Rafe nodded. “Good girl.”
Amy glanced at Michael, her face suddenly warm. “I didn’t mean to grab you.”
“That’s nothing. Aunt Bay once latched onto a total stranger on a commercial flight.” He rubbed his thigh. “I’ll have a nice set of bruises.”
The heat in her face flared. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s why I’m here. Look down there — see the river?”
A winding strip of blue lay among the textured green forest as if someone had dropped a ribbon. Amy concentrated on the terrain beneath them and tried to regain the peace she’d felt at first. Here and there a house appeared, and ahead the trees gave way to farmland.
Slowly her heart rate dropped and the plane’s vibration loosened her muscles. Before she was ready, the green changed to urban sprawl, roadways, and a few parks. Then Halifax Harbour stretched below them, with its twin bridges and port traffic.
A tiny island slid past, the plane banked, and Rafe called, “Landing in a few minutes. Everything’s good.”
Eyes twinkling, Michael held out his hand to Amy. “Use this instead of my leg? I need to walk to the van.”
The shakes were back. Amy took his hand, wedged the paper bag between her knees so she couldn’t lose it, and gripped her armrest with her other hand. Breathe. Concentrate. Planes landed all the time. They’d be fine.
The ground rushed to meet them. At the last instant, Amy shut her eyes and hid her face against Michael’s shoulder. He tightened his grip on her hand.
With a dull thump, the wheels caught tarmac, and they were down. Amy lifted her face and slid her hand free of Michael’s. “Thank you. I’m sorry for getting in your space.”
His patient smile said it didn’t matter. “Did this help?”
“I think so.” Not with clues, but with closure.
Rafe taxied to a stop and went through the shut-down procedure. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Amy unfastened her seatbelt. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry I screamed.”
“You did great. You weren’t even sick.” Rafe opened his door and jumped out. He extended a hand to help Michael and then Amy.
The ground felt good under her feet, if a little wobbly. A gentle breeze lifted the ends of Amy’s hair and filled her nose with warmth and the smell of aviation fuel. She gave Rafe a shaky hug. “Thank you again.”
His sun-weathered face creased in a smile that deepened his laugh lines, but his eyes stayed serious. “Gilles logged a lot of his practice hours with me. He was cocky on the ground, but he took the aircraft seriously. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Amy nodded. “Today you gave me back a connection to him. I lost it in the crash.”
His eyes held hers. “You’re not the only person to question the investigators’ findings. But you’re not the one to be asking. Sabotage means enemies, and Gilles would want you out of danger.”
“I don’t even know what to ask.” Amy passed her tongue over her lips. “Troy Hicks, the journalist who raised this in the paper? Would you talk to him?”
Rafe squinted at the sky as if searching for an answer. Finally he pulled out his wallet and passed Amy a card. “Have him call me, but tell him not to get his hopes up.”
Michael passed Rafe a handful of bills. “Thank you.”
“Thank you. Since I retired, I take any excuse I can to fly. It was a pleasure meeting you folks. Anytime you want to go up again, give me a shout.” He stuffed the bills in his pocket and sauntered toward the office.
Amy turned to Michael. “You heard what he said about the investigation.”
A patient look settled in Michael’s eyes. “I did, but it’s only speculation. Even if it could have been deliberate, that doesn’t mean it was. There’s still the whole motivation thing. Gilles had no enemies.”
Amy remembered the warning texts. “None that we know of.”
Chapter 14
Amy glanced behind as Michael steered the van out of the flight club lot. Was Grady glaring at them through the office window?
If Michael wanted to fly again, he’d better call the pilot directly. His name would be beside hers now on the club’s blacklist. “Thank you for today. It was healing, and it was a lovely break from regular life.”
“Do you have to give Rafe’s contact information to Troy? If there’s nothing to find, all he’s doing is upsetting Luc and causing trouble for the flight club. You heard the man in there.”
Amy sniffed. “Warning Troy off implies there’s something to hide. I just wish I knew what it was.” She turned in her seat. “You were going to settle things with Luc. Did he say anything helpful?”
Michael switched lanes to pass a city bus pulling out from a stop. “I gather there’s a lot of stress with the company right now, and bringing up Gilles was the last straw. You really need to go easy on him.”
“Me go easy on him? Didn’t you hear him on the phone?”
“Amy, we’re all grieving for Gilles. But Luc’s… broken.” Michael’s hand flexed on the steering wheel. “No parent should have to bury a child. This is not the same man I knew, and I think he’s getting worse.”
“So he should take it out on me?”
“Of course not. But you shouldn’t take it out on him, either.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” His lips turned down. “Luc and Honore treated you badly, no question. But sometimes I think you rehearse the hurt and allow it to keep hurting. Part of becoming whole again involves letting go of the memories and of our right to be angry.”
Amy stared at her clasped hands. “As in, forgive them.” And forgive her father.
“It doesn’t mean they were right. It frees you from the power of the past.” Michael stopped at a traffic light and turned to Amy. “Gilles would be furious with them over this. But he wouldn’t want you to let it make you bitter.”
“I’m not bitter… am I? Okay, don’t answer that.”
The van moved forward, and Amy watched older homes and the occasional storefront pass. The engine revved as they turned onto a crosstown connector highway. So she was bitter. There’d been some major lemons in her life. Hadn’t there been good things too? Enough to sweeten the proverbial lemonade?
Amy’s mother, embittered in her own way, had not only kept her unplanned child but had loved her fiercely until the end. And provided for her after that. Gilles had poured more light and happiness — and love — into Amy’s life in their few months together than she could have imagined. Since then, Michael and Aunt Bay had been kindness personified.
Michael… she peeked at his profile. Life with Gilles had been tempestuous and exciting. At times it seemed like their relationship would flare out and die. She hadn’t admitted it to herself then, but she could now. But this man beside her? Amy had no trouble seeing herself with him into their senior years. Her heart twisted. If he ever noticed her.
He caught her staring. “Luc said their argument was personal. No clues there.”
“It does sound crazy, doesn’t it? Except someone wants Troy to stop.” Amy leaned against the headrest, remembering today’s flight and the one two years ago. Gilles hadn’t been nervous or expecting trouble. But how could he have enemies willing to kill, and not know it?
She spoke with her eyes closed. “I’m sorry about my attitude. I have so much to be thankful for.”
“Jesus can help with that, when you’re ready. Trust me, it’s easier than going solo.”
Amy tensed. Nobody knows who the father is. Sinful. Mistake. The church ladies’ pseudo-sympathetic whispers from her childhood had twined deep roots in her psyche. Michael and Aunt Bay would agree, if they knew.
“Amy, whatever it is, He’s big enough to deal with it. And He loves you enough to want to. Just talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me or Aunt Bay. Let me introduce you to our pastor, or to one of the women from church.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I’ve already been diagnosed and found wanting.” The words hurt her throat. Amy star
ed through the windshield. They were on the highway now, nearly home.
A gentle hand touched hers, then let go. “That’s the point — we’re all wanting. And the only One entitled to throw stones would rather show mercy. He’s our only hope.”
“Despite what Safia and Ross believe?”
His sigh sounded sad. “I’m afraid so.”
“I can’t meet the entry requirements.”
“Come dirty. He’ll clean you.” Michael’s words didn’t sound glib. Just impossible.
Ahead on the pavement, a big crow pecked at a bit of roadkill. It flapped away when the van approached. Amy’s lips twisted. “No matter how stained. Or how big the barricade.”
“No matter.”
Her peripheral vision caught his nod. “You know this for sure.”
“I do.”
“So what’s the biggest thing He’s had to do for you?”
Michael’s mouth snapped shut. His Adam’s apple bobbed and he kept his eyes firmly on the road. The engine revs increased. “I can’t tell you.”
Amy’s face heated. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. It’s just — I need proof, and you seem so clean. I didn’t realize I was asking too much.”
Almost five minutes passed before Michael spoke. “Of course you need proof. And I am clean — God cleans me daily. More often, most days.” His laugh seemed forced. “What first kept me from Him wasn’t very exciting. Poor self-image and an inflated trust in my own abilities. I didn’t think God would want me, and I was sure I didn’t need Him running my life.” He signalled and slowed for the exit ramp. “I was wrong on both counts.”
“That doesn’t sound very sinful.”
Michael stopped at the top of the ramp, signal light clicking, waiting to turn left onto the overpass. “Maybe not, but it was enough. The point is, no matter how big or how small the obstacles, how dirty or damaged the person, we all need Jesus and we can’t earn His acceptance on our own. But He reaches out to us.”
Not to Amy.
On the two-lane road, Michael slowed behind a lumbering dump truck. “I hope this guy’s turning off soon, or it’ll be a long drive home.”
Safer conversational ground. Amy allowed herself to relax. “It always feels long, especially coming off the highway. No wonder Aunt Bay misses her condo in the city.”
“She likes being in the thick of things. We’re near enough for me, and it’s nice to have fresh air and less noise.”
“I agree.” A sudden pang hit Amy. “When she moved back in with you, it was supposed to be a short-term thing. I’m way past well enough to move out. Then Aunt Bay could have her life back.”
“We don’t want you to go.” Michael’s words came fast. Hard.
Amy blinked at him.
Colour swept his face. “We don’t. But I have no idea where that tone came from. I’m sorry.”
“Okay… but would Aunt Bay tell either of us if she needed a change? I could get a room nearby and keep working in the gallery.” How long could she do that, when half her pay was in room and board? But how long could Amy impose where she was?
“Aunt Bay says she’s fine. She’s on the go a lot anyway, and she likes driving.”
The dump truck finally turned onto a side road, and Michael sped up. They drove in silence until he pulled into the local bakery. Let’s pick up some sandwiches to take home.”
Amy’s frugal nature couldn’t fight the thought of thick, fresh bread. She and Michael crossed the parking lot while he phoned to ask for his aunt’s order.
From the bakery, it was a short drive home. They carried the food into the kitchen just as Aunt Bay poured boiling water into the teapot. She turned to greet them. “Perfect timing.”
Over lunch, Amy and Michael shared their morning. Minus the hostile man in the flight club office. Michael lamented his “injured” leg with enough drama to equal anything Emilie could offer.
Aunt Bay skewered him with a look. “You’re mocking us both, young man, and it ill becomes you.” She turned to Amy. “I’m sure he told you my story.”
“He did.” Amy picked up her mug. “We need something on him. Tell me about the fireworks.”
Michael choked on his drink. When he caught his breath, he said, “How did you know, Aunt Bay? And why didn’t you send someone to help us?”
His aunt swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. “Anyone with half an eye could see you were planning something. Old Karl Jolivet, God rest his soul, had his life jacket on, all ready to launch his boat, when the two of you surfaced. He kept watch in case you ran into more trouble, and I beat it home to feign ignorance.” She winked at Amy.
Michael let out a low whistle. “Mr. Jolivet. Did the whole shoreline know?”
“Just the two of us. I—” The ringing phone cut her off. She crossed the kitchen and picked up the handset. “Stratton Gallery.” She stiffened and glanced at Amy. “One moment.” Aunt Bay covered the mouthpiece and held it away from her face. “Amy, a Neal Williamson.”
Amy’s head was shaking, fast. She raised her palms to push him away, but he wasn’t in the room.
Aunt Bay’s lips thinned. She raised the handset. “Miss Silver’s not free at the moment. Is there a message?” She listened, thanked him, and set the phone back on its base.
Concern shone in the older woman’s eyes. “He’ll be in Halifax next week on business, and he’ll phone then. You don’t have to see him if you’re not ready.”
Amy released a breath she hadn’t known she held. Giving Aunt Bay the chance to interrogate her father was a horrible idea, but her own self-preservation came first. Apparently the man didn’t want to share their story any more than Amy did.
Michael leaned forward on the table. “Amy, who is this guy?”
Amy stared at the crumbs on her sandwich plate. Cue the ominous music. “He’s my father. He wrote last week. I guess he wants to meet me — somewhere.” Not he wants to meet me. Wants to meet me somewhere. Her eyes flicked to Michael, then Aunt Bay. Back to the plate’s safety. “Aunt Bay knows… after the accident, I asked for help and he refused. Now he’s had some kind of change of heart and wants to reconcile.” Amy raised her gaze to Aunt Bay. “I don’t know what to do.”
Michael’s aunt nodded. “He’ll have no access unless you say so. Think about it, though. There may come a day when you’ll wish you’d spoken with him.”
A day? She’d had years of wishing to meet her father, to spend time with him. When the lawyer forwarded her mother’s letter on Amy’s twenty-first birthday, even though the message requested no contact except in an emergency, the paper had been special because it bore her father’s name. Amy had slept with it under her pillow for a week. She’d learned everything she could find online. Even though the man didn’t know she existed, he filled a gaping hole in her identity. Until his words of rejection shattered her dreams of a “someday” reunion.
What changed his mind? And did she want to throw her heart under the bus again to find out?
~~~
Tuesday evenings Michael attended his men’s group at church. From what Amy understood, it involved Bible study, prayer, and snack food. He said it was his safe place. Amy was loading the last of the supper dishes into the dishwasher when Michael stepped into the kitchen.
“If you want to give me the pilot’s card, I’ll pass it on to Troy.”
“Thanks. I’ll get it.” She closed the dishwasher and went to fetch the card from her purse. When she came back downstairs, Michael stood by the front door, zipping his coat. Amy handed him the card. “Thanks. Especially since you don’t want him to have this.”
He tipped an imaginary hat brim. “At your service, ma’am. Should I ask him to sign for it?”
“I’ll trust you. This once.” She lowered her voice, although Aunt Bay wouldn’t hear her over the television. “Does your group know about — what I shouldn’t have asked?”
Michael’s smile fled. “Troy does. And a few others. We pray for one another when we’re struggling.�
� He held out a hand as if to touch her, but let it fall to his side. “Amy, please don’t imagine some deep, dark secret. I’m not going to snap in the night and kill us all. You won’t find bodies if you dig in the basement. Or porn if you search my computer. This is a personal… situation.” He shrugged. “Someday it’ll resolve. One way or the other.”
The weariness in his voice wrung Amy’s heart. “God should listen to you. You’re a good person.”
“It’s not about how good we are. It’s how good He is, and how needy we are. But yeah, that qualifies me. For now, He’s teaching me to wait and trust Him. It’s one of those universal lessons.” Michael lifted his Bible in salute. “See you in the morning.” The door closed behind him.
Amy stared at it for a minute. Most Tuesdays, she and Aunt Bay watched a travel show or something on Discovery Channel. Hopefully that’d keep the older woman from bringing up God… or Darth Father. Amy sighed. That wasn’t fair. Okay, the man had shot her down in flames, but he must have a good side or Amy’s mother wouldn’t have fallen for him. His letter of apology seemed sincere.
So where did that leave her now? Brush him off? Meet him, exchange awkward conversation, and say goodbye? Try to build a bridge long-distance? Amy sighed. She should at least find out if there was any medical history she needed to know.
She wandered into the living room and plopped into a chair. Lush greens glowed on the television, and the chatter of exotic birds filled the air.
Aunt Bay looked up. “Brazilian rainforest again. But it’s pretty.”
Amy unzipped the tote bag beside the chair and pulled out her knitting. She’d been working on a sweater for Michael for Christmas — for last Christmas, actually. Tuesdays were the only nights she made progress. Knitting alone in her room did not appeal. She held up the first three inches of the final sleeve. “The end is in sight.”
“If you’d chosen thicker yarn, you’d be long done. But he’ll get more use out of the lighter weight.”
“As long as it doesn’t become his new painting sweater.”
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