The Good Provider

by Debra Salonen

  “I meant that since you can’t be in two places at once, at least you’re doing something worthwhile. I’m sure any father would understand and appreciate that.”

  His father’s words that morning came back to him. “You can’t blame the boy for following in the footsteps his mother and I have lain down for him,” Father had argued on the extension a few hours earlier when Notty had called to berate William for not catching the next flight to England. His father’s support had been a great deal harder to shoulder than his uncle’s scolding.

  When he didn’t say anything, Morgan went on. “Anyway, Libby and I have decided to make you guest of honor at the next meeting of the Wine, Women and Words book club. It won’t be until after the baby is born, but I thought I’d give you plenty of time to think up excuses not to come.”

  “What makes you think I won’t come?”

  She shook her head and walked to the door. “You might put in an appearance, but you won’t stick around for the nitty-gritty talk about life, love and books. Like I said, that kind of stuff is too messy for your taste, but, William—” She paused in the doorway. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Then she blew him a kiss and left.

  The woman did know how to make a dramatic exit, he’d give her that. And she also knew him too well. His life might be a little predictable and polished for some people, but he liked it this way.

  Or, at least, that’s what he told himself at three o’clock in the morning when he paced the fastidiously neat confines of his home. Did he wish for more? Yes, of course, who didn’t? Did he act on those wishes? Never. Why? Because he’d learned the hard way that the messy stuff came with a high price tag when it failed. And it always failed when William was involved.

  In addition to calling him Mr. OCD, his last girlfriend had also accused him of expecting too much. “You set standards no one in the universe could hope to meet,” she shouted at him the night they broke up. “Who do you think you are? God?”

  No. William knew he wasn’t God. In fact, the opposite was true. He wasn’t looking for perfection in a mate—simply someone much, much better than him. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that growing up without viable role models left him with very little to bring to the table when it came to creating a real family. Not perfect, but something close to the kind of cinematic standard he’d craved as a child. That would require someone who had all the tools he lacked. The hard part wasn’t finding a woman who possessed those skills, the hitch came when the magnitude of their inequity truly sank in.

  OCD? More like OMG.

  He shrugged off the thought and grabbed his phone. He had a lot to do before tomorrow, including rearranging his entire life and business schedule. Thankfully, juggling logistics, breaking appointments in a way that avoided hurt feelings, and massaging the tender ego of clients he wouldn’t have time to see for a few days was something he was good at. Very good. Godlike, even.

  “WE’RE GOING TO VISIT Great-Grandpa Calvin. I already told you that,” Daria repeated for her eldest daughter’s benefit, not turning from the window where she watched anxiously for the taxi she’d called thirty minutes earlier. She didn’t know what was taking them so long, but irrational paranoia was starting to creep into her thoughts.

  Ever since their post-holiday altercation, Daria had been looking over her shoulder, waiting for Bruce to act. Nothing had happened, but she couldn’t quell the feeling that he was planning a full-blown strike. Or was he laying the groundwork for something more subtle—like trying to turn their daughters against her?

  Either way, she couldn’t just sit back and wait. She’d made up her mind to act, and she had, starting with a call to the man with the great voice. Sexy, yes, but also calm, businesslike, reassuring. Fly a freaked-out family in crisis to the middle of the country on a moment’s notice? Damn jolly well—or whatever the English say.

  “Mommy?”

  Daria looked down, noticing a hint of sweat on Hailey’s upper lip. She quickly knelt and unzipped her jacket. Daria had added the coat’s zip-in liner last night. She’d bought both girls heavy winter coats on clearance last spring, even then planning for the inevitable.

  “Yes, honey girl? Do you have your backpack ready to go?”

  “Uh-huh. But, Mommy, what about school? My teacher is going to miss me.” Although Hailey had turned five in August and was old enough to start kindergarten, Daria had decided to keep her in preschool another year. That decision had earned her weeks of arguments and threat of a legal injunction from Bruce. Daria’s lawyer had made numerous calls to Bruce’s attorney until the crisis passed without legal action. Unfortunately, the extra billable hours had put a sizeable dent in Daria’s savings.

  “I know, sweetness, but you’ll see her when we come back.” If she and Bruce eventually made peace and Daria felt safe living near him and his family. She honestly couldn’t say for sure if that day would ever come. His family had turned their collective back on her the minute the word divorce had come up. His mother called her once to say, “You are breaking my heart and God’s rule. I don’t know how you can live with yourself.”

  Daria had attempted to explain herself, but her mother-in-law never gave her the chance. She’d hung up on Daria and hadn’t returned any of Daria’s calls since. Fine, Daria thought. If that’s the way they want to play this, then I don’t owe any of them an explanation about my intentions.

  A flash of yellow and black caught her eye. “Oh, good. The taxi’s here. Let’s go, girls.”

  The ride to the airport didn’t take long. Daria had never been to the part of the airport that accommodated private planes, and they missed the turn and had to circle around to reach the drop-off area. She paid the driver then checked the backseat to be sure they hadn’t left anything behind.

  “This isn’t the right place, Mom,” Miranda said, yanking out her omnipresent earbuds long enough to register her complaint. “We went into that building over there when we flew to Italy.”

  “I know, love,” Daria told her, urging the girls forward. “We’re flying in a private plane. A friend of Great-Grandpa’s is taking us. I thought I told you that.”

  “Great-Grandpa Cal has a friend who’s a pilot?” Miranda asked, her tone skeptical. “He’s really, really old, Mom. Is this safe?”

  Daria checked her watch. They were a few minutes late. “He’s a friend of Libby’s, too. I spoke with him on the phone. He didn’t sound old. Not Cal’s age, anyway. Can we please go inside?”

  The doors opened for them and they entered the general aviation terminal, which was nothing at all like the recently remodeled building across the way. Fresno/Yosemite International Airport, or FYI, as it was known, had giant sequoia replicas that appeared to hold up the roof. The airport’s name had amused her when she first visited Fresno to meet Bruce’s family. At the time, Fresno had seemed like an agricultural wasteland compared to Santa Barbara—the town she and her parents had moved to when Daria had started high school. California had grown on her and she’d even stayed to attend college, but she’d never considered it home—and never would. The Black Hills was home. Her mother was buried there, and Daria couldn’t wait to get back.

  Daria quickly scanned the area. She knew what William Hughes looked like, thanks to his Web site, which came across as hip, current and connected. As an agent, he represented several famous stars, including Morgana Carlyle. From his photo, she decided he was in his late thirties or early forties. His face was a bit narrow but he had a strong jaw and full, nicely shaped lips. His thick, wavy hair—brown or black, she couldn’t tell—appeared properly tamed by a very skilled stylist. His eyes were nice, and his expression was intelligent-looking, with a hint of irreverence that seemed to imply he found life a bit boring but was willing to give it his best shot. No smile to speak of, and yet, overall, he seemed approachable.

  She’d planned to investigate his site more but had gotten sidetracked by housework and an exhausting exchange of text messages with Bruce.

>   “Ahem,” a voice said from the grouping of chairs to their left. “Might you be Daria and daughters?”

  She turned to look and was powerless to suppress a small gasp as the speaker rose from his seat with smooth, athletic grace, his gaze fixed on her face. Hugh who? This man was far more handsome in person than his headshot had let on.

  She catalogued first impressions as he walked toward them. Well-broken-in leather flight jacket. Khaki pants and a navy blue shirt that made simple a fashion statement. Leather loafers that cried, “Handmade in Italy.” The man could have stepped off the set of The English Patient, only he was even better looking than… Her mind went blank. She couldn’t remember the name of the actor who starred in the film.

  “How lovely to meet you.” He bowed slightly as he produced three Gerber daisies as smoothly as any magician.

  “Ralph Fiennes,” Daria blurted out, without meaning to.

  His eyes positively twinkled when he said, “No, sorry. William Hughes. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  She accepted the flower because she was powerless to do otherwise. She felt silly, though, like a gawky teen in the presence of the lead singer of her favorite rock band. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “Not at all. Simply a small gesture to brighten your day. Which, luckily, appears to be an excellent one for air travel.” Their gazes met and held a moment but he didn’t attempt to shake her hand. She had a vague idea that the British weren’t big on casual physical contact. She welcomed the change. Bruce’s family tended to hug first and ask questions later. Questions like, “Why couldn’t Bruce have married an Italian girl?” A query she’d heard more than once over the years.

  “There’s a small, built-in vase on the plane where you can keep them until we land,” he said, his gaze shifting to include her daughters.

  Hailey was twirling the thick stem back and forth between her fingers. Daria doubted if the bright orange flower would last until takeoff. Miranda, on the other hand, was standing stock-still, flower forgotten as she stared at their pilot, obviously starstuck.

  Daria rolled her shoulder to keep from losing the strap of her carry-on bag. The gesture caught William Hughes’s attention. He sprang forward. “Let me take that for you. Are there more bags somewhere?”

  “Nope. This is it. We’re traveling light, aren’t we, girls?”

  “Well and good,” he said. “The plane is this way.” He made an ushering motion, allowing them to pass by him. “Does anyone care to visit the loo before we go?”

  “What’s a loo?” Hailey asked.

  “The bathroom,” Miranda answered, her tone snippier than usual. To William, she asked, “Can I sit up front with you?”

  Daria’s eyebrows went up. Talk about a quick turnaround from sulky to flirtatious. She wished she’d had even an ounce of that self-confidence when she’d been Miranda’s age. Instead, she’d stayed in the shadows, afraid to be singled out, yet wishing that someone would notice her. Eventually someone had. Bruce. And, for a time, he’d made her feel beautiful and special. For a time.

  “Sorry, love. That duty belongs to my copilot, Lucas, who is currently going over our preflight checklist one more time.”

  A copilot? Oh, no. That will mean more money. Daria hadn’t been able to get a concrete answer to what this trip was going to cost. She assumed her grandfather was footing the bill, but she planned to repay him once she was working. Would another pilot double the cost? “A copilot?”

  “Better safe than sorry, as the saying goes,” he replied. “And student pilots are usually so eager to log hours in the air they’ll work for practically nothing,” he added, as if sensing her worry.

  She decided there was nothing she could do about the cost at this point so she nodded and motioned for the girls to follow.

  “Once we get in the air—as long as the weather remains clear and mild—you’ll all be able to move around the cabin,” their pilot told them. “There’s a bench seat in the far back so you can stretch out or play cards or whatever.”

  “We’re going to see our great-grandpa because he isn’t feeling good,” Hailey said. “We’re going to surprise him.”

  William opened the door leading to the tarmac and offered his hand for her to take. “That’s very kind of you. I’m sure he’ll feel better the minute he sees you.”

  Daria let Miranda go ahead of her. The older girl looked a bit put out that her sister beat her to the hand-holding punch. Daria had had many sleepless nights worrying about the role model she’d provided for her girls by staying married to Bruce. What subconscious messages was she sending them about love, a woman’s potential and what constituted a successful life? That had been the first question she’d tackled in her family counseling session.

  Daria’s therapist had been firm. “You can’t undo what’s happened in the past, but you can show your daughters the value you place on your own mental health by living genuinely.”

  That was her goal, and her main reason for leaving. Yes, she was worried about Bruce’s threats, but more than that, she was worried about the subtle campaign of hate he’d more or less promised to wage. “Our daughters are going to love me and hate you, Daria. Wait and see,” he’d told her on the phone a few minutes before UPS had delivered two new bikes. “Belated Christmas presents,” he’d claimed. “They were on back order.”

  Yeah, right.

  “Is this the plane we’re flying in?” Miranda cried, using her flower as a pointer. “Way cool. I feel like a movie star.”

  William paused at the steps that had lowered when he opened the door. “I’ll tell Cooper you said so. He loves this bird. He’s a little sad, though, because he and Libby are done flying for a while. Their baby is due pretty soon, so Libby told him he’s grounded. Literally.”

  “I’m flying in Cooper Lindstrom’s private plane? Oh, my gosh. That is so cool!” Miranda lit up at the insider information. Daria could picture her texting or tweeting her group of friends at the private parochial school she attended. The same school several of her cousins attended, as well. Good thing Daria had confiscated the phone until they were safely in South Dakota.

  Bruce had agreed to Daria’s lawyer’s written request to allow the girls to accompany Daria to South Dakota if her grandfather’s health became an issue. Was she stretching the truth at the moment? Absolutely, but she knew Cal would back up her story if need be. Until she and the girls were safely settled at Cal’s, the less Bruce knew, the better.

  “Come on in. Let me point out a few things you should know about the plane. Safety is a big priority, but comfort is a close second. You can stow your bags under the seats.”

  After pointing out the standard safety features of the plane, he turned sideways to let Daria and the girls pass. “Would you like me to store your flowers as promised?”

  Daria quickly collected the daisies. Finding a stretch of stem on Hailey’s flower that wasn’t crimped made the exchange a bit awkward. William used both hands, his fingers covering hers a moment. She jerked back, as if pricked by a thorn.

  “Maybe these weren’t such a good idea, after all. Sorry,” he said.

  “They were a lovely gesture. I didn’t mean to be rude earlier, not shaking your hand. It’s one of the side effects of being a politician’s wife,” she explained. “I hate shaking hands anymore.”

  Partly because toward the end of the last campaign, she’d known, deep down, that Bruce wasn’t the best candidate for the job. By election day, she’d felt like such a fraud she’d been certain the next person to shake her hand would sense this in her touch.

  “I’ll try to remember that when I introduce you to Lucas, our copilot.”

  She felt foolish and embarrassed, but oddly intrigued by William’s touch. The brief contact had produced a curious, not-unpleasant tingle that seemed to resonate through her body. One she vaguely recalled from her days of dating. But being enamored with a sexy accent was one thing, feeling a physical connection to a perfect stranger was so
mething altogether different.

  “Take any seat you like, girls,” he said, removing his jacket to hang in a narrow closet behind the two pilot seats. “I’m going to see what’s keeping Lucas.”

  Daria hurried to help Hailey, who was positively bouncing with excitement. “Look, Mommy, look at my window!” She pressed her face against the small glass porthole.

  Even Miranda couldn’t hide her delight as she sank into the delicious, white leather seat of her choice. “This is so cool.”

  Daria stifled a sigh of relief as she helped them stow their backpacks. She chose the seat immediately in front of Hailey because she knew that excitement—even the good kind—sometimes brought on breathing issues. In her purse was a mini-pharmacy in addition to their passports, birth certificates, shot records and school transcript information.

  William and another man returned moments later. “Everyone, this is Lucas Hopper.”

  Lucas was clean-cut and college age, Daria guessed. He waved his greeting without offering to shake hands then quickly took his place behind the controls. She bit down on a smile.

  “One more thing. Lucas was talking to a pilot who flew in from Salt Lake a few minutes ago. He said there’s a weather system over the Rockies that might give us trouble. Hopefully we can get over it without a problem, but we need to hurry. So…” William said, switching into flight attendant mode. “Let’s go over the safety and emergency features and rules. Have you flown before?”

  “We went to Italy last summer,” Miranda boasted.

  “On a big, big, big plane,” Hailey added, spreading her arms wide to demonstrate.

  His gray eyes widened. “Oh-ho, I’m carrying world travelers. Very well, then. No mere pretzels and sodas for you. Good thing I tucked in some Pellegrino and baguettes.”

  “Whatsa baguette, Mommy?”

  “Skinny bread, dear heart. Very chewy and yummy with cheese.”

  “I like cheese.”

  “Good,” William said. “You’ll find an assortment of choices. And wine for your mum.”