Flight Risk

by Barbara Valentin

  "I've got this," she muttered to herself, undeterred by a sudden gust of wind.

  "Ya sure?" the formidable tour guide standing beside her asked.

  Although the glossy white embroidery under the Soarin' ZipLine logo on his navy polo read "Bob," one irritated glance told her something like "Brick" or "Tank" would have been far more appropriate.

  Raking in a breath of unseasonably warm air, she gasped, "No."

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. The collective sense of urgency coming from the crowd in line behind her was palpable.

  If only her editor hadn't demanded that she submit a hands-on account of her zip-lining adventure for her piece on finding family fun in Illinois state parks.

  'Cause this is definitely not fun.

  That every family within a 500-mile radius apparently had the same idea on that balmy early spring day was frankly a bit of a drag.

  She gave her head a quick shake and reminded herself that she was known for producing pieces that were a cut above the typical finding-the-best-travel-bang-for-your-buck articles. It's what she did.

  Or what she used to do anyway.

  Before Max's accident, there wasn't anything Aubrey wouldn't try at least once while chronicling her global adventures for the Gazette.

  Volcano boarding in Australia.

  Freshwater cave diving in Mexico.

  Kite surfing off of Camber Sands Beach in the UK.

  The only thing left unchecked on her pre-thirty bucket list was bungee jumping in New Zealand.

  Aubrey closed her eyes and gulped, thinking of how Max Davis, her fiancé and aspiring U.S. snowboarding champion, had suggested that they cross it off while on their honeymoon.

  And how he had insisted on jumping before her so he could, in his words, show her how it's done—even though Aubrey had known his bravado had been a thinly veiled attempt to avoid answering her urgent questions regarding the pretty little hotel maid who just happened to be leaving their room, flushed and smiling, when Aubrey had returned from the fitness center that morning.

  A forced cough from a zip-lining wannabe in line behind her brought her back to the present.

  She rubbed her sweaty palms against the front of her jeans before yanking on her weathered climbing gloves, making a mental note to inform her deodorant's manufacturer of its inefficacy—if she survived, that is.

  "Come on, lady. We don't have all day," she heard some kid whine. That she didn't hear an adult shushing said kid spoke volumes about the level of tolerance of those waiting in line.

  She glanced at Bob. Given her lack of body odor protection, she half expected him to be scowling. Instead, he wore a garish grin that made him look a little too excited over the possibility of her kissing a tree at fifty miles per hour or plunging to her death some eighty feet below.

  Her hands flew to the contraption strapped around her torso. She heard Bob call it a "sit harness," but to Aubrey it felt more like a chastity belt from Home Depot.

  "Are you sure this thing is secure?"

  With teeth bared, he nodded.

  Sadist.

  Next, she tugged on the cable that hooked her harness to the zip line itself. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned to Mr. Smiley and nodded at the clipboard secured under his arm.

  "And you're sure I signed all of the paperwork?"

  The waiver alone looked to be about forty double-sided pages of tiny single-spaced print. Of chief concern was the emergency contact page on which she scrawled the name of her BFF—Theodora Gasca, a staff photographer at the Gazette and freelance astrologer on the side.

  Not that Aubrey had much to leave to her, which was sad especially considering all Teddy had done for her over the years.

  If only she had dragged Teddy along with her. She'd been Aubrey's best friend ever since that dreadful, slushy day in the second grade when she had forgotten to pack her school shoes. Certain that she would be teased and taunted from morning Mass all the way through to the three o'clock dismissal, she had begged Sister Petrona to let her call her mother, but the nun hadn't let her. While Aubrey was pretty certain her teacher had been hoping to drive home a lesson in responsibility, what Aubrey had learned instead was who her friends were. And she had Teddy to thank. After all, she had been the one who'd put her boots back on first. The rest had followed and, before Sister P knew what had happened, she was staring down a classroom filled with forty kids in snow boots.

  Ever since, she and Teddy had been fast friends.

  Aubrey heard Bob laugh through a morbidly expansive grin, "Yes. I'm positive you signed all the forms. Ready?"

  Her chest heaving, Aubrey tried wiping her slick brow with her bare forearm. Clawing at her tightening throat, she rasped, "Gimme a second."

  No longer able to ignore the disappointed groans of the patrons waiting not so patiently in line behind her, she felt like barking, "It's not like I'm enjoying this, people." Except she knew it would come out more like a whimper.

  Her own frustration mounting, she looked up at the thick gray sky and stomped her booted right foot.

  Surely, it would be enough for her editor that she interviewed the owner of the company and took a couple of pictures of their daredevil customers.

  Wouldn't it?

  Clinging to the cable, she took one last look down into the gorge, and that's when she saw it—Max's body, looking very much like it had when she and three staffers from Bungee River Jumps, Inc. had finally found it washed ashore about a mile downstream from the Kawarau Bridge outside of Queenstown after his bungee cord snapped during his head-first dive.

  With a gasp, she blinked back the moisture smarting in her eyes, yanked off her gloves and then her helmet.

  "I can't. I'm sorry. I just can't."

  Bob gave her a smile that fell somewhere between sympathetic and exasperated. "No worries. Stuart here can help you out of your gear."

  Feeling more than a little disappointed in herself, Aubrey was trying to force her trembling hands to help undo the buckles and hooks when what looked to be a nine-year-old sprang past her, yelled like Tarzan, and leapt off the platform.

  After submitting her piece that did not include her first-hand account of screaming through a state park whilst dangling from a flimsy cord, Aubrey spent the remainder of that week dodging her editor.

  When she woke up that Friday morning still unscathed, she figured she was out of the woods. As she made her way to Chez Doug's, a popular café down the street from the Gazette building, to meet Claire and Sara for coffee, something told her it was going to be a stellar day.

  Not two hours later, she came to the conclusion that whatever that something was, it lied.

  Dressed in a violet three-quarter sleeved cardigan over a white sleeveless mock turtleneck and black pencil skirt with coordinating floral-print pumps that very nearly matched the pattern on her headband, she felt lighter than air. Bursting through the doors at Chez Doug's, she dodged around a big guy in jeans and a sky-blue windbreaker who had walked in just ahead of her so she could join her friends and fellow future bridesmaids in the very crowded takeout line.

  "Oh, don't you look pretty," Claire exclaimed as she shuffled a few steps forward.

  "Today's the day," Aubrey stated.

  "For what?"

  Eyebrow arched, she announced, "I'm going to ask Malcolm to lunch."

  Even she was impressed by the sound of her resolve.

  Claire apparently wasn't. "If I had a dime for every time I heard you say that…"

  "OK, fair enough, but time's running out, and this time I mean it. I'm really going to do it."

  "Uh-huh, the wedding's a week away. Talk about hedging your bets."

  Sara, on the other hand, gave her a high five that nearly knocked her back a few paces. "Way to go, Aubs. Let us know how it goes."

  If Aubrey wasn't stoked about the possibility of having Malcolm as her plus one before, the excitement she felt coursing through her veins at that moment was almost enough to prompt her to make wedding pla
ns of her own.

  She didn't know what kind of wedding she wanted, but after her rushed, noneventful city hall civil ceremony, she knew she wanted it big, and she wanted it lavish.

  "Sorry for the wait, folks," Doug himself called out over the din of the busy morning crowd. Pushing his 1975-era aviator frames up the bridge of his nose, he grumbled loud enough for all to hear, "I'm a little shorthanded today."

  "Too bad Nancy couldn't join us," Sara commented under her breath. "I could just see her leaping over the counter to lend a hand."

  Aubrey laughed. She could picture it quite vividly. It was no secret that Nancy thought Doug was, in her words, "a cool drink of water on a hot summer day."

  As the three came to a standstill, again, Claire turned to face her friends. "I sure hope the rain holds off until Sunday. We were hoping to grill tomorrow tonight."

  Aubrey started. "What's tomorrow night?"

  "The party? At our house?"

  With a roll of her eyes, she breathed, "Oh, that's right."

  She had been so preoccupied with dodging Dianne that it had completely slipped her mind. When Mattie had invited her, she had explained that she and Nick were hoping to get the bridal party together for a little bonding. Seemed kind of silly, though. Why did they have to bond anyway? She already knew everyone. Well, except the best man Scott, and Mattie's sister. Oh, and the friend of Nick's she was supposed to stand up with.

  But it's not as if she ever expected to see them again after the wedding.

  It wasn't that she didn't like meeting new people. She just didn't like them meeting her.

  A year had passed since Max had died, yet it still seemed to work its way into conversations and worse, introductions. She swallowed hard, picturing exactly how she expected the evening to roll.

  Well-meaning friend: "Hi. I'd like you to meet Aubrey. She's a travel writer at the Gazette and a widow to boot."

  Horrified stranger: "Oh, how awful. I'm so sorry."

  Aubrey (through a forced smile): "Thanks. Not your fault."

  OK, so maybe not exactly like that, but close.

  Lowering her voice, she whispered to her friends, "I need you two to promise that you won't bring up my marital status. Got it?"

  While they both agreed, Aubrey could tell from their exchanged glances that the cat was already out of the bag.

  "You sure you don't need me to bring anything?" Sara was quick to ask.

  "Nope. I think we're good," Claire responded just as quickly.

  After an awkward pause, she added, "The happy couple promised to be there as soon as they get back from the track meet to help get everything ready. They're trying to come up with some icebreakers, too, so if you have any ideas…"

  "Alcohol works for me," Sara quipped while she checked her phone.

  With a heightened aversion to icebreakers, Aubrey scrunched her face and asked, "You don't mean like 'pass the orange'?" just as Claire suggested, "You know, like 'pass the orange.'"

  Great.

  Aubrey managed a, "Sounds like fun," but then after a pause ventured, "Hey, too bad I couldn't bring my nana. She still does readings. Always a big hit at bachelorette parties."

  Claire's eyes widened. "Your nana's a psychic? How cool is that? Is she any good?"

  Aubrey lifted a shoulder and smushed her lips together. "Well…she was a fortune teller back in the Romania. When she and my granddad settled here in the sixties, she built up a pretty steady clientele, lots of rich people, too. She does all right."

  They shuffled forward a few steps.

  "If you don't mind me asking," Claire, her voice low, started, "was she like, you know, a gypsy?"

  Aubrey let out a laugh. "Totally. Right down to the big hoop earrings. She used to let me play with them when I was little."

  "Huh, I had no idea," Sara clipped. "That explains so much."

  "Like what?"

  "Oh, like your passion for traveling, your gypsy eyes."

  Aubrey made a face. "Gypsy eyes?"

  "Yeah. You've got that really blonde hair, but your eyes are so dark." She leaned closer. "And full of the devil. Trust me. I've met plenty of rock stars. I know gypsy eyes when I see 'em."

  Flustered, Aubrey forced a laugh. "Sara."

  No need to tell her that's exactly what her nana used to say.

  She barely heard Sara tick off, "Your attraction to Max…"

  Aubrey sucked in a breath at the sound of her former husband's name, which cast a pall over their otherwise light conversation.

  Through a grimace, Sara commenced backpedaling. "You know, with his wild hair, and he was kind of a vagabond, touring around all the time," Sara fumbled. "I'm sorry. I'm going to stop talking now." Squeezing Aubrey's arm, she whispered, "Sorry."

  Through a warm smile, she announced, "It's OK. I wouldn't have married that jackass if it wasn't for my nana, but that's a story for another time."

  Claire glanced at the distance they still had to travel before reaching the counter. "We've got plenty of time. Dish."

  Trapped in place, Aubrey obeyed. "On my 13th birthday she read my tea leaves for me. Told me my soul mate has the initials M.D.

  Sara gasped, "No way," at the exact same time she heard the guy standing in line behind her start to cough up a lung.

  After a quick glance to make sure he wasn't turning blue, Aubrey turned back to her friends and nodded. "I made her do it three more times. Same result."

  "Hmm. Max Davis. Mal—"

  Feeling her chest tighten, Aubrey scraped out, "Can we change the subject, please? What were we talking about?"

  "Icebreakers," Claire said as she checked her watch. "Geez, I'm glad we got here as early as we did."

  She then turned to Sara and asked what she and her boyfriend, Andrew, were planning on getting the happy couple.

  Aubrey would've listened in had she not become distracted, again, by the guy standing behind her in line. A little too closely behind her.

  Her breath hitched. Of all of her anxiety triggers, fear of being confined in a tight space ranked right up there with acrophobia. As her chest started its all too familiar constriction, she heard a male voice behind her rasp, "I know an icebreaker."

  Looking over her shoulder, Aubrey saw enough of the not-bad-looking guy's baby face to discern that she probably had a good five or six years on him. "Excuse me?"

  "An icebreaker," he repeated with much more vigor after clearing his throat. "I know a good one."

  After giving him a rather disparaging once-over, she replied, "Let me guess. Does it involve ping pong balls and a plastic cup filled with cheap beer?"

  Aubrey had no sooner turned her back to him when she felt him lean a little closer and breathe into her ear, "A kiss."

  A gasp escaped her lips as a rash of goose bumps raced from her neck all the way down to her toes.

  She thought of using what Max had, on more than one occasion, referred to as her bitchy voice to smack back, "In your dreams."

  But she was too busy trying to shake off those goose bumps.

  Instead she stammered something about that idea not being appropriate for the occasion and rolled her eyes at how lame she sounded.

  When her cell phone emitted a chirp, her relief was boundless.

  Tucked in her purse that was strapped to her side like a pack of ammunition, her lack of maneuverability gave her the perfect excuse to jab her elbow into the unyielding mass of muscle behind her to retrieve it.

  When said unyielding mass of muscle grunted, "Oof," Aubrey turned once again to face him.

  With her gaze trained on the suspected point of impact, she was able to confirm that the muscle mass in question was part of what she imagined to be an impressive set of abs shielded by the thin fabric of a tight-fitting black T-shirt on which was printed in large white block letters Harvard Law.

  Oh my.

  Underneath that, in much smaller letters, was Just kidding.

  Oh.

  Lifting her eyes to her victim's so as to issue a quick apol
ogy, she took in his ruddy complexion, tousled reddish-blond hair, scruff of the same shade that covered his chin and rounded cheeks, thick eyebrows, and smirking brown eyes. While he looked like he could bench press a Buick, the way his thin lips curved into a teasing smile prompted her right eyebrow to fly north before she muttered a disingenuous apology.

  With a slight nod and a wink, he replied, "No worries."

  Turning her attention back to her phone, she saw that the text she had just received was from Dianne. My office. Fifteen minutes.

  Her stomach dropped to her knees. "Uh-oh."

  Sara turned and asked, "What's the matter?" Towering over Aubrey in high-heeled boots that added to her already statuesque height, she observed, "You look like you're gonna hurl."

  "Because I feel like I'm gonna hurl," she muttered to her phone as she stared at the ominous text.

  Leaning around Sara to get a look at Aubrey's phone, Claire waved it off. "Don't take it personally. She's been wigging out about budget cuts." She glanced at her watch. "She's probably just overcaffeinated. I wouldn't worry about it."

  With a scowl, first in the direction of the guy in line behind her who was still standing way too close for her comfort, thank you very much, and then back at her phone, Aubrey texted back Sure thing before whispering to her friends. "No, I'm pretty sure she's going to fire me."

  They both turned on her. Sara spoke first. "Why would you think that?"

  Shoving her phone into her purse, the strap of which looked like Houdini himself had secured it around her, Aubrey looked down at her pair of pretty cloth-covered pumps and said as her throat began to tighten, "I may have blown an assignment."

  Claire finished placing her order before whispering, "You mean a deadline?"

  "No. An assignment," Aubrey clipped before her throat closed completely.

  "How do you maybe blow an assignment? Either you did or you didn't."

  The café, which actually felt a little chilly when Aubrey arrived just a few minutes before, suddenly felt stifling. She started fanning herself with her hand. "Remember when I told you I had to go down to Starved Rock to check out their zip lining facility?"

  Both women nodded in reply as she heard the guy behind her say in a barely audible voice, "I love zip lining."