one.” June’s lips brushed Birdie’s shoulder. “Makes me wonder what else you’ve got for me.”

  June gently pushed the nightdress over Birdie’s shoulders. Birdie clutched it to her chest as longing surged through her. “I wish we had nothing to do today,” she whispered.

  June turned her around to face her, palms hot against Birdie’s bare skin, eyes intense—

  “Hey!” Merriwether called, sounding like she was right outside the door. “Can I get everyone in the kitchen for a minute?”

  Birdie blushed and pulled away. “Get outta here. You stay, and I’ll never be ready.”

  June grabbed her hand. “I got nothing on my schedule tomorrow,” she said, smiling. “Maybe we could do nothing then?”

  Somehow Birdie managed to steer June to the door in between kisses and push her out. She shut it and pressed her forehead against the wood, flustered and giddy and trying to catch her breath.

  She heard June humming that song again as she headed down the hall—five foot two, eyes of blue. But oh! What those five foot could do …

  Birdie walked out to the field, wiping sweating palms on her sequins. She wore basketball shoes with her bright-green leotard and tights, her hair braided and pinned tightly to her head. Cars lined the dirt road that passed beside Henrieta’s house, parked in ditches and the field across the street. Children with their parents, other pilots, and young couples and teenagers dotted the field, quickly accumulating into a crowd. The turnout was bigger than Birdie had expected. It was unbelievably humid, but it didn’t seem like it was going to rain after all, thank God. It felt like the rouge was melting off her cheeks.

  Bennie and Oscar had cordoned off space for their planes to take off and land, and a low wooden fence marked off one edge of the area. People crowded around all four sides. Colette stood with her megaphone on a small makeshift stage on one side of the field.

  It was almost 3 p.m. Almost time for the show.

  Birdie stopped beside Hazel. “You feeling better?”

  Hazel nodded determinedly, though she still looked very pale. “Better enough. I’m going to knock Sinclair Stevens’s socks off. How are you feeling?”

  Ruth and a group of her girls caught Birdie’s eye, laughing and leaning on the fence, looking awfully keen and carefree. “Ready to prove something.”

  Hazel smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.” Her expression fell, and Birdie followed her gaze to Oscar coming out of the house in his green flight suit. Hazel turned and headed out to the field. All the planes were parked in a neat row. Bennie wandered between them, patting and checking them all compulsively. An unfamiliar plane, painted all black, was parked next to the pirate Jenny. Birdie frowned at it, her heart lurching when she saw Sinclair Stevens standing next to it. He was talking to Merriwether, who looked splendid in her pirate coat.

  Birdie hurried over, pasting a breezy smile on her face.

  “Miss Williams!” Mr. Stevens was all professional charm—waxed mustache, crisp suit, pomaded hair. “I have to tell you, I was captured by the idea of your show—and then I had this wonderful idea, to film your production from the air! I think it would be very arresting to see something like this in the theatre, even better than watching a live performance because you miss so much from the ground. I had a friend of mine loan me some equipment to capture some footage, in case it’s something I can use to convince investors to invest in a similar project.”

  “You’ll be flying with us during the show?”

  “I told him it was all right,” said Merriwether.

  “That’s why it’s black!” said Sinclair. “So it won’t distract the audience.”

  Birdie found that hard to believe.

  “The crowd will love it,” assured Merriwether. “Colette will tell them Hollywood is here to film the show, and they’ll all just go nuts over it.”

  Birdie jumped as the loudspeaker crackled on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first truly aerial performance of Peter Pan!” Colette’s voice was strong and confident. “You think you’ve seen stunt-flying before? Our pilots and wingwalkers and fire-breathers will have you gasping in terror, screaming in surprise, and cheering with relief! And believe it or not, a HOLLYWOOD FILM CREW is here to capture the show on film! Who knows! You might be able to say you were there when it comes to a theater near you!”

  The crowd, which was swelling by the minute, erupted into cheers.

  “What did I tell you?” Merriwether grinned and slapped Birdie on the back. “Break a leg, pretty bird!”

  Birdie ran for the green Jenny. Oscar was already inside the rear cockpit. She hopped onto the wing and settled into the front cockpit.

  John reached for the propeller of the plane. She turned around and Oscar gave her the thumbs-up and a big grin.

  “Contact!” she yelled at John.

&nb
sp; “Contact!” he responded, and sent the propeller spinning.

  The crowd let out a huge cheer as John got the propeller going. He gave Birdie a solemn nod as he let go of the plane. She swallowed her own nerves and gave him a reassuring smile. This was going to be great. Sinclair Stevens would be wowed.

  She smiled at Mr. Stevens extra big as she rattled past the black plane on her way to takeoff. She waved cheekily and winked. He waved back and pulled a leather helmet on.

  And just behind him in the crowd, leaning against the wooden fence—she saw recognition light up Dad’s face when he saw her.

  Birdie saw Dad’s smile grow wide and his hand lift to wave, and everything inside of her knotted up in shock—then the plane surged up and Birdie lost sight of him. She struggled up to the edge of the cockpit and peered down, but Oscar was banking away from the stands and she couldn’t see anything.

  It couldn’t be.

  Birdie’s mind reeled as the plane circled upward.

  It could be. Chicago was the last place anyone had seen him, and not that long ago. John and Henry had dropped flyers all over town. She was on the flyer. And even if Dad hadn’t recognized her picture, he would come and see an air show if he had the chance—

  She peered over the cockpit again but they were too far away now to make out individuals in the crowd. She knew exactly where he was standing. She thought she could see a man about the right height, with a mustache.

  She could have mistaken a stranger for Dad. Already her memory confused her. Did the man she’d just seen really look exactly like Dad?

  What if he disappeared before she landed, and she didn’t get a chance to speak with him? What if he was still there after she landed, and they did get to talk? Either scenario was terrifying. She wanted to stand in her seat and scream at Oscar to land the plane, and she never wanted to land again.

  Dad was here. He had come to find her.

  How dare he show up, after all he’d put her through.

  She heard yelling, deadened by the wind. She turned and saw Oscar motioning frantically. Nuts! She was so shocked she’d forgotten what she was doing. She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to recall the sense of calm she’d felt on the wing with June.

  The air cooled her cheeks, and her senses cleared. She climbed out onto the wing. Oscar flew low, and Birdie waved and crowed as loud as she could. She posed and flirted with the audience as Colette narrated. This wasn’t the time for stunts, just showing off her outfit and introducing her character. Sinclair’s film plane swooped close, a huge camera lens extending from the front cockpit. She waved and blew kisses at the camera. June’s Wendy plane took off and Birdie climbed back into her seat. The two planes rolled and dove and wove in and out. “Second star to the right, and straight on till morning,” Colette called. June and Oscar executed barrel rolls, loop-de-loops, and spiral dives, and Birdie squealed as the plane flipped and swooped.

  Then Hazel took off. The designs on her plane looked magnificent, bold and detailed. Merriwether took off right after her as Hook, a big black wig tacked onto her helmet, curls streaming behind. Milosh stood out on the wing, blowing fire as the crowd roared.

  Hazel and Merriwether battled as Oscar and June slowly looped around the field, and Birdie’s pride swelled as she watched the two planes chase each other. The show was amazing. It was everything she’d hoped it would be.

  But something about Hazel’s stunts began to catch her eye. Something was off. She wasn’t responding to Merriwether’s attacks like she should, dipping out of rolls and dives early, flying in the wrong direction, overcorrecting. Birdie could tell Oscar had noticed when he looped the plane in closer.

  “Hook captures Tiger Lily!” cried Colette, a desperate edge to her voice, as Hazel neared the end of the field—which wasn’t supposed to be happening. She was supposed to be climbing steeply as the pirate plane pursued her, so she could drop into an impressive spiral to the ground. “Who will save her?”

  They waited for Hazel to turn the plane and climb for her Immelman spiral, but she didn’t. Birdie stood up in her cockpit to watch Hazel’s plane as it kept flying straight, right past the end of the field, disappearing beyond the trees.

  Birdie shrieked, thrown down into her seat, as Oscar took off after Hazel.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” BIRDIE YELLED AT OSCAR, HANGING over the rear edge of her cockpit.

  “I don’t know.” Oscar’s voice was tight. They were catching up to Hazel’s plane. Oscar nosed the Jenny up, and the Travel Air disappeared from view as they ascended. “Something’s really off. I need you to look down and see what you can see.”

  Birdie scrambled out of the cockpit, despair filling her mind. The show. They were leaving all hope of success far behind them, but Hazel would have never ruined the performance. Something was terribly wrong. Birdie lay down on the wing and pulled her face past the edge.

  The tail of Hazel’s plane slowly came directly under her, then the cockpit. Hazel was slumped to one side, hands gripping the controls.

  “Hazel!” Birdie screamed into the wind. “Hazel!”

  Hazel didn’t move.

  Birdie jumped up and stumbled over the wires to get to Oscar. “I think she’s passed out,” she panted. “She’s not moving, I tried to get her attention but it didn’t work—”

  Oscar swore a stream, his voice rising in panic. “She didn’t feel good, she shouldn’t have gone up today, that damned headache, should have known something was wrong—”

  “We could follow her until she wakes up?”

  “What if she doesn’t?” His voice cracked. She’d never seen him look so scared.

  Birdie pressed her forehead against a strut and tried to think. They could nudge Hazel’s plane gently with the Jenny’s wing—but what if it didn’t wake her up, and sent the plane careening off course? At least she was flying relatively level right now, over flat terrain. They couldn’t jeopardize that.

  They were so close to Hazel, but there was no way to get to her. The few feet between their planes was an impossible distance when they were flying through the air.

  The memory of Merriwether dangling from the rope above the speeding Studebaker flashed in her thoughts, and her mind started to race. She didn’t have a rope ladder to climb down—but what if she climbed up instead?

  “I have an idea,” Birdie said. “I’ll climb on top of the upper wing, and I think you can get close enough so that I can grab onto the landing gear and pull myself up.”

  Wind roared between them.

  “That’s insane,” said Oscar.

  “You have another idea?”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  Birdie ignored him. “Get into position, and I’ll make sure we can get close enough before I try it.” She hung onto the struts as Oscar slowed and let Hazel’s plane pull ahead. He dropped a few yards down, aimed slightly to the left, then sped up again. She peered upward as they caught up to Hazel’s plane. The wheels were attached to the Travel Air by two straight bars, with two additional bars crisscrossing between them, meeting in an X shape in the middle. She would have to grab onto one of the crossing bars, then get herself up into one of the triangular spaces between the straight bar and the crossing bar. From there she could lean out and get onto the wing using the guy wires and struts.

  But the distance between the wing and the landing gear was still too great for her to reach.

  “Slow down. You’re right under her. Nose up a few feet,” she instructed.

  When she looked back up, she imagined that if she were on top of the upper wing, she would be able to reach the landing gear.

  She looked down. Below the propeller, a neighborhood of houses dotted the landscape. She might be dead before she hit the ground, or she might feel the thud of impact—the slope of a roof, the hard-packed dirt of a road, the sharp stubble of a lawn.

  “You need to slow down the tiniest bit,” she reported to Oscar. “Barely at all.”


  He grabbed her hand. “If you get out there and can’t do it—I’ll understand.”

  “Shut up, Oscar.” She squeezed his hand and let it go. “I’ll holler if you need to adjust your position any further. Otherwise don’t budge from your course, but keep an eye out. I don’t know how my weight will affect the direction of the Travel Air. Be ready to get out of the way.”

  Birdie shinnied up a strut and reached over the upper wing. She felt around until her hand caught something, and pictured the short strut that held guy wires leading to the fuselage. It should hold her weight. She lunged upward, trusting it to hold her, and threw a knee up onto the wing. It held, and she climbed up.

  She stood up shakily, holding onto the strut. She was on top of the upper wing.

  This was the place she should have been dancing all along. It was wide open, hardly any wires to trip her. Hardly any wires to grab for, either, if she lost her balance. The slipstream was a constant pressure, less deflected than it was below. She spun in a slow circle, catching her breath at the unobstructed view—and saw a black shape like a crow gaining on them. Her stomach dropped. Sinclair Stevens had followed them, was gaining on them. She couldn’t let it distract her. Birdie walked carefully out to the tip of the right wing and looked up. She was directly under the landing gear of the Travel Air, but she wouldn’t be able to grab hold without jumping. She couldn’t tell Oscar to pull any closer, or they’d risk the Travel Air’s propeller slicing the wing.

  Merriwether had insisted—never let go of one firm handhold before you had another. That’s how people die. But what if someone would die if you didn’t?

  The black plane leveled out on the other side of the Travel Air, the lens trained on her.

  She looked up again and tried to block everything else out. Blood pounded in her ears, louder than the wind. She had to jump and trust that she could do it. She trained her eyes on the landing gear, inhaled deeply, and breathed out slowly. She stretched her hands out—almost there, just a few inches.