When Truth Takes Flight

by Sandra McGregor

  “No, it’s fine, and you’re right about the lack of conversation. So, tell me about yourself and what you’re doing here in Los Angeles.”

  He hesitated a moment to swallow and then began. “I’m from Mobile, Alabama, where my mother still lives, and I recently graduated college with an engineering degree, specializing in aircraft design. I just got a job at Hughes Aircraft.” He took a sip of water and looked at her again. “How about you? Have you always lived in California?” It would be interesting to see how much her mother had told her about Vince.

  “Yes. In fact, I’ve always lived right here in this boardinghouse, or at least as long as I can remember, anyway. My mother worked at Paramount doing hair and make-up for the movie stars. I wanted to learn the trade, so she taught me all she knew, and then I went to beauty school. Now, I work in her old job at the movie studio.”

  “Tell me about your mother.” He leaned his head to the side, indicating the picture he’d noticed on his arrival. “She’s very beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Yes, she was.” She blinked rapidly several times, then swallowed before trying to speak again. “There were good times and bad, but regardless of what else was happening, she loved to laugh and have fun.”

  “You look like her.” He smiled, glancing from the photo to stare at her before his smile widened. “Beautiful.”

  A soft laugh slipped out. “Thank you, but I must have my father’s eyes, and when mother and I were out in the sun for a day, she’d burn and I’d tan.”

  “Interesting.” She didn’t appear to know about her Italian heritage—and he couldn’t tell her. “You don’t know your father?”

  “No, he died when I was young. When my parents met, he was a few years older and already in law enforcement.”

  John covered his surprise with a cough, unsure how to react to the factitious father her mother had created—one who was a complete opposite from reality.

  Hannah frowned slightly. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, great—just great,” he mumbled, taking another swallow of water. “How did your father die?”

  “A man grabbed a little girl. There was a hostage standoff. During the final shoot-out, he was shot and killed. He died a hero. Mama said he was an honorable, loving man who put himself in the line of fire and eventually sacrificed himself to save someone else.”

  Devil and angel warred for control—one tempted him to press further to discover anything else she’d been told about this imaginary father, while the other told him to leave the subject alone.

  The devil won. “Life isn’t always what we think.”

  Blue eyes widened, darkening like the sky on a stormy night. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, your mother was telling you about her husband who was…well, not in the picture any more. It’s natural to remember only the good things.”

  Her gaze narrowed as she digested his statement and probably wondered what he was trying to say. He wondered himself.

  John stood. “That was delicious. Can I help you clear the table?”

  “No, just relax.” She stared as if wanting to ask a question, but instead, blinked several times and stood to gather the two plates, glasses, and flatware. After the barest hesitation, she turned toward the kitchen.

  Restless, he wandered about the room, picking things up and then putting them down. With hands now shoved into his pockets, he fought the inner struggle. Tell her or keep his mouth shut? The decision was not difficult. Each time she spoke about her father, pride radiated out like the sun shining on a summer day. No. He couldn’t burst her bubble. He sat on the sofa to wait for her. Besides, he had promised Vince.

  “So, do you have any other relatives around here?” He felt sleazy for asking a question he already knew the answer to, but how else could he keep his cover intact?

  “No. Both my parents were only children, and their parents have both passed. My father’s father died over in France in the last war.”

  John remained silent. So, her mother had made up a father who, interestingly enough, was the total opposite of Vince. He couldn’t admit to knowing more about her father than she did. That wouldn’t go over well at all. To start with, she wouldn’t believe him. The minute he mentioned Vince and the New York crime families, she’d probably think he was one of them and evict him.

  “I’m sorry for all your losses.”

  She shrugged. “I never knew my father, but what’s worse, I don’t even have a picture. I don’t know if I resemble him or just my mother. Everyone said mother and I looked enough alike to be sisters, but do I have his ears? Or his smile?”

  The pause lengthened until he squirmed. If only there was another subject, but his mind was blank. “I wish I could have met your mother.” Already the deceit gnawed at his stomach, not allowing the spicy Italian food to settle. Regardless, he had to ask the next question. “How old was she when she passed? She must have been awfully young.”

  “Forty-two.” The silence hung before she sucked in a deep breath and continued, “She was coming home from the store, and a taxi hit her when she crossed a street.” Leaving the dishes to soak in the sink, she returned to the living room and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

  “Did the police check it out?”

  “Why? It was just an accident—the taxi came around the corner, and there she was. Or at least that’s what the driver told the police.” She cleared her throat before continuing, “I don’t think he was even arrested.” Hannah glanced down and ran her finger along the outer edge of a flower on her skirt, tracing the pattern and making a slight crease with her fingernail.

  “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” He reached across the short distance, laid a hand on her wrist, and waited for her to lift her gaze. “Really, I know it’s tough losing a parent. My father died when I was about five. My life changed forever, but then, after two or three years, my mother married another guy. He helped fill the void…at least a little bit and for a short while.”

  “They didn’t stay together?”

  “No, only a few years.”

  “My mother never married again—although there’s a slight chance she had a gentleman friend after my father died, one I never knew about. I found a couple of notes in the pocket of her winter coat. I’ve wondered if they were from a man she worked with, or maybe even the man who owns the boardinghouse.”

  “The boardinghouse owner?”

  “Mmm-hmm. He paid for mother’s funeral. Or maybe he was just being nice since she’d lived here so long and worked for him so many years. Anyway, did you stay in touch with your stepfather?”

  John hesitated. At least this was a question not requiring a lie. “Not over the years, but then I graduated high school, and out of the blue, he called and offered to pay for me to go to college.”

  Her face brightened into a huge smile. “Really? How wonderful for you. I received a small stipend that paid for school, but I also had to take a job waiting tables at the local coffee house to pay for all the supplies I needed to get my license to do hair and makeup. Your stepfather must be a wonderful guy.”

  The thought of her working her way through school while her own father paid his way strengthened his resolve to confront Vince at his first opportunity. How could the man have not paid for every bit of Hannah’s education as well? If her father cared about her enough to want her safe, why didn’t he find a way to pay for her school? Anger began to build. How should he respond to her statement?

  After a hesitation, he offered a tight smile and shrugged. “He has his moments, I guess.”

  He might think I owe him something in payment for the education, but he owes me something as well. I want an explanation for this.

  He clenched the hand resting in his lap into a fist. Maybe not soon, but some day, one way or the other, he’d get that answer.

  Chapter Four

  The trolley conductor clanged a warning at each street crossing and before every stop to pick up or drop off passengers. John sat with his t
ie loosened, his head leaning against the window frame, and eyes closed. Various conversations were taking place around him, but he chose to block out the noise. Mentally and physically tired, he tried to clear out all conscious thoughts, but his subconscious refused to cooperate. Instead, his thoughts preferred to focus on the first day at Hughes Aircraft Company. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been the roller-coaster ride of thrills he received.

  He’d expected to be shown to a drafting table, but instead, after being introduced to his supervisor, they’d walked out to the hanger area to see the plane currently being built. The whole concept of being involved in the creation of airplanes was exciting enough to have him floating on a cloud. Then a workman turned around, and he was suddenly standing face-to-face with the pilot who, only a year earlier, had broken the record for flying a plane over land.

  Howard Hughes.

  The man gave him a tight smile and stretched out a hand. Unable to think what to say to a man he’d idolized for several years, John had simply shaken hands and nodded. This would have been enough, but then Mr. Hughes motioned for him to step up and check out the wing design of the plane and offer suggestions. He still couldn’t believe how tongue-tied he’d been at first, but, thankfully, he’d soon relaxed. One of the great minds of aviation design had actually discussed not only the wing design, but the retractable wheel mechanism with him.

  Wonders never cease.

  The cherry on top of his first-day sundae had been discussing future plans with him. He’d never forget the conversation.

  “So, John, I’m considering making a transcontinental flight in the next year or so. Burbank, California to Newark, New Jersey—in less than seven and a half hours. Do you think it’s possible?”

  He couldn’t believe the man had asked his opinion, but words seemed to just pop out of his mouth. “Sir, I’m not sure, but I’m convinced that if anyone can do it, you have a better than average chance of succeeding.”

  Looking back on the conversation now, he couldn’t decide if his response had sounded awestruck or like he was trying to tell the man what he wanted to hear in order to get ahead in the company. The very thought Mr. Hughes might think the latter made his stomach cramp.

  Still, just thinking about the brilliant man’s future plans to make a record-breaking, trans-American flight gave him chills. His new boss had vision and drive like no one he’d ever met before.

  And now I work in the man’s sphere. I get to help in reaching his goals.

  John stood when the trolley was a block from the boardinghouse. By the time it stopped, he had maneuvered himself around the people standing in the aisle and was able to step down onto the sidewalk.

  “Hey, young man.”

  He smiled at the elderly gentleman sitting in a chair on the small porch of the boardinghouse. Could this be one of the older folks Hannah bought groceries for? He smiled and lifted a hand in greeting.

  “Yes siree, saw you from my window this morning,” he said, hitching his thumb over his right shoulder, indicating the first-floor apartment. “Looks like you got yourself an important job, what with that suit and briefcase. Lawyer?”

  John chuckled, coming to a stop at the top of the steps near the wicker chair. “No. I design airplanes. I work over at Hughes Aircraft.” He felt a swelling of pride just saying it out loud.

  “Now look at you. Ain’t that something? Flying up there like a bird.” A finger knobby with arthritis pointed upward. “This old Earth must be a sight to behold from way up there.” He shook his head and chuckled, reaching out a hand to shake. “Name’s Nolan—Caleb Nolan.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m John Staples.” They shook hands, and he prepared to say good-bye and leave until the man spoke again.

  “From the South, are you? I can hear it in your voice.” Old eyes squinted against the brilliant setting sun.

  “Yes, sir. Mobile, Alabama.”

  “Ay, I knew I could hear that southern drawl. I can spot ’em every time. Well, don’t let me keep you. Just wanted to say howdy and welcome.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He took a step toward the screen door but stopped when Mr. Nolan spoke again.

  “What do you think of our landlady?”

  “Hannah?” The older man watched him with an intent stare, but only nodded. “Um, fine, I guess. She’s very polite, and…”

  “And pretty as a picture.” Mr. Nolan wheezed a bit when he laughed at answering his own question. “Well, I already like you better than that last one who lived upstairs before you. He was sniffing around her skirt. I see things. I know.” He nodded his head with importance. “And then there’s that little pip-squeak she’s dated a couple of times after her mama passed. Trouble. Nothing but trouble. Mark my words, he ain’t worth a plug nickel.”

  For reasons he couldn’t explain, John’s ears perked up, and suspicions began to form. The man who vacated the apartment probably worked for Vince, but who was the other one? “You said she’s dating him? It’s not like he’s bothering her with unwanted attention, right?”

  “Naw, nothing like that. Lest ways, I don’t believe so. It’s just that he looks to be the lazy sort. Hangs around and always finds an excuse to touch her. You know, holds her hand, or touches her arm. He’s also big on putting his arm around her shoulders or her waist. It’s not right.” He made a tsking noise several times while shaking his head. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  “Me?” His mind jerked back from pondering if the man hanging around was a threat to realizing the old gentleman had a gleam in his eye and was encouraging him to get to know their landlady a bit better.

  No, he didn’t need interruptions right now, despite how good a cook she was or how pretty she looked with her hair pulled back and tucked up under the wide-brimmed hat she’d worn earlier today when leaving for work. Mr. Nolan wasn’t the only one who put his street-view window to good use.

  “We just met. I doubt she’d put much faith in anything I said, and besides, I don’t know anything about the man.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything for sure, but his eyes are shifty. Don’t trust a man with shifty eyes,” he concluded, tapping his black cane down on the porch.

  He smiled when the older gentleman’s lips quirked down at one corner, as if the very thought of the man gave him a sour stomach. He wasn’t sure what to say about the guy he’d never seen. The less the better. “Mr. Nolan, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.” He chuckled softly when the pruned lips immediately tilted up.

  “Same to you, young man. Now, you be good to our girl and treat her right, you hear?”

  John opened his mouth to remind him he and Hannah weren’t dating each other, but the old man was already waving at an elderly woman, calling out to her as she hobbled down the sidewalk.

  “Hi, Millie. How’re you doing today?”

  John shook his head, chuckled again, and entered the boardinghouse. The self-appointed Cupid had them linked, regardless of anything he might say to the contrary. The likelihood of changing the man’s mind was probably nil-to-nothing.

  At the top of the stairs, he glanced toward Hannah’s door, wishing it would open and she’d step out. He frowned at the thought. What was wrong with him? He didn’t need the interruption. He had enough on his mind.

  Turning toward his own door, he unlocked it and stepped inside. For a furnished apartment, it was empty of anything to make it feel like home.

  “It’ll get better,” he murmured, dropping his briefcase on the end of the sofa and pulling his tie off to roll it up and stuff it in the jacket pocket of his suit.

  Wandering over to the refrigerator, he opened it out of habit, and then stood staring at…nothing. He’d forgotten to go to the store on the way home. How could he have forgotten to ride the trolley to the end of the next block to get a few staples?

  His sigh was deep and long as he slammed the door and, without allowing his body the needed relaxation, headed for the front door.

 
****

  With the new neighbor eating with her the previous evening, there was no left-over food for tonight’s supper. Hannah hated shopping, but here she was, back at the store, picking up several items she’d need to make a Minestrone soup and a pot of beans to carry her for the rest of the week. All she needed now was a box of crackers and a half-pound of dry navy beans. Maybe dinner tonight would just be a cheese sandwich. The day had been grueling—and most of it she’d spent on her feet.

  “Hey there.”

  She jerked around at the sound of the familiar, deep voice—the voice that had plagued her dreams and given her a restless night’s sleep. “Hi, John.”

  “I didn’t expect to find anyone here who could help me.”

  “You need help shopping for food?” She frowned slightly. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t cook.”

  “Not much, anyway. I usually make sandwiches and have corn flakes for breakfast.”

  She’d heard the same story from other single, male tenants over the years. Men really should be taught at least the basics. “So, what do you need help with?”

  “I need a couple easy things to make. You know, easy recipes and a crash course in cooking.”

  Hannah had to chuckle at the picture of this tall, strong male standing in front of a stove with an apron on to protect his nice suit. “I guess I could help you out with a couple recipes.”

  He paused for a moment as he studied her. “Say, I might have an even better idea. How about my paying for all the groceries needed to make dinner each night, you cook it, and we eat it together?”

  Her stomach fluttered. “You’re joking, right?” Her chuckle was weak. Could he be asking to spend every evening with her? “I mean, we don’t even know each other.”

  “Am I joking? Well, if you agree, then I wasn’t kidding, but if you don’t like the idea…” He shrugged, looking as innocent as a child caught with crumbs around his mouth.

  She could no longer contain the laughter. “You have quite a sense of humor—not to mention a high level of self-confidence.”

  “My stepfather told me once that it never hurts to ask.”