An Impossible Distance to Fall

by Miriam McNamara

  She crouched, focused—and jumped.

  Both hands caught the crossed bars. She almost laughed with relief, but then felt the wing beneath her feet again, pushing up fast. Birdie ducked, got her feet on the crossed bars and tucked herself tightly as the landing gear crunched into the wing below, stopping just short of crushing her. She looked down and saw Oscar peering up from the Jenny’s rear cockpit with a look of horror on his face.

  The aileron of the right wing was caught in the landing gear.

  Her weight must have thrown the trajectory of the Travel Air, or maybe it had been a rogue updraft. The planes had crashed in midair, and now they were stuck together. Neither plane could maneuver like this. It was a miracle they were still headed on a reasonably straight trajectory, and not spiraling toward the ground.

  The film crew dipped in closer.

  Birdie kicked at the aileron, trying not to panic. Nothing. She let out a frustrated shout and kicked again, harder, and a piece of the aileron snapped. Oscar’s plane surged away as the aileron ripped free, the Travel Air leaning into a slight nosedive. There was yelling and scrambling from the film crew’s plane as their plane swooped away.

  She had to move fast. She dug her toes into the landing gear and leaned out toward the left, but as she reached for the lower wing she looked down. Nothing but hard earth growing closer. She fumbled for the landing gear again, clinging desperately as she took gasping breaths. She wasn’t sure if she could clear the distance between the landing gear and the lower wing.

  She made eye contact with the film crew’s lens as it trained on her again.

  Focus. Focus. She reached as far as she could with shaking fingers but couldn’t get a good grip. She’d never pull herself up, and that impassive eye would record her failure so that it could be replayed on news reels across the country.

  She glimpsed another plane tailing them, sunlight glinting off of a glossy red. June—her eyes dark in a smoky, crowded room, sparkling by a warm fire, brilliant green in the sun—was watching as well, believing she had what it took. And there was Oscar’s plane, beside her again! He’d righted his course, limping along as his broken aileron spun in the slipstream. She knew he was watching closely, praying she could see this through.

  It was about weight and her center of gravity, about tension and release. It was a dance. Bennie’s tune hummed in her head, because she needed music: dun, dun-a-dun—and suddenly she could feel the distance and the energy it would take to cross it, feel the rhythm she needed to follow, see the sequence of the movements.

  She set her jaw and leaned out again. She stretched with everything she had and barely grazed the wing’s edge, but then she breathed, and stretched, and breathed again, and found the extra length inside herself. Her fingers closed around the strut connecting the lower wing to the fuselage. Another deep stretch and extension, the plane as her partner. It would lift her effortlessly if she could gain a little momentum and meet it with confidence, prepare and then UP!

  Just like that, she swung her leg up in a grand battement, her heel caught on the wing, and she levered herself up and rolled onto the wing.

  She gasped with relief and fumbled one hand onto a wire, then the other. Something she could hold tight to and the familiar shape of a wing beneath her was such a relief. She wanted to collapse in a heap, curl up until the trembling stopped—but there was no time.

  She stood up and stumbled over to the cockpit. “Hazel!”

  Hazel’s hands twitched, her head rolling to one side. “Hmmm …”

  The cockpit was tiny, but Birdie was small. Quickly, she pulled herself onto the fuselage, put a hand on either side of the cockpit, and lowered herself onto Hazel’s lap. Then she adjusted their hips so they sat side by side. Hazel’s eyes fluttered open, then closed again. “Hazel,” Birdie whispered, tears springing to her eyes. Hazel was so pale she looked gray, sweat beading on her skin.

  “I’m going to fly the plane now, okay?” She moved Hazel’s hands from the stick, and took in the controls.

  The controls were much more complicated than in the Jenny, but she could identify the important things—stick, tachometer, throttle. She raised the Travel Air out of its dive and slowly banked the plane around. The show might be ruined, but they would make it back to Henrieta’s. Birdie prayed they would get Hazel the help she needed in time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE VIEW FROM THE TRAVEL AIR COCKPIT WAS STUNNING. IT WAS SO open Birdie could watch the ground slip by beneath them without having to even crane her neck. It was also tiny, hot, deafeningly noisy, dirty, and unbearably uncomfortable with Hazel sweating and moaning next to her. Thank God Oscar and June were flying ahead of her, because Birdie hadn’t the faintest idea how to get back to the field. The compass said they were flying southeast but that meant nothing to her.

  Birdie’s head was starting to hurt, and she couldn’t wait to land.

  Land. Her skin turned to ice. She had never landed a plane.

  Why hadn’t she landed the plane when June gave her the flying lesson? She’d let June do it while she danced around on the wing.

  Think, Birdie. It was hard to think in such a tight space. She looked over the controls again. She needed to slow down, and she needed to drop in elevation. She could guess how to do it, but what if she was wrong? She’d read about plenty of crash landings in the papers, and plenty of pilots who didn’t survive them.

  Birdie peeled a clenched hand off the stick and nudged Hazel. “Hazel, I need you to land the plane.”

  Hazel’s head lolled. “What? Birdie?” Her voice was faint and confused. “Where’s Oscar?”

  Birdie’s heart sank. “Listen to me, Hazel. I need you to at least talk me through landing this thing.”

  “My head,” Hazel mumbled. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Birdie swallowed, stomach turning. “It’s okay if you’re sick. Just tell me how to land the plane.”

  “When you’re close to the ground, pull the power.” Hazel’s voice was a whisper.

  “Pull the power?”

  Hazel didn’t respond.

  Okay. “Pull the power” probably meant pulling back on the throttle pretty quick. Simple enough. She tried to recall the feeling she had when June gave her the lesson. You know how it’s supposed to feel. Just feel it.

  It was hard to feel it. It was so stuffy in the cockpit, even though it was open. Birdie leaned her head into the slipstream and took gasps of air, but it didn’t help.

  Birdie followed Oscar in close to the field, nosing down when he nosed down, letting the RPMs drop. She could see the crowd milling around, watching as she got closer and closer. The number of spectators seemed to have grown exponentially since she’d left the ground.

  She hoped she didn’t embarrass herself. She hoped she didn’t kill anyone. She hoped she didn’t die.

  The ground was only a few yards below them, the field rapidly approaching. Oscar touched down just ahead of her, and she aimed to hit the field in the same spot. The plane hit the ground and bounced, hit the ground, bounced again. And again. Birdie panicked, but the jouncing roused Hazel. Hazel fumbled for the stick and pulled it back, which killed off the remaining speed. The plane rattled jarringly down the field but stopped bouncing, then flung into a loop as it slowed dramatically.

  They came to a halt.

  Birdie stood up, then folded over the side. She heard shouting, but it seemed far away. Roaring in her ears—or maybe it was the crowd? Hands touched her. She had to get out. She forced her legs over the side.

  The lower wing rushed up to meet her as darkness flooded her vision. Someone caught her, lowered her into a sitting position on the grass.

  “Jesus, Birdie.” June’s voice. “Tell me you’re okay.”

  “I’m okay,” Birdie mumbled. “Just need some air.”

  As Birdie’s vision cleared, she saw Oscar and Merriwether pull Hazel from the cockpit. A man crouched down beside Hazel as they laid her on the ground. He took her pulse,
looked at her eyes, then turned to Birdie.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I feel really faint,” Birdie said shakily. “I don’t know what happened.”

  A cameraman rushed up, pushing the lens in Birdie’s face, then hovered over Hazel. Oscar shoved the camera, knelt beside Hazel, and took her hand.

  “And this woman has been flying this plane all day?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” said Oscar.

  “And pretty much all day yesterday,” June added.

  “Carbon monoxide poisoning.” He nodded at Birdie. “You’re going to be fine. This one—” He looked back at Hazel, his expression grave. “She’s obviously had extended exposure. We’re not going to lose her, but hopefully there’s no permanent damage.”

  Birdie’s chest constricted as tears slipped down Oscar’s face. “No no no no.” He cupped Hazel’s face and put his cheek to hers, saying something under his breath.

  The man touched his shoulder. “Help me carry her, quick, and I’ll take both of you to the hospital. We’ll get a better idea of what the damage is, if any.”

  Hazel’s eyes fluttered open as Oscar pulled away, and Birdie could breathe again.

  “Oh my God,” Oscar choked out. “There you are.”

  “I didn’t know where you were,” she said weakly. “I was worried.”

  “You were worried about me?” He smiled through his tears.

  Her eyes welled. “I feel so sick.”

  “Here, we’re gonna take care of you.” He and the doctor helped Hazel sit up, then lifted her to standing with the doctor supporting Hazel on one side, Oscar on the other. Oscar kissed Hazel’s hand before he put her arm over his shoulder. As they walked away, Hazel laid her head on Oscar’s shoulder.

  Birdie’s head was starting to clear. June’s arm was wrapped around her. The crowd buzzed. The camerman gestured excitedly alongside Sinclair Stevens. Merriwether talked tensely with Colette and John. John was nodding, looking grave. Milosh was juggling fire in front of the crowd, trying to cover while they pulled the show back together.

  The show.

  Merriwether came over with John. “We can do the rest of the show without Tiger Lily. Colette’s changing the script slightly. She can handle the storytelling part.”

  “But Oscar.” Birdie had no one to fly her Jenny.

  “John knows the show,” said Merri steadily. “The major stunt flying is out of the way. He’ll fly in big loops during the fight scene, and June will follow his lead. You’re gonna to do your stunts, and then I’m gonna to do mine.”

  Birdie slid out from under June’s arm and stood. She gave John’s shoulder a squeeze. “This is perfect,” she said. “You’re gonna do great.” He nodded solemnly, his usual exuberance focused and serious.

  Bennie ran up at a jog. “Henry’s helped me fix the aileron with a bit of hay wire.” He was a bit short of breath. “Pretty sure it’ll do the trick, so long as John doesn’t try anything fancy. You hear me, kid? Nothing fancy!”

  John nodded vigorously.

  Bennie patted Merri’s shoulder. “He’s gonna be just fine, don’t you worry. He’s a smart kid.”

  Merriwether sniffed hard, nodded, and pulled John in for a hug, kissing the top of his head.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Colette announced. The crowd went almost silent, everyone eager to be under the storyteller’s thrall again. “Hook almost destroyed the brave Tiger Lily, but Peter Pan went above and beyond when it seemed like there was no hope. Tiger Lily will survive thanks to his heroic efforts, but she is gravely injured. It is time for Peter Pan to exact his revenge!”

  The silence erupted into cheers.

  Birdie smiled at John. “Let’s do this.”

  “Wahoo!” John crowed, his solemnity breaking as he leaped into the green Jenny’s rear cockpit.

  Things happened that were beyond their control. Planes broke, banks closed, money disappeared, people disappointed.

  You could still put on one hell of a performance.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE REST OF THE SHOW WENT OFF WITHOUT A HITCH.

  Milosh lit the fuses. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Fireworks mimicking cannon fire combusted in the air beyond the pirate ship and Peter Pan’s plane. Birdie dropped down in her harness, swinging by her wire, and brandished her sword at Merriwether and the audience. The crowd went wild as John made a few low passes and everyone saw her hanging by the slender wire. Birdie flipped herself back up. She waved cheekily at Merriwether, then reached up over the wing above her head and hoisted herself up onto the upper surface. The wind was warm and strong. To her delight, Merri hauled herself up on the upper wing of the other Jenny as well.

  They did their sword-fighting. Birdie hooked her hands under a guy wire and stood on her head with her sword in her teeth. Merri grinned crazily when the planes came close, brandishing her foil sword with glee, and gave John a proud thumbs-up when the plane circled away from the crowd.

  In the final scene, Birdie made her great thrust at Merriwether, who staggered backward dramatically, climbed down onto the lower wing, then onto the landing gear and dropped the rope. Smoke began to pour out of the pirate ship to symbolize its demise.

  The Deusenberg sped across the field as the pirate Jenny flew low above it. Merriwether clambered down the rope, Bennie opening his crocodile mouth wide. Merriwether landed in a heap in the passenger seat of the Duesenberg, her curly-wigged helmet staying on gamely throughout.

  John made one last pass in front of the crowd, and Birdie stood with her hands on her hips and crowed.

  She could hear the stomping, the wild cheering, long before they hit the ground.

  “You did it!” she whooped as the plane rolled to a stop. She leapt out of the cockpit, pulled John’s helmet off, and scruffed his hair. “You were wonderful!”

  June grabbed her hand, pulled her off the wing, and swept her up in a sweaty hug. “Holy cow! That was incredible!” she yelled.

  June set her down, and Birdie stumbled back laughing breathlessly. “We did it!”

  “And what happened with Hazel …” June shook her head. “I can’t believe these people in the audience didn’t see what I saw. Just wait until that movie crew develops their film. You’ll be on the front page of all the papers. You’ll be a celebrity!”

  Birdie rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious. That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some crazy brave stuff.”

  Birdie felt herself pinking. “I just—thank you.”

  “Birdie Williams!”

  She turned—and there was Sinclair Stevens, a smile twitching beneath his mustache.

  “Mr. Stevens!” Birdie exclaimed. “Did you enjoy your front-row seat?”

  “Young lady, that was unbelievable! The crew tells me the footage they recorded is stunning. I can’t wait to watch it. I’m thinking that we can do something similar, but have a story line outside of the Peter Pan show, and script the whole rescue. I think this footage might be the ticket to my next film!”

  He looked at June and stuck out his hand, and June shook it. “You were amazing up there, young lady. I told the fellas I came with—bet you didn’t think girls could fly like that!”

  “I’m glad you knew better,” said June drily.

  “I’m heading back to California early tomorrow.” He handed her a card, then gave Birdie one, too. “Tell you what. You get a group to come out there. I’ll review the footage, do some editing, and send it out to my investors. If they like it, then we can talk. Nothing these days is a sure thing, but I’ve got my fingers crossed. What do you say?”

  “Oh my gosh!” Birdie tried not to squeal with glee. “Yes, sir! Thank you so much!”

  “Thank you, Miss Williams.” He took her hand and bent over it before he walked away.

  June nudged her. “What do you think? Should we go call on Hollywood? You think anything he said was for real?”

  “I think it’s worth a shot,” said Birdie. “I can’t wait
to tell Hazel.”

  “I hope she’s okay,” said June. “She looked like she was going to be all right, didn’t she?”

  “Gosh. I hope so.” Birdie looked out over the crowd, and suddenly it came back to her—seeing Dad. She’d seen Dad, hadn’t she?

  She’d forgotten, in all the excitement.

  She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. At the beginning of the summer she would have jumped right out of that plane to find him. Her eyes scanned the crowd. She wondered what he’d thought of his Jenny painted green. His Duesenberg used in circus stunts. His daughter hanging from the wing of a plane.

  If it was him, he would come and find her.

  If it was him, and he didn’t come find her—he didn’t deserve for her to look for him anymore.

  She looked around. It was easy to find Merriwether, squeezing John and Henry around their shoulders, laughing at something Henrieta said. Colette held hands with Milosh and listened to a top-hatted, mustachioed man who gestured enthusiastically at Bennie’s crocodile suit. Bennie caught her eye, beamed at her, and gave her a thumbs-up. Hazel and Oscar were missing, but they would go find them in the hospital, and do everything they could to make sure Hazel was okay.

  And June—June was gazing at her with deep, sunlit hazel eyes, catching her hand with long fingers. “Hey.”

  “Yeah?” said Birdie.

  “Come here.” June took her hand, and led her around behind the Jenny’s wing. She pressed Birdie against the fuselage in the shadow of the wing, out of sight of the crowd, and when June kissed her, Birdie tasted salt and sun-warmed skin.

  June pulled away and touched Birdie’s face. “You okay?” she asked. “You seemed a little sad there, for a moment.”

  Birdie hadn’t told June anything about Dad, but she was finding her pretty easy to talk to. “I’m okay,” said Birdie. “I just—I thought I saw my dad in the crowd. At the beginning of the show.”

  “Do tell,” said June, raising her brows.

  Birdie wanted to tell her everything. How much Dad had disappointed her. How much she still loved him. How he’d been a great father, even though he might not always be a great man, and how confusing it was that both of those things could be true. But who knew, Dad might be right there when she walked around the corner of the wing.