Unforgiven

by Anne Calhoun

  He handed her the cup, her reward for following orders, then navigated onto the highway leading to I-29. Once on the nearly empty interstate he kept their speed steady at eighty miles an hour, zipping right through Brookings with only a glance at the clock on the dashboard.

  “We’re not going to Brookings?”

  “Nope,” he said, a pleased smile on his face.

  In a little over an hour they arrived on the outskirts of Sioux Falls. He took the West 60th Street exit, toward the airport, then turned down a road before reaching the main parking area and terminal. A sign at the corner pointed to charter flights. Adam parked in the lot and opened his door.

  “Wait here, tough girl.”

  “Okay,” she said, feeling more like bewildered girl than tough girl, but he was out of the car, striding through the rain to a man in a blue suit with gold braid at the cuffs and a pilot’s hat on his head. Behind him sat a small jet, with five windows down the side and a short stairway built into the open door. Adam shook the man’s hand. There was a short conversation, then the man looked at his watch and said something. He turned back to the plane and Adam jogged back to the car. He opened her door and hunkered down beside her.

  “You coming?”

  “On that?” she asked, pointing out the Charger’s front window at the airplane.

  “On that,” he confirmed.

  “What is that?”

  “That is a Gulfstream G150 jet.”

  The words meant nothing to her. “Is it yours?”

  “No,” he said with a smile.

  She waited, but he kept smiling that pleased, cocky smile. “That’s all I’m getting? Who does it belong to and why are we flying on it? For that matter, where are we flying on it?”

  “I’ll answer all those questions when we get where we’re going,” he said. “Unless you won’t get on the plane without knowing. Then I’ll answer them now. But . . . wait. It’ll be worth it.”

  She looked at him, anxiety and excitement warring in her stomach, not sure what to think, let alone say, wanting to know, not wanting to spoil whatever surprise he’d planned that lit him up inside. He was as alive as she’d ever seen him, as alive as he’d been at seventeen, his hazel eyes glowing nearly green, his high cheekbones stained with red from the cold, damp air.

  “Trust me, Ris,” he said quietly. “Let’s do this.”

  “It’s really small,” she said thinly.

  His hand dropped to her knee, squeezed gently. “The pilot is former Air Force. He has thirty years of experience flying everything from F-16s to Boeing 777s to gliders.”

  “I’ve never been on a plane before,” she admitted.

  He blinked. “You’ve never flown anywhere.”

  “Adam,” she said in a whisper, “the farthest away from home I’ve been is the Black Hills.”

  “How about you take your first plane ride today?”

  She nodded wordlessly and got out of the car. Adam grabbed their bags from the backseat and escorted her toward the plane. The pilot appeared in the doorway, reaching down for her hand to help her up the stairs. “Watch your head, ma’am,” he said.

  She was so busy watching her head she tripped over the plush carpet. The cabin’s interior made her eyes widen. A row of single caramel leather seats lined the aisle, with polished wood accents on the folding tables and cup holders. Televisions folded flat against the interior walls. The interior smelled like leather cream and new car.

  “Any seat’s fine, ma’am,” the pilot said. Marissa sank into the one opposite the door. Adam set their bags in a closet at the front of the plane and sat down next to her while the pilot closed the cabin door and shut himself in the cockpit. The seat belts fastened over her shoulder like they would in a car. The engines revved and the plane turned toward the runway.

  “How does he know where to go?” she asked.

  “That’s what we were talking about while you were in the car,” Adam said, studying her. “You know what you need?”

  She shook her head mutely.

  “You need a Starbucks cup to hold,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  The gentle teasing startled a laugh from her. “I’ll try to enjoy myself without it,” she said.

  Rain lashed at the little window while the jet taxied to the end of the runway. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “The flight’s about an hour, folks. Ride up’s gonna be a little choppy, so buckle up tight. Once we’re airborne I’ll let you know when you can help yourself to the pantry. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”

  Marissa turned her attention to the tiny window beside her, watching the runway move past, listening to the engines ramp up as the plane taxied to the end of the runway and took off. Her heart clawed its way into her throat as the plane bounced and struggled to clear the ominous clouds. At the second jolt she gripped the armrests. Adam reached across the aisle and offered his hand. She took it, weaving her fingers through his, and squeezing hard. The warm, solid strength of his hand seeped into her cold fingers, and her heart rate slowed a little.

  Without warning they broke free of the clouds. Sunlight streamed through the small window, blinding her. She closed her eyes against the sudden, shocking light, but even with her eyes shut the light seared into her brain. Adam’s fingers tightened on hers, and she turned to face him. Sunshine gilded his face, dusted his eyelashes and eyebrows with gold, brought out the gold flecks in his eyes.

  “It’s the sun,” she said through the lump in her throat.

  “It’s always there, Ris,” he said gently. “Sometimes you just have to go searching for it.”

  The ride smoothed out as if by magic. After a few minutes the plane leveled out, the engines barely audible in the plush interior, and the pilot’s voice came over the speakers.

  “We’re at cruising altitude, folks, so the pantry’s now open. Help yourselves to whatever you like.”

  At ease in the small plane, Adam unclipped his seat belt and got to his feet. Marissa reached for her own belt, and together they stepped to the small closet. Adam made a pot of coffee while she poked through the selection of muffins and fresh fruit, assorted teas, juices, and cold cereals. She chose a muffin, still warm in the linen-lined basket, added an apple, and a second cup of coffee, then returned to her seat. Adam handed the pilot a cup of coffee and closed the door between the cockpit and the cabin, then extracted the folding wood table from its slot along the body of the plane and sat down with his own breakfast.

  While she ate Marissa peered out the window. The clouds below them gave way to a rolling countryside, the orderly progression of farm fields in square miles except where roads curved along river – or creekbeds. Towns clustered around highway intersections.

  “We’re flying east, right?”

  He nodded while pushing the last piece of banana-nut bread into his mouth, but said nothing more. She thought about what lay east of Walkers Ford. Minneapolis-St. Paul came to mind, a destination definitely reachable in less than an hour. But the flight stretched over thirty minutes and suddenly the patchwork quilt of brown fields gave way to a large body of water. The plane gradually descended as it banked, and the water turned to urban skyline. She peered out the window, and a montage from a television show meshed with what she saw.

  “That’s the Sears Tower,” she said, pointing.

  “It is,” Adam agreed.

  “You’re taking me to Chicago?”

  He nodded, his hazel eyes dancing with delight.

  “I’m speechless,” she said.

  “There’s more,” he replied.

  The jet landed with an almost imperceptible jolt and braked hard down the runway before coming to a halt at the edge of a cluster of similar jets. Marissa stowed their plates and glasses in the pantry while Adam gathered their bags and the pilot opened the door.

  “That was my first flight,” she said, pausing in the door way. “It was wonderful.”

  His smile widened from polite to genuine. “My pleasure, ma’am. Enjoy yo
ur stay in Chicago.”

  Adam guided her to a black Lincoln Continental parked near the hangar. A man in a suit leaned against it, and as they approached he straightened. “Mr. Collins? Ms. Brooks?”

  “That’s us,” Adam said. The driver reached for the bags and put them in the trunk while Adam helped Marissa into the backseat. A few quiet words with the driver, and then they pulled into traffic.

  “How did you do all of this?”

  “I made a call,” he said.

  Things sure did happen when Adam Collins was around. The trip took them along city streets and through more traffic than she’d ever seen in her life. She gave up any appearance of sophistication and pressed her cheek to the glass to look at the buildings, the people, the cars, everything she could see. Sunlight poured over the cityscape, glinted off reflective glass in skyscrapers, making her blink.

  “Look at the sun,” she said, mostly to herself.

  Beside her, Adam pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call. “We’re here,” he said, then leaned through the partition again. “How long?”

  “Five minutes,” the driver said.

  Adam repeated the information into the phone and hung up. The driver turned off the main road and parked next to a sign that read Chicago Yacht Club. Her heart pumped in solid, hard thunks that made her dizzy, and her stomach began to flip-flop around the blueberry muffin and apple.

  She looked at Adam, knew her eyes must be as wide as saucers. He just smiled. “Out you go, tough girl.”

  A tall man wearing shorts, deck shoes, and a windbreaker with the Chicago Yacht Club logo on the chest was waiting by the sign. His closely cropped blond hair glinted in the sunlight as he reached into the trunk and set their bags on the sidewalk. “That’s all of it,” he said to the driver, who nodded, got back in the car, and left.

  Adam and the blond man gave each other a back-slapping, bear hug of an embrace. “Good to see you, man,” Adam said, and put his hand at the small of Marissa’s back to guide her forward. “This is Nate Martin. We served together.”

  The man held out his hand, his aged-whiskey eyes seeming to see straight into her soul. “Welcome to Chicago, Marissa.”

  “Thank you,” she said, but it was all she could do not to stare past him at the water stretching to the horizon. A forest of white masts swayed at their moorings. Did Nate work there? Could he show them around? She looked up at Adam, not sure what to say, much less what was going on.

  “Nate owns a boat,” he said gently. “He’s going to take us out on the lake for the day.”

  Earth dropped out from underneath her. She looked at the boats, then at Adam, because in all that was completely unfamiliar, he was the only thing she knew and trusted. “We’re going sailing? Right now?”

  “As soon as we can cast off,” Nate said with a smile. “Ready to work?”

  According to the large clock set into the side of the yacht club, it was ten minutes until ten. Four hours earlier she’d been asleep in her bed in Walkers Ford. This was no time for terror. “Yes, of course,” she stammered.

  They followed Nate down a series of platforms to the docks, then along one to a sailboat Marissa estimated to be around forty-five feet long. The oak deck gleamed, the white lines and sails neatly stowed. Nate climbed aboard first, then held out his hand for Marissa to help her traverse the gap between the pier and the cockpit. Adam dropped their bags on a blue-padded bench near the wheel, deftly unwound the lines from the cleat on the pier, grabbed the ladder, and climbed on board.

  “Your stuff’s downstairs,” Nate said as he started the engine. A gold band glinted on his left ring finger.

  “Thanks,” Adam said, then looked around. “Where’s Julia?”

  “Good question,” Nate said, his face expressionless.

  Adam gave a short nod and disappeared into the small opening as they idled away out toward open water.

  “First time on a sailboat?” Nate asked as he handled the large round wheel.

  “First time on any boat,” Marissa admitted from her seat next to Nate. “I’m from South Dakota.”

  He cut her a worried glance. “You can swim, right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I swim for exercise in the winter, usually for an hour five or six days a week. It’s low impact.”

  She stopped herself. She was babbling like a fool while her body registered every dip and sway, the sense of motion as the boat gathered momentum and pushed into open water. Nate didn’t seem to notice either the way her fingers gripped the bench cushion or her rambling. “You don’t have to wear a life jacket, but don’t fall overboard.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Adam reappeared in shorts, deck shoes, and a windbreaker, and started digging in a bag he’d brought from below deck. He pulled out a brand-new pair of shoes exactly like Nate’s brown, battered ones and handed them to her. “Those shoes won’t get much of a grip on the deck once it gets wet,” he explained, “and he wasn’t kidding about work.”

  She exchanged her ballet flats for the deck shoes and wiggled her toes experimentally. “They fit.” Of course they did. He’d conjured a private jet and a sailboat out of thin air. Learning her shoe size was child’s play.

  “I looked inside your work boots before I left last night. Nate picked them up this morning.”

  They’d cleared the marina and were in open water now, the sun warm on her face, the wind equally cold. Adam pulled a bright red jacket from the bag and handed it to her. The coat had a liner and a hood, and a drawstring at the waist to keep the drafts out. “Take out the liner if you get too warm,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said, and shucked her peacoat for the warmer, lightweight, waterproof jacket. It cut the wind, and in moments she began to warm up. Adam handed her a hat, again a newer version of Nate’s battered, stained wide-brimmed hat, and showed her how the cords kept it secured to her head no matter which direction the wind blew from. She’d left Walkers Ford without her sunglasses, and while she soaked up the sunlight glittering off the water, a little shade was a good thing.

  Nate wore a similar hat much the worse for wear, and Adam clapped one on his own head after she’d gotten hers adjusted. The gear was all brand new, and clearly expensive if he’d bought her the women’s version of everything Nate wore. She looked around, reconciling things she’d seen only in books or videos to the reality of a big, luxurious yacht.

  “Don’t worry,” Nate said as he cut the engine. “I’m not going to give you a pop quiz.”

  Adam hauled on the lines with practiced motions. The sails rose into the air, and just like that, the boat skimmed across the surface of the lake. She tilted her head back. Breezes and sunshine spilled down her face and neck.

  “Want to take the wheel?” Nate asked from the captain’s chair.

  “I couldn’t,” Marissa started.

  “We’re in the middle of Lake Michigan. You can’t hit anything and you can’t tip us over,” he said. “She won’t bite.”

  She stood beside Nate, then slipped into the seat he’d just left and put her hands on the wheel where his had been. Immediately she felt the tug of the keel in the water as the wind caught the sail, as if the boat were a living thing connected to the lake beneath her and the wind around her. Energy flowed through her, the wind filling the sails, the boat following, and she braced her feet, let out her breath.

  “She’s all yours,” Nate said.

  In her dreams. Adam was stretched out on a bench, knees bent, face tipped to the sun. “I missed this,” he said without opening his eyes. “You get out here often?”

  “More than usual, lately,” Nate replied.

  The handset squawked. “Resolute, Resolute, Resolute, this is Big Deal, Big Deal, Big Deal on one six. Do you copy? Over.”

  “Big Deal?” Adam asked dryly.

  “He’s compensating.” Nate picked up the handset. “Big Deal, this is Resolute, over.”

  They switched to another channel, and Nate directed her attention to a boat of
f in the distance. “It’s Jack McCallister. He’s got a new boat, and wants a race,” Nate said. He pressed the button on the handset. “Sorry, Jack. I’ve got a first-time sailor on board. We’re just pleasure cruising this afternoon. Over.”

  Marissa heard regret in his voice. “Don’t hold back on my account,” she said.

  Nate’s grin didn’t get anywhere close to his eyes. He looked into the binoculars at the other sailboat. “He’s an egregious asshole. Bought the boat, then furloughed two hundred people to keep his stock price high. Want to help me kick his ass?” At her eager nod he lifted the handset to his mouth and said, “The lady wants a race, so you’re on, Jack.” He pointed at Marissa. “Stay there and do what I tell you to do.”

  “What?” she yelped.

  Adam rolled from catlike lounging to forward movement in the time it took Nate to hang up the handset. Both men hurried along opposite gunwales, toward the lines.

  At first they stalled in the water, the mainsail flapping limply as the breezes seemed to come from every direction. Nate checked the rigging and the bearing, then glanced off into the distance, his gaze intent. Then, as if he’d known all along where the wind would come from, a giant, invisible fist swooped up and slammed into the Resolute’s slack mainsail. The boat leaped ahead like a shark smelling blood in the water. Adrenaline spiked high, blasting away any shred of nerves as she struggled to keep the wheel aligned according to Nate’s shouted commands, using every muscle in her body.

  Nate called back to her and she adjusted the wheel, watching Adam drop to his belly to escape being flattened by the boom swinging across the deck. He was back up in an instant, adjusting the tension in a line, then securing it.

  “How are we looking?” Nate yelled at her.

  “We’re gaining on them,” she called back, trying to sound blasé about the whole thing, and failing spectacularly. Another strong wind filled the sail, lifting Marissa’s hair in a wild tangle, and in that instant the edges of her body blurred into water, wind, and sky. The keel sliced through the water beneath her feet, the wind filled the sail and her chest, her consciousness disappeared into the expansive blue sky arching overhead. She flowed into boat and wind and water, the sensation of movement transcendent and obliterating, and for a few moments, nothing else existed, not even herself.