The Last Pilot: A Novel

by Benjamin Johncock

  He sat with her in Ridley’s office, pointing out airplanes in the hangar below.

  Sure hope she can fly better than you, Walker said.

  Damn sight smarter than you, Ridley said, not looking up from his report.

  That night, Harrison put her to sleep in her crib, tucking the blanket in tight, stroked her head. She looked up at him. He folded the top of the blanket down, retucking it on either side. He frowned.

  What are you doing? Grace said, walking into the dark room.

  What if she wriggles in the night? he said. Pulls the blanket over her head?

  She won’t.

  But what if she does?

  The blanket is woven loose, Grace said. Look.

  He looked.

  Is it too tight? he said.

  It’s fine, she said.

  Harrison sighed.

  I can’t get the damn temperature in here right, he said.

  She’ll tell you if she’s cold, Grace said. Quit worrying.

  Later, on the sofa, Grace said, I never much thought of being a mother til I met you.

  That so, he said, next to her, feet up on the coffee table.

  Guess being an only child, it never really crossed my mind.

  Too busy with the horses?

  She gave a little laugh. Yeah, she said. Guess.

  She sought out his hand and held it.

  Then, after the war, she said, I don’t know; it was just there, in me, somehow.

  Uh-huh.

  You notice that funny noise she makes? she said, looking at him.

  Yeah, he said. Like a quack, or something? Kinda cute; and a bit strange?

  I think it’s cute, Grace said. She’s such a tiny thing, isn’t she, Jim?

  Yeah, he said. He looked at her and smiled.

  Our girl, she said. Say, you’d better turn in; you’re due on base at five.

  Got Ridley to reschedule it, Harrison said.

  Really? Grace said. He spoke to the old man?

  Figure they can cut me some slack, Harrison said. Program’s ahead anyway.

  She kissed his cheek.

  What’s that for? he said.

  Thank you, she said.

  I need a drink, he said.

  I’ll get you a beer, she said, standing, stretching, walking to the kitchen.

  We can hear her down here, right? Harrison called out.

  They’ll hear her in Rosamond, Grace said from the kitchen.

  He grunted, reached for the newspaper, put it back down again.

  I’m gonna get some air, he said.

  What? she said.

  Outside, the control tower glowed red spilling a dim light over the desert salt pan. He lit a cigarette, smoked it, went back inside. Grace had gone to bed. He sat in the kitchen and drank his beer.

  MOJAVE DESERT

  MUROC, CALIFORNIA

  FEBRUARY 1961

  The sun lulled brittlebush to early flower, full corollas turning the desert floor yellow. Harrison slid up his sunglasses, grinned, pushed open the door.

  Daddy! Florence said.

  Hey there, Duck, he said, stooping to pick her up. You had a good day?

  Daddy’s home!

  Grace leaned against the kitchen doorframe, wiping her hands on a towel.

  Why yes he is, she said.

  Harrison kissed his daughter on the cheek, then repeatedly under her chin. Florence threw her head back and giggled.

  Least someone’s pleased to see me, he said.

  Just surprised, is all, Grace said, walking toward him. Wasn’t expecting you til after five.

  She kissed him.

  Got off early, he said, putting Florence down.

  Lucky you, Grace said, then sighed. Sorry, she’s been a handful. You okay?

  Yeah, he said. Same old.

  Daddy come with me, Florence said, cause you have to come with me.

  Grace frowned and Harrison followed Florence to the kitchen.

  Cookies! he said. Why, Duck, they’re my favorite!

  Florence ran to her mother.

  Daddy’s favorite! she said.

  Isn’t he a lucky man, Grace said.

  Florence turned to her father, who was eating a cookie, scowled, and said, you are lucky.

  Harrison narrowed his eyes and finished the cookie; does somebody want a horse-bite? he said.

  Florence squealed and ran to the sofa. Harrison ran after her, hands held open like claws. She buried her head in the cushions. Harrison grabbed the back of her thighs.

  Horse-bite! he said.

  Florence screamed and wriggled away. He growled and crawled after her on his hands and knees.

  Mommy! Florence said.

  Don’t hide behind me, Grace said. When your daddy’s in one of these moods, there’s not much anyone can do.

  Florence ran back into the kitchen.

  What’s got your goat? Harrison said to Grace, sitting up.

  Nothing, she said, sorry; I’m just tired. Listen, instead of horsing around, I could use some help with dinner?

  Sure, he said, standing up. Duck, he said, you’re safe now!

  No, Daddy, she said. Cause you don’t do that.

  C’mon, he said. Go play til supper.

  Florence wandered off. Harrison turned back to Grace, who was staring into the steam rising from a pan of boiling water.

  Hon? he said. You okay?

  What? she said. Yeah, I’m fine.

  She turned back to the vegetables on the countertop.

  What can I do? he said.

  You could set the table, she said.

  Sure.

  He began to set the table.

  How about me takin Duck on her first fishin trip soon.

  Jim, you can’t take her into the mountains; she’s way too young.

  Kern River, he said. Nothin crazy. Cast a few lines, stick our feet in the water, have a little fun—that kinda thing. Might even catch us a trout or two.

  She dropped the chopped vegetables into the pan of water and turned to look at him.

  And how you gonna get there? she said.

  Take out one of Pancho’s horses, he said. The gentlest one she got. Saddle her up, strap Duck to me; off we go.

  And what happens when Florence loses interest and you can’t keep an eye on her because you’re fishing?

  Well, I could take a good length of rope; tie one end around a tree, the other around her waist; pack a few toys for her.

  Jim—

  That’s not such a bad idea, he said. Relax. Look, we’ll be gone half a day, tops, and most of that’ll be ridin.

  Grace looked out the window.

  Well, okay, she said.

  Hey, Duck, he yelled. Where’d she go?

  Florence? Grace said, stepping into the living room.

  Maybe I left the door open? Harrison said.

  Jim, Grace said, the fence—

  Her heart lurched.

  You haven’t fixed it yet!

  Shit, Harrison said, and ran outside. Grace followed. He looked around the yard.

  She’s not here, he said.

  Jesus, Jim—if she gets lost in the desert—

  Call Ridley, get him in the air! he said, and jumped over the fence. Florence!

  Grace ran back inside and dialed the base.

  C’mon, she said, c’mon.

  As the call connected, Harrison burst into the living room with their daughter under his arm.

  Look what I found running around the Joshua trees, he said.

  Florence, she said, thank God. Jack? Sorry, Jack, we had a missing girl for a while there, but it’s all okay now. Yeah, we’re fine—she looked up at Harrison—I will. Thanks, Jack; bye.

  She replaced the receiver, took Florence from her husband’s hands, and raised hell.

  We could have lost you, Florence.

  Sorry, Mommy, Florence said.

  Grace sighed, and put her down.

  That’s okay, sweetheart, she said, just … don’t do it again.


  Florence stepped back to her father and wrapped her arms around his legs. He put his hand on her head. There was a terrific rumble from outside. Harrison cocked his head.

  Quick, he said to Florence.

  They ran into the yard.

  Look! he said.

  The airplane was barely fifty feet off the deck, climbing toward them from the runway. It grew larger and louder; he had to shout to make himself heard over the roar of the rocket plane.

  It’s an XF-92, he said.

  Florence covered her ears.

  Delta-wing prototype!

  She said something, but he didn’t hear.

  Controls are hydraulically operated, he said. Very sensitive. Sneeze on the stick and you’ll corkscrew in.

  They watched the plane pass overhead. The thunder fell to a low grumble.

  That was Pete Everest, he said.

  Florence, hands still covering her ears, stared at him reproachfully and said nothing. Over her shoulder, in the doorway, Grace smiled.

  LONG BEACH,

  CALIFORNIA

  APRIL 1961

  Most days, the three of them stayed by the pool. They ate salty fries and drank cold Coca-Cola through colorful straws. In the early evening, they’d walk along the beach, the heat bearable by the water, the sun a fat orange closing in on the sea. Their room was a double with a sofa made up for Florence, who would kick off her blankets in the night and wake early, cold from the air-conditioning.

  It was late morning, ten before twelve, hot outside. Sunlight slid down the balcony door and lolled in a silver pool beneath the glass, starving the room of color.

  Honey? Harrison said. Hon? Where’s my slacks?

  Why are you yelling? Grace said. I’m in the bathroom, not Texas.

  The gray ones? With the pockets? What time we meeting her?

  Twelve-thirty, Grace said.

  Goddamnit!

  Jim!

  Dadammit, Florence said.

  See what I mean, Jim?

  Jeez Louise, he said. Sorry already.

  Who is Louise? Florence said.

  We need to go, Harrison said.

  The toilet flushed, Grace washed her hands and stepped out of the bathroom.

  The diner is just around the corner, she said. Florence, get off the bed. Your slacks are hanging up in the bathroom. Florence! How many times do I have to tell you not to bounce on the bed?

  But I’m bouncing, Mommy.

  Off!

  She slid off the mattress on her tummy. Harrison went into the bathroom, picked up his slacks, and came out.

  Listen, Duckie, he said. Could you do Daddy a special favor? I need my watch from the table—he bent down—can you see it? Think you could get it for me?

  Florence nodded and ran around the bed to fetch it.

  We’re gonna be late, he said to Grace.

  Then put on your slacks and find your shoes. And redo that tie. And stop worrying.

  Here’s your watch, Daddy!

  Well, hey, thanks Duck! he said. He kissed the top of her head and slid the heavy piece over his wrist, fixing it underneath.

  Daddy gave me a kiss! Florence said.

  Yes he did, Grace said. Now, come on, Duck, we need to find your shoes too. Jim, pass me your tie.

  Harrison dressed and Grace handed back his tie, neatly knotted. He pulled it over his head and combed his hair in front of the mirror.

  Right, he said. Let’s go.

  Turn the light out, Grace said. I got the key.

  I need to pee Mommy, Florence said.

  Goddamnit, Harrison said.

  Jim! How many times? Sweetie, do you really need to go? Can you hold it?

  Florence shook her head.

  Jim, go downstairs, Grace said. We’ll meet you in the lobby.

  The diner was busy, full of families on vacation like them. Red plastic tables curled around the kitchen in a half circle; tall windows looked over a bright blue pool, its surface gilded with broken sunlight.

  Maybe we should have chosen someplace else? Grace said, looking around.

  It’s fine, Harrison said.

  Yeah?

  She’ll love it.

  Sure is noisy, Grace said.

  She don’t hear too good, Harrison said.

  That’s why I’m worried.

  It’ll be fine, he said.

  Florence was holding her mother’s hand. I’m tired, she said.

  Do we just sit down? Grace said.

  Guess so, Harrison said. Look, over there.

  They walked over to an empty table, nested in a horseshoe-shaped booth, and slid in.

  Who is coming? Florence said, sitting between them.

  An old friend of Daddy’s, Grace said.

  Her name is Annie, Harrison said. She’s very old.

  Old? Florence said, scrunching up her nose.

  She’s eighty-one years old, he said.

  She’s very old, Florence said.

  Yes she is, Grace said, but it’s rude to say so.

  Your mother’s right, he said.

  I’m very old, Florence said, resting her head on the table.

  Jim, that’s her, isn’t it? Grace said.

  Harrison looked up toward the door, smiled, and said, yes it is.

  He slid out from behind the table to greet her.

  Annie walked slowly, with a stick. She was short, hair sewn up in a tight bun, her dress a deep indigo. When she saw Harrison, she smiled, dark skin folding softly like a newspaper.

  Jimmy, she said. They embraced. Several people at nearby tables stared. Harrison ignored them and brought her back on his arm.

  Gracie, Florence; this is Aunt Annie, he said.

  You’re very old, Florence said.

  Florence! Grace said. I am so sorry, Annie.

  Annie laughed.

  Don’t be, she said. She’s a precious one.

  Annie smiled at Florence and said, and who might you be?

  Florence hid her face in her mother’s arm. Annie chuckled.

  I’m only teasin you, Annie said. Your daddy told me all about you!

  It’s so great to finally meet you, Grace said.

  It sure is good to meet you too, Annie said. And little Jimmy here! My goodness! Ain’t he turned out handsome?

  That’s a matter of opinion, Grace said.

  Haven’t seen your daddy since he was nine years old, Annie said.

  Why are you a funny color? Florence said.

  Jesus, Harrison said.

  That’s enough, Florence, Grace said.

  That’s all right, Annie said, let her be; nothin more beautiful or true than what comes from the mouth of a child.

  Annie dipped her head toward Florence and said, I do look different to you, don’t I; but you look different to me!

  She chuckled and continued.

  God made us all different colors and shapes! Be pretty borin if we was all lookin the same now, wouldn’t it?

  Florence nodded.

  Aunt Annie was a good friend of my mother—my mommy—Duck, Harrison said.

  Your grandma was a very beautiful woman, Florence, Annie said. You have her nose.

  Her nose?!

  Yes. And I miss her a lot, Annie said.

  Where is she? Florence said.

  Harrison glanced up at his wife.

  Why, she’s in heaven, sweetie, Annie said.

  Heaven? Florence said. With Billy Horner’s dog?

  Uh, yeah, sweetheart, Harrison said.

  Who told you that, Duck? Grace said.

  Aunt Pancho did, Mommy. Is Aunt Pancho going to heaven?

  Grace and Jim exchanged another look.

  Let’s get Aunt Annie a drink, shall we? Grace said.

  Aunt Annie wants a drink, Daddy, Florence said. Cause she’s thirsty.

  Why, thank you, Florence, Annie said. I am thirsty. Annie chuckled. Ain’t she a precocious little thing!

  Tell me about it, Grace said.

  Well, Duck, Harrison said, guess I’d better c
all someone over.

  He looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen. Women wearing white dresses with red frills milled about, carrying drinks, taking orders.

  Be right there, hon, one of them said as she passed, carrying two plates of hot food.

  Harrison turned back to the table.

  Everyone hungry? he said.

  Everyone was.

  The food, when it came, was good.

  You know, Florence, Annie said, leaning in towards her, I brought your daddy into this world!

  You were a midwife? Grace said.

  Never lost a baby.

  What’s a midwife? Florence said.

  Grace shot her husband a look. I can’t believe you never told me!

  Harrison shrugged.

  He was a tough one, Annie said.

  Well he sure as hell didn’t get any easier, Grace said.

  Hey! Harrison said.

  Annie laughed and Florence looked at her and laughed too.

  You too, huh, Duck, Harrison said.

  I stayed on after little Jimmy was born, Annie said, helped out with the house; just a couple of weeks, til his mama was back on her feet. I’d just lost Emery; my own place was feelin mighty empty. After that, Mayton an me; well, Florence, we became the best of friends.

  Can we be friends? Florence said.

  Friends? Annie said. Why, Florence, we’re family!

  Florence turned to her father and smiled.

  What made you move west, Annie? Grace said.

  My bones, Annie said.

  Your bones?! Florence said.

  My old bones ache, Florence, Annie said. Gets worse, colder it gets and the older I get. West Virginia is bitter in winter, so I came out here to keep warm. And all my life I’ve wanted to see the Pacific blue.

  And? Grace said.

  It’s a beautiful thing, Annie said.

  My bones are sore, Florence said.

  No they’re not, Grace said.

  I have to pee, Florence said.

  Grace sighed and said, come on then, trouble; we’ll take a trip to the ladies’ room.

  They slipped out from behind the table and Florence skipped ahead of her mother. Annie folded her napkin, smoothed the crease.

  What a fine little girl you have, Jimmy, she said. Two fine girls! You done well for yourself.

  We’d love to have you stay sometime, he said. It’s real peaceful out there. And hot. You’d like it.

  I would like that, Jimmy, she said, but I don’t travel too good no more. Comin out here, to California, movin all this way, damn near killed me.