Flight Risk

by Barbara Valentin

  Pulling off at the I-257 N exit, he continued, "My favorite food is deep-dish pizza." He held up a finger before specifying, "Veggies only. My favorite flavor of ice cream is butter pecan. My favorite pastimes are reading and running, not necessarily in that order. My favorite movie of all time is Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. I'm an only child, and let's see…what else? Oh yeah. I did graduate from college—." He stopped himself from adding Twice. From Harvard.

  She twitched. "What? So why are you washing windows for a living?"

  He shot her a quick glance. "What? It's honest work."

  "Yeah, but don't you want to realize your potential?"

  With a chuckle he replied, "You sound like a recruiter for the military."

  "All I'm saying is you really ought to start thinking about your future. It's never too early to start planning for retirement. I mean, don't you want to make something of your life?"

  John squirmed in his seat, unable to shake the nagging feeling that Aubrey was channeling his gran. He shot her a look. "Maybe I don't want that much out of life. I'd be perfectly happy with what Claire and Paul have, you know? A nice comfortable house, kids, good friends…"

  "Yeah, well all those things cost money." Then, he heard her grumble under her breath, "A lot more than I'll ever have."

  After a quiet moment, she shifted in her seat to face him and smacked, "Why are you settling for being a window washer?"

  John gave his head a quick shake. "I've met some of the best people I know at that job."

  Throwing a hand up in the air, Aubrey retorted, "But where's the security?"

  At this, he let out a laugh. "Are you kidding? You think the world will ever run out of dirty windows to clean?"

  He waited for a response, but none came.

  When he finally stole a glance at her, she was glaring out the window at the passing cornfields.

  Our first fight.

  Knowing full well that he got into rows with his gran because, deep in her mercenary heart, she really did love him, he found this latest development in Aubrey's and his faster-than-the-speed-of-light relationship highly encouraging.

  Unable to suppress a grin, he decided to, as Cameron would say whenever John riled his gran, "poke a sleeping bear."

  Pretending to gasp, he started, "Wait. You're not starting to care about me, are you?"

  In reply, Aubrey jerked her head in his direction and gaped at him for a good couple of seconds before folding her arms in a huff.

  "Better be careful," he cautioned. "That's how relationships get started."

  Poke, poke.

  "Stop it," she said to the passenger-side window as she tucked some hair behind her ear.

  "Why?"

  Poke, poke, poke.

  "Because." She pressed her back flat against her seat and averted her gaze to the front window. "As much as I hate to admit it,"—she turned to face him with an embarrassed smile playing at her mouth—"I do care about you."

  Yes.

  When she added an adorable little shrug, it was everything he could do to not lean over and kiss her. Instead, he gave her a full-on wink and smile combo. "Right back at ya."

  Right back at ya? Seriously?

  He cringed, certain there was no way she would accuse him of sounding too well-read from that point forward.

  They drove the rest of the way in awkward silence until they reached the entrance to the airfield.

  With a big Windy City Jumpers sign in full view, the air around Aubrey began to sizzle with fright.

  John threw the car in park, undid his seat belt, and turned towards her. "My philosophy in life is 'You only live once—'"

  "So you better make the most of it," Aubrey, now facing him, finished.

  He felt a smile creep over his lips. "That's exactly right. Which is why I got my USPA certification."

  When this didn't seem to allay her fear, he explained, "Which means you're going up and coming down with me."

  He could actually see the tension leave her.

  A bit of a grin worked its way across her lips, before she whispered, "Really?"

  "Really, really," he smirked. "Now let's go jump out of an airplane."

  * * *

  An hour later, after signing a mountain of waivers and watching a brief but slick video on what to expect, Aubrey followed John out of the hangar in a jumpsuit with a harness strapped over her torso. She had an altimeter on her wrist and goggles dangling from her neck.

  While she may have looked like a sky diving badass, she sure didn't feel like one.

  She focused on John's back as he walked, watching his overgrown hair dance in the breeze and his broad shoulders bob. The embodiment of strength and competence, she was beyond grateful that, for this jump, he was all hers.

  She almost walked right into him when he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face her.

  "Very important—" he started.

  "Don't look down."

  "Very funny, but no. You have to remember to—"

  "Keep my eyes on the horizon. I know. Can we please get this over with?"

  "No," he laughed. "That's not what I was going to say. Now shut up and listen. You have to remember to breathe when you're up there. I don't care if you scream. I don't care if you throw up. I will care if you pass out. Got it?"

  Aubrey took a deep breath and with a nod, repeated, "Got it."

  "Good."

  As they approached their ride, a Pacific Aerospace PAC P-750 XSTOL she spotted a couple of other jumpers with their instructors lining up to board.

  "All right. In we go." John went in ahead of her and sat straddling a long bench towards the back of the small cabin. He motioned for Aubrey to sit directly in front of him. As the plane filled, he fastened her to him and asked over the noise of the engine rumbling, "You excited?"

  By way of a reply, all she could do was white-knuckle his thighs that flanked hers.

  John had told her it would only take about fifteen minutes to reach 13,000 feet.

  It would take a fraction of that to reach the ground once they jumped.

  When they made it to the correct altitude, the passengers started to shimmy forward as first-timers leapt with their tandem instructors.

  "OK, darlin'. Our turn."

  Aubrey pulled her goggles on and scooted forward, willing her eyes up and forcing herself to breathe.

  "I'll do all the work," she heard John say in her ear. "All you have to do is arch and enjoy the ride, all right?"

  She nodded, grabbed the harness at her neckline with both hands, took a deep breath, and leapt out of a moving airplane with him on her back.

  If she screamed, she couldn't hear it.

  Wind pressed against every inch of her body as they fell at 120 miles per hour.

  "Breathe," she heard John shout in her ear.

  Wasn't she? She thought she was.

  She did as she was told, trying to adjust to the intensity of the experience while catching glimpses of bright red and orange parachutes popping open around them.

  After a few more seconds, she heard him yell, "Get ready."

  John had warned her about the lurch she'd feel about forty seconds into their dive when he'd pulled the chute.

  With the rectangular bright-yellow parachute billowing above them, they slowed to thirty miles per hour.

  And the view was…spectacular. Brilliant blue above and verdant fields below as far as the eye could see, dissected by rows of trees and thin black ribbons of rural roads.

  "I'm in heaven," she yelled out to the beautiful blue canopy. "And I'm not afraid."

  "That's my girl," she heard him say, although he didn't shout as she did.

  A few seconds later, with everything on the ground getting rapidly closer, she heard him say, "Get ready," again.

  And just like that, they landed with a plop in a grassy field, their legs extended out in front of them. As soon as she was able, she leapt up, jerked off her goggles, and shrieked, "That was incredible! Can we do
it again?"

  He was no sooner on his feet than Aubrey leapt at him, hugging hard with everything she had.

  I'm SO back.

  She couldn't tell if she was about to laugh or cry or both. She had never experienced that level of euphoria before.

  "I told you you were brave."

  She grabbed the front of his harness and looked into his face. "John. How can I ever repay you?"

  "I'm sure I can think of something," he said with a devilish glint in his eye. "Come on," he said as he leaned down and started wadding up their chute. "Let's get this gear back where it belongs."

  After they checked their equipment in and John signed the manifest, he suggested they head back home to celebrate.

  "Oh, I know a little dive bar over on Damen that has the best food," Aubrey offered as they made their way to the tollway.

  And it's really cheap, too.

  He gave her a sideways glance after he merged back into Chicago-bound traffic. "Sounds perfect."

  As they drove for a while in silence, Aubrey's thoughts turned to the future. As much as she relished the thought of waltzing into work the next day to inform Dianne that yes she would take that promotion, thank you very much, she was not ready for their weekend to be over.

  Happy to have him all to herself for the next eighty miles, she turned towards him and asked, "So, butter pecan? Seriously?"

  Before she knew it, they were exiting the Kennedy Expressway at Damen.

  "I can't put my finger on it," she started, "But there's something about the way you've described your gran that seems awfully familiar to me. What did you say she did for a living?"

  John took a deep breath, lowered his chin, and exhaled. "She's an executive."

  "Huh."

  Aubrey studied his profile as he drove and was about to ask how he landed in a homeless shelter when she realized where they were. Pointing to a corner bar on their left, she exclaimed, "Shoot. Sorry. You just passed it."

  Rounding the next corner, they found a parking spot and walked to Poughkeepsie's. The rustic-looking storefront establishment was crowded but not too crowded, dark but not too dark.

  "Booth, please." Aubrey said when the hostess arrived at the entrance to seat them.

  "In a corner, if you've got one," John added.

  They followed her back to a booth by the kitchen doors but away from most other patrons. "Is this all right?"

  "Perfect. Thanks."

  "Donna will be right with you." She gave them a smile and returned to her station.

  An old standard from the 70's was playing in the background.

  Bending his head as he examined the menu, John asked, "So what's good here?"

  Examining him examining his menu, Aubrey felt a warmth rush over her, washing away any concern she had about his past or his future. All that seemed to matter was that he was there with her at that very moment.

  And she didn't want it to end. Ever.

  "Everything," she replied, her voice husky with an emotion she couldn't identify. "Everything's good." More to herself than to him, she added, "Very good, actually."

  He looked up at her, and she caught herself.

  Clearing her throat, she blurted, "The sirloin burgers. They're to die for."

  Malcolm's voice sounded in her preoccupied brain.

  The Kobe beef burgers here are fantastic.

  "But, you know. Get whatever you want." She waved her hand towards his menu. "It's on me."

  John closed his menu and looked right at her. "No. Not tonight."

  The determination in his voice sent a shiver through her. "What do you mean?"

  "Hi. Welcome to Poughkeepsie's. My name's Donna, and I'll be your waitress this evening."

  The older woman with a wild mane of bottle-black hair whose pronounced features still held a glimpse of the knockout she must have been decades back continued, "Tonight's specials are a full slab of smoked ribs that come with corn on the cob and coleslaw, and if you like seafood, the salmon en croute with rice pilaf is really tasty. Can I start you off with any drinks?"

  They placed their orders for burgers and beers.

  Ignoring her question, John looked around. Nodding to the ornately carved bar that stretched just about the entire length of the restaurant, he said, "I can see why you like this place. It has a lot character."

  "I know, right?" Pointing up, she asked, "Don't you just love the pressed tin ceilings?"

  "Yeah. These little neighborhood places are the best."

  Donna returned to deposit two chilled mugs filled with draft beer on the table. John held his up. "To Aubrey, the brave." Then, in a softer voice, he said, "No more fear of falling for you."

  The look in his eyes held an unspoken plea that gripped her insides.

  A nervous laugh escaped her as she clinked her mug against his. "Try saying that three times fast."

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Or after three beers."

  Aubrey averted her eyes and took a big swig. Setting her mug down, she dabbed the foam mustache from her upper lip.

  When she looked back at him, he was staring at her, that silent plea still in his eyes that may as well have been shouting Come on. Give me a chance.

  She let out another laugh and rolled her eyes before returning his gaze. Taking in the light dancing off his eyes, that slight teasing smile, and his windblown overgrown hair, a warm glow filled her from head to toe.

  The thought of all he had done for her, and to her, since he stood behind her in line at Chez Doug's cued her eyes to fill.

  His smile grew into a grin, "What?"

  I'm not afraid anymore.

  She leaned forward, hoping it would help her form the words she so wanted to say out loud, but all she could manage was, "John."

  His smile fading, he watched and waited.

  Go for it already.

  Pulling both eyebrows up, she coughed a little burst of air before stating with no small amount of wonder, "I'm in love with you."

  Later that night, as they watched the clouds shroud the stars in ragged gossamer swatches, John said in a hushed, sleepy voice, "There's one more thing you need to know about me, Aubrey Thomas."

  "Mmmm, what's that?" she purred as she nuzzled against him.

  "I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

  With one foot in dreamland, Aubrey whispered, "Me too."

  "Is that a yes?"

  "Mm-hmm," was all she could manage before drifting off to the deepest, most blissful sleep she'd had in…ever.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Reality is the leading cause of stress amongst those in touch with it." —Lily Tomlin

  "Aubrey, honey, wake up."

  Squinting at John in the bright morning light as he hopped into his jeans, she slurred, "What time is it."

  "Eight," he laughed. "I can't believe I slept through my alarm. I was supposed to be at the CME building at seven."

  Holy crap.

  Before he even finished speaking, Aubrey was out of the hammock and yanking her own clothes on while she whipped herself into a frenzied mess. "Oh God. I'm supposed to meet with my editor first thing. Which is now. She's so going to fire me," she whimpered as she slipped on her shoes.

  "Hey, come here." John pulled her to a standing position and took her in his arms. "What happened to not being afraid anymore?"

  Aubrey bristled. "That's all well and good, but I've got bills to pay which will be really difficult to do if I don't have a job."

  Looking into his smiling face, every inch of which she had kissed the night before, did little to calm her. "What about you? Aren't you going to get in trouble for being late?"

  He just shrugged. "I'll survive."

  Pulling away from him, she muttered, "Yeah, well, I'm not so sure I will." She gave him a quick peck, flew down the stairs and to her car. Before she pulled away, she texted her editor as fast as her thumbs would allow. Sorry. Overslept. On my way.

  Over an hour later, she knocked on Dianne's open office door.

&n
bsp; Turning around, the acerbic Manhattan expat gave Aubrey, panicked and out of breath, a once-over. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." Motioning to a chair in front of her desk, she said, "Have a seat. Oh, and close the door."

  Aubrey did as she was told. Sitting on the edge of her chair, she said in a rather pathetic begging sort of way, "Dianne. I am so sorry I'm late."

  Hearing the words as they left her mouth had an unsettling effect.

  What am I doing? I jumped out of a frickin' airplane yesterday.

  She took a deep breath and sat back in the chair.

  "So, what did you decide? Do you want the promotion?" the editor clipped.

  "I do," Aubrey said with an impressive punch of resolve.

  Hang on.

  Threads of a conversation she had had with John on the rooftop the night before started flitting to the surface.

  One more thing you need to know about me.

  She started.

  What? What was it?

  As she struggled to recall the specifics, Dianne asked, "And you're willing to jump out of an airplane in two days?"

  "Uh-huh," she heard herself reply.

  I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

  "Is that a yes?" Dianne pressed.

  Aubrey's eyes popped wide open. "Oh my God."

  "Excuse me?"

  Coming to her senses, Aubrey tried focusing on the discussion at hand. "Sorry. I just remembered something." Giving her head a quick shake, she said more resolutely, "Yes, I am willing to jump out of an airplane in two days. In fact, I met Gary Revets, the instructor I'll be jumping with, when I was out in Rochelle yesterday." With a smile, she added, "For my first jump."

  A corner of Dianne's mouth jacked up in a wry smile. "Well, look at you. I'll send the promotion announcement out as soon as I get your piece."

  She then got up, walked around her desk, and held out her hand. "Glad to have you back, sweetie."

  Slapping on a genuine smile this time, Aubrey shook it. "Thanks. It's great to be back."

  Once back in her cubicle, she was surprised to find a long-stemmed red rose lying across her keyboard. Thinking John had somehow snuck in and left it there, her heart did a little flip-flop.