Freefall Summer

by Tracy Barrett

  He stopped and blushed. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m unloading on you like this. It’s just—just so strange for me to be jumping out of a plane without him. We were supposed to do it together.” He cleared his throat and looked away.

  “It’s okay.” I felt like I should put my hand on his arm or even give him a hug. Julia would have done that, but I felt too awkward. “Is that why you did your jump yesterday—because they were doing the bone-marrow thing then?”

  He nodded. “It seems pretty stupid, doesn’t it? Like we’re making a leap into an uncertain future together. He said I shouldn’t shave my head when he lost his hair, and he told me to eat cheeseburgers and pizza in front of him, even when he was nauseous. He made me come here for the internship. But I had to do something. I couldn’t just let him go through this alone. I felt like if I made a skydive and lived, then Frederick would live too. Like I said, pretty stupid.”

  I didn’t think it was stupid at all, but I just said, “Hope he gets better.”

  Denny exhaled a big poof of air. “Thanks. It helps to talk about it. Everyone at home knows, so there’s nothing to tell them. And I don’t think it’s what I should lead with on my first day at work tomorrow.”

  “I can see how that would be awkward. Leading with skydiving will make a much better first impression,” I agreed, relieved that he didn’t seem to feel weird for opening up to me.

  Denny leaned on the table and watched me finish the rig.

  “Hey, is there anywhere nearby to get lunch except that place next door?” he asked. “I ate there yesterday, and I can still taste it. Not a good taste either.”

  “My sympathies,” I said. “I only go there for doughnuts, which they don’t make. I haven’t eaten anything they cook themselves since I was old enough to bring a PB&J from home.”

  “So is there anywhere else?”

  “Sure, there are three diners in Knoxton. They’re all on the main road.”

  He looked flustered. “I can draw you a map,” I offered, but he said, “That’s okay, I know how to get into town. I just wanted—unless you’re really looking forward to your PB&J, do you want to have lunch with me? My treat. I owe you for saving my life. Twice.”

  Awkward. What now? I couldn’t tell him that my daddy wouldn’t let me go in his car without an interrogation. He must have noticed my hesitation because he said, “It’s okay. I’m pretty gloomy these days, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to hear more death and dying stories.”

  “No, that’s not it,” I said hastily. “It’s just that my dad needs me here.” I gestured at the rigs. “There are a lot of students today—”

  “Sure, I understand,” Denny said. “I should probably get back anyway. I’ll see you next week if the weather cooperates.” He turned to leave.

  “Don’t forget your video!” I called to him. “Maybe someone can show it to Frederick through the plastic thing.”

  “Oh thanks,” he said. “Good idea. I totally forgot about it.”

  “Text me the link so I can see it too.” I scribbled down my cell number.

  He took the paper. “I’ll only send it if I don’t look like a total dork.” He waved good-bye and headed toward the office.

  I tugged on the nylon canopy on the table to straighten it out. My hair fell around my face, so I pulled an elastic out of my pocket and yanked it back into a ponytail. It was getting hot in the hangar, so I took off my long-sleeved shirt. I was already dreading July.

  I went into the office for a bottle of water. Cynthia had finished logging in the paperwork of the last batch of students and was filing the forms they’d filled out. She looked up when I took a bottle of water out of the cooler. “Where’s my dad?” I asked.

  “Training another AFF student. One of the tandems got so hopped up when she saw Denny landing that she upgraded to AFF. Need something?”

  “No, thanks.” My dad would be busy for at least a few hours. I looked out the window and saw Denny walking to the parking lot, to have lunch all alone right after spilling his guts about Frederick. Maybe he was okay with that, but I didn’t know him well enough to be sure. Then I remembered the tears on his cheeks, and on an impulse I asked, “Cyn, if I go to town for lunch, could you get someone to pack for me?”

  She raised an eyebrow. Cynthia knew how much I needed money. But she just said, “Sure. It’ll give Randy something to do other than hit on all the girl students.”

  “Thanks!” I said and ran out the door. I scanned the parking lot. A little sports car the color of a cherry Life Saver turned toward the exit. It slowed as the driver’s window rolled down, and rock music blared. The driver turned down the volume, and Denny’s head stuck out the window.

  “Clancy?”

  This was Denny’s car? Well, I guess I didn’t have to wonder whether his parents could afford the AFF course. “Can I change my mind? About going to lunch, I mean?” I asked in a rush.

  He grinned and leaned over to unlock the passengerside door. As I got in I silently begged the gods of the drop zone that my dad would never, ever find out about this. Theo either.

  Oops. What should I do about Theo? I could tell Denny that I had a boyfriend, but maybe he would think it was weird that I assumed he was interested in me as something other than a parachute packer. But if I didn’t tell him, and he really was asking me out, I’d have to explain about Theo later, which would make me feel like I’d been leading him on.

  I’d have to find some way to work Theo into the conversation.

  “So where are we going?” Denny asked.

  “We have three choices. We could go to a place with old-timey country food or a place with old-fashioned country food or a place with home-style country food. Take your pick.”

  He pretended to consider it seriously. “Oh, I think old-timey, if that’s okay with you.”

  “That makes it Adrienne’s.” I directed him to Knoxton’s one-block-long business street.

  The familiar smell of coffee and fried food hit me when Denny opened the glass door. I directed him toward my favorite server’s station, and before we even sat down, Melissa had set a Coke, no ice, on the table. “That’s still your drink, I hope.”

  “Nectar of the gods.” I took a sip. I left my phone on the table so I could see if my dad called me. I hoped he wouldn’t notice I had left, but if by chance he called and I didn’t answer, the next thing I knew he’d be phoning the police. If he didn’t have a heart attack first.

  “Chicken and dumplings today,” Melissa told me. That had always been my favorite. She turned to Denny. “And for you?”

  “I think I’d better have the chicken and dumplings too.”

  “Smart boy.” Melissa looked at me approvingly. She leaned in and stage-whispered, “I’ll just leave you two alone.” I wanted to tell her that Denny wasn’t my boyfriend, but it felt awkward, so I just smiled back, hoping he hadn’t heard her. I also hoped she wouldn’t say anything about high school in front of him.

  Melissa brought two salads and two big steaming bowls full of chunks of chicken swimming in yellow gravy and puffy dumplings floating on top. Denny took a tentative bite, and then gave a little groan and rolled his eyes heavenward. The food kept the conversation limited to essentials (“Pass the salt” and “Can I have the salad dressing?”) for a little while.

  Denny finally pushed his bowl away and wiped his mouth with one of the paper napkins Melissa had piled between us. “That was incredible. I’m stuffed.”

  I nodded while chewing on the end of a drumstick. “It’s been my favorite thing since I was little. My mom used to bring me here when I got bored and cranky at the DZ.”

  “Your mom? Was she there today?”

  I shook my head quickly and looked down at the chicken. Suddenly it seemed slimy and lumpy, so I pushed the still half-full bowl over to Denny, who shook his head too. “Couldn’t fit it in.”

  “My mom died when I was six years old,” I said quickly, surprised at the tightness in my throat. It’s not lik
e I wasn’t used to the fact. I looked at my phone, almost hoping my dad would call so I’d have an excuse to end the conversation.

  “Sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Was she a skydiver?” Denny asked. I liked how he just asked, as though of course I’d want to talk about her. And I did, even though I didn’t have much practice. Once a new girl in middle school had asked if my mom would let me go to the movies with her. The teacher took her aside, and when the girl came back she avoided me. I knew I should have felt grateful to the teacher for explaining, but I had wanted to be the one to tell for once. Not necessarily how it had happened, because the thrill factor made it seem like the way she died was more important than the fact that she wasn’t around anymore.

  I nodded. “She stopped here for a meet on her way to a concert in Kentucky, but she never made it to the concert. She and my dad got married six weeks later.”

  “Nice.”

  “And then she and three other women put together a competitive team where they did formation in meets. She was on another team called the SkyWitches, which did demo jumps, like into football games and rock concerts. So I’ve already made a bunch of jumps. I just wasn’t born yet. She didn’t stop until the doctor told her that if she broke her pelvis, it could kill me.” I held out my hand. “Let me show you something on your phone.” My dad thought smartphones were extravagant and said I’d have to pay for my own if I really wanted one. I’d decided I’d rather save my money for college.

  I scrolled through videos. It was oddly exciting to be talking about my mom. Sometimes, longtime jumpers who showed up at the DZ would look at me like they were trying to figure out why I looked familiar, and then when they heard my name I’d see understanding dawn on their faces. Usually they’d get awkward and look away, but I loved it when they said, “Wow, you look just like Jenna!”

  I found my favorite SkyWitches video and turned the phone so we could both see the screen. Patsy, Louisa, Michelle, and my mom exited the jump plane at the same time and joined together in a circle, holding hands.

  Then they turned on the smoke canisters strapped to their heels and tracked across the sky, still in freefall, in four parallel lines, making brown smoke streaks. Their canopies opened at the same instant. Everything they wore was black—not just the canopies, but the lines, the packs, their jumpsuits—everything, which was dramatic against the blue sky. All that black dye made the rigs really heavy, and they had to be careful where they landed because any dirt they got on the canopies would show. But it was worth it for the effect. Everything being black looked so cool.

  “Wow!” Denny’s breath was warm on my cheek. I was suddenly conscious of my messy ponytail, my lack of makeup, the hangar dust under my fingernails. I hoped I didn’t smell too sweaty and clamped my elbows down on my sides.

  “It gets even better.” On the video, the SkyWitches pulled the brooms out of the keepers my dad had sewn onto the legs of their jumpsuits. The broomsticks extended like telescopes, and the SkyWitches snapped them open and tucked them under their legs, bending their knees like they were riding on them, steering their canopies one-handed. My dad had made special steering toggles for that, but Louisa said that even so, steering was the hardest part of the jump. Smoke streamed behind them.

  “Surrender Dorothy,” Denny said.

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  The spectators at the football game went wild as the SkyWitches circled overhead under canopy and then came in close. They dropped their brooms an instant before they all did stand-up landings. It was amazing.

  Then the camera swung upward. Suddenly you saw what nobody had noticed before because they were watching the SkyWitches: four more skydivers were coming in. One of them was my dad. They wore short vests and tiny hats, and from their shoulders stretched what looked like bat wings.

  “Oh wow!” Denny said again. “The Flying Monkeys!”

  The four jumpers landed and hopped around the SkyWitches, who picked up their brooms and chased them out of the stadium. I had seen it dozens of times, and I still loved it.

  “That’s amazing,” Denny said. “How many jumps do you have to make before you can do something like that?” It sounded like he couldn’t wait to try it himself. I could understand. The thought of flying like that, so smooth and so precise, was exciting.

  “Depends, I guess. A hundred, maybe? If you’re really good. Probably more.”

  Melissa came and cleared the table. “Dessert?”

  I shook my head. “I’m stuffed.”

  “What do you have?” Denny asked. Boys amaze me. They can be full one minute and ready for dessert the next.

  Melissa rattled off a list and Denny looked at me. “Chocolate pie,” I said. “Trust me. Just coffee for me.”

  She brought my coffee and a huge slab of pie and two forks. I took a bite, and while Denny finished it, I talked to him about getting off student status, about static line versus AFF, about learning how to track and turn and all the other skills you need in order to do competitive formations and demos.

  “So minimum seven AFFs until I solo?” he asked.

  I nodded. “And AFF’s pretty expensive. Static line is cheaper.”

  Denny looked out the window. “The expense isn’t really an issue.”

  I looked out too, at the pretty little sports car. “I figured.” He turned pink. I’d never known a guy who blushed so easily. I changed the subject hastily. “Old-school jumpers like my dad say static line is the only real way to know if you’re up for doing it long term. He says that even in AFF, you have someone there in case something goes wrong, but the very first static-line jump you do, you climb out all alone. That really tests you, he says. But not many people do it, so he’s not set up for it.”

  Denny drummed his fingers on the table. “So I could go someplace else and do a static-line jump?”

  It irritated me to realize how much I didn’t want him to go to another drop zone, but I nodded.

  “Where, do you think?”

  “There’s another DZ not too far away,” I said. “Past Knoxton, just over the county line.” He picked up his phone and looked a question at me. “It’s called the Jump Ranch.”

  He tapped on his phone. “Oh right. I looked into that one. I wondered how come there were two drop zones so close together.”

  “They don’t really compete. The Jump Ranch—well, it’s more casual, I guess.” I didn’t want to bad-mouth the competition even though the Ranch was kind of notorious. We’d heard stories about sloppy pack jobs and about jumpers drinking and diving.

  “Is it safe to jump there?”

  “They have a pretty high injury rate—broken ankles, things like that. No fatalities since one of their aircraft went in a few years ago. Everybody got out but the pilot, but the FAA decided it was his fault, not the DZ’s, so they didn’t do anything. Norton—one of our pilots who’s also a mechanic—he’s worked on some of their planes, and he says they’re in decent shape.”

  More finger drumming.

  Then Denny said, “I know your dad’s place has a good safety record.”

  “Lowest number of injuries in the state, and one of the best safety records in the country. He got an award from the USPA for that once.”

  “Any fatalities?”

  “Just one.” I forced the words through the tightness in my throat. “Just one, ten years ago.”

  Of course Denny wanted details about the one fatality at Skydive Knoxton. I said that it was a long time ago and not the fault of the DZ, not anybody’s fault, really, just bad luck, and that my dad didn’t like to talk about it. But I figured Denny would probably find it online, and he’d notice that the dead jumper’s last name was Clancy. If he read a news report, he’d find out that the Jenna Clancy who went in was the wife of the drop zone’s owner, so he’d obviously figure out that she was my mom.

  I knew I should tell him myself before he found out on his own. But even though I kept wanting to be the one to tell someone about my mom,
when it came right down to it, I couldn’t talk about how she died. I was trying to force some words out when the shift-change whistle blew from the paper plant outside of town.

  “Oh shoot,” I said. “What time is it?”

  Denny glanced at his phone. “Three o’clock.”

  I jumped up. “I’ve got to get back.” My dad would probably let his AFF student take a break around now, and he’d be sure to see I was gone.

  Denny insisted on paying for lunch, and Melissa hugged us both good-bye.

  “So what’s the rush?” Denny asked as we left the few buildings that made up “town” behind us.

  “My dad,” I said. “He’ll worry if he notices I’m gone.”

  “So call him.” I didn’t answer, and he glanced over at me. “It’s something else, isn’t it?”

  I looked out the window. “It’s hard to explain. He—well, he’s overprotective, I guess.”

  “So if he notices you’re gone, he’ll freak out?”

  I nodded. “He won’t actually do anything. He’ll just worry a lot.”

  “Huh.”

  Now it was my turn to glance at him. “What do you mean, ‘huh’?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, really. What did you mean?”

  “Not my business. And my mom keeps telling me to keep my amateur psychology to myself.”

  “Okay, now you have to tell me!”

  “Well…” He hesitated. “I don’t know either of you very well, but it sounds like you’re the overprotective one.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “Like I said, amateur psychology. I don’t know what I’m talking about. But most people don’t get all panicky when they realize their dad might be worried.”

  “I’m not…” I stopped. Was I being overprotective? No, that was silly. “You know not whereof you speak, shrink-in-training.”

  We pulled into the lot. “Ruh-roh,” Denny muttered, à la Scooby-Doo. My dad, looking even taller than his actual six foot two, stood outside the office, punching at his phone. When he saw us he slammed the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket.