“Honey,” Curt groaned under his breath, “Sam doesn’t want to hear about your silly fears.” Curt placed his hand on his wife’s elbow and lead her toward the balloon to inspect it.
“They’re not silly fears!” Becky cried softly, holding her husband’s light blue eyes. “It’s worry! What if you died? How would we survive? How could I make ends meet? What of Patty’s future and the schooling we have planned for her?”
“You have nightmares,” Curt said. “And you worry too much. Every time I’m going to fly, you can’t sleep the night before. God, Becky, you’d think after eight years, you’d stop this and get used to the fact that’s what I do for a living.”
Miserably, Becky looked back at Sam holding her daughter. Patty liked the pilot fiercely and was always well-behaved when he was around. Miss Roberts had tried on the phone to diplomatically tell her that Patty was creating scenes in her second grade class. What could she do? What? Becky hung her head and followed her husband meekly. She was afraid of the forthcoming meeting with the teacher on Monday. So many problems were mounting up on her, she didn’t know how to deal with all of them. So many.
2
“Becky, something has to be done about Patty.”
Curt turned on his heel and rested against the drain-board. It was 11:00 p.m., and their seven-year-old daughter was in bed, asleep. “Miss Roberts said she was being disruptive. What did she mean by that?”
Becky sat at the kitchen table, her thin fingers wrapped around a mug of black coffee. They had both taken a bath earlier, and she was wrapped in a cotton robe. He stood in his blue-striped pajamas. “She said Patty would have spells.”
“Spells of what?” Curt folded his arms against his chest, glaring at his wife. Becky’s vagueness was maddening at times.
With a shrug, Becky sipped the coffee and refused to look up at Curt. “You know how she’ll be silent and then suddenly start talking and shouting.”
Inwardly, Curt cringed. When Becky dropped into her soft Arkansas twang, he knew she was feeling pressure. Coming from an upwardly mobile Boston family, Curt had been drilled on proper pronunciation of words and the correct use of the English language. Becky’s high school background from the mountains of Arkansas needed drastic remodeling if she were to fit into the mold of an ideal Air Force wife. She had courageously thrown herself into the diction lessons and had made both of them proud. He tried to take the demanding tone out of his voice. “And she starts screaming in class?”
“I’m afraid so. Miss Roberts said the class would be quietly working on a project, and she’d suddenly start talking out in a loud voice without raising her hand or anything.” Becky chewed on her lower lip, feeling guilty. Somehow, she hadn’t raised her daughter properly. It had been a shaming experience to be asked to come in and talk to Miss Roberts about her daughter. Not that Miss Roberts had been nasty about it. On the contrary, she’d been extremely sympathetic.
“How long would she do it?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes at a time until…”
“Until what?” Curt held on to his anger.
“Sometimes, Miss Roberts would have to take Patty out of the class and take her to the nurse’s room until she agreed to raise her hand before she needed to speak.”
With a groan, Curt shoved away from the drain-board. “Do you know how this is going to look if General Dalton or Colonel Yale gets a hold of this information, Becky?”
Snapping her head up, she studied her husband’s darkly clouded features. “I’m very aware of it, Curt. And you don’t have to raise your voice to me about it.”
“Dammit, in the first grade, she was fine. What happened over one summer? Patty’s been in school three weeks and now this is suddenly happening.”
Nervously, Becky ran her fingers across the smooth surface of the pink ceramic mug. “This last summer we moved to Edwards,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We moved from the F-15 squadron in Florida to here. You went from flying fighters to testing planes—” She bit down on her lower lip, avoiding the anger in his eyes. She’d said too much.
“You’re blaming me for Patty’s behavior?”
“I didn’t say that, Curt.”
“What the hell difference is there between flying a fighter and testing a plane?”
“You keep your voice down or you’ll wake Patty.”
Nostrils flared, Curt jerked out a chair opposite of where she sat. “Just where,” he demanded tautly, sitting down, “did Patty pick up your fear of me testing jets? Ever since we moved here, you’ve been on pins and needles, Becky. You’re going to have to get over it. You’re going to have to stop this insane worrying about me every time I take the Eagle up for a test flight.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Becky whispered, “Miss Roberts thinks my fear of you flying is being transferred somehow to Patty.”
“Do you tell Patty you’re afraid?”
“Of course not!”
Glowering around the kitchen, Curt shook his head. “Kids are like an antenna—they pick up on everything whether it’s spoken about or not.” And his daughter was exceptionally intelligent and sensitive for her age.
“Miss Roberts thinks that part of the problem might be the fact you don’t see Patty very often,” Becky ventured softly. She forced herself to meet her husband’s gaze. “She feels Patty is reaching out for attention because she isn’t getting enough at home.”
“I don’t believe it! Where does Miss Roberts get off saying that?” In his own family, his father owned a thriving brokerage house and was a workaholic. Most of the time, he wasn’t around for Curt or his younger brother, Jim. He hadn’t misbehaved in school just because his father hadn’t had the time to spend with him. Why should Patty?
“She was an Air Force brat herself, Curt. Miss Roberts was raised in a military family and went to schools just like Patty’s going to. She knows what she’s talking about.”
“Maybe.” Curt compressed his mouth. “How can I give Patty more attention, Sparrow?” It was his nickname for Becky because she reminded him of a sweet, harmless little bird. Sparrows had no defenses, no huge curved beak or talons like a hawk or eagle with which to protect themselves. Becky was vulnerable in many ways, and he tried to shield her from so much that could disrupt the ultrasensitive world she lived in. How could he shield her from his flying? Ever since he’d started testing, their marriage had been in a flat spin that he couldn’t seem to get a handle on.
With a shrug, Becky ventured, “Instead of coming home, eating and going to study, you might take an hour and play with Patty. Miss Roberts said we need to pay attention to the school work she brings home, praise her and be interested in what she has to say.”
“Great!” Curt rose, the chair nearly tipping over. “I don’t have an hour to spare in the evenings! Do you think I like going into that office and studying until midnight every night? Don’t you think I’d like to spend time with you and Patty? Testing’s different, Sparrow. It demands everything I’ve got to stay up with Stang and Holt. I’m number three in the standings. I’ve got to make it to number two in flight ratings to stay and be considered for other testing projects coming down the line later on. I can’t spend that hour with Patty.” And then, more softly, he added, “Or you.”
Becky blinked back the tears and lowered her head so Curt couldn’t see them. “I know your back is against the wall. Being a test pilot means everything to you.”
“Believe me,” Curt whispered with feeling, “I don’t like the hours, either. When I was a part of a fighter squadron, we had more time in the evenings to spend together. I’m sorry, Sparrow, but Patty is just going to have to roll with the punches like we are. She’s going to have to somehow adjust.”
“There’s one ray of hope.”
Curt came around the table and placed his hands on Becky’s small shoulders, feeling the tension in them. He began to massage her tense muscles. “What’s that?”
Leaning back, Becky rested her head against her husband�
��s strong, lean body. “Miss Roberts recognized there’s special strains and demands put on Air Force children. Even though it’s her first year here since graduating, she’s going to fight hard for a new way of teaching the kids. It’s called outdoor education.” She placed her hand on his and absorbed his warmth, his love for her.
“Outdoor education? What will that mean?’”
“Miss Roberts wants the children outdoors more often. She feels to pen them up in a room for six or seven hours a day isn’t the best thing for them. You know how Patty loves to get up and move around.”
Leaning down, Curt kissed her temple. “Yeah, that little pipsqueak of ours is a real adventuress.”
“Well, she’s put in a request to the school principal to have her idea approved. If it is, Curt, it means the children in her class will be the test model for it. If it works, then the other grades would be allowed to use it, too. I think if the children went on field trips, on hikes, and got outside, it might help.”
“Patty would be too interested in what was going on around her to create trouble,” Curt agreed. He coaxed Becky out of the chair and drew her into his embrace. The worry in her eyes haunted him. No longer was she the laughing, airy sprite he’d married eight years ago. Coming to Edwards had made her eyes go dark with fear, her once flushed face almost waxen. There was strain around her eyes and soft mouth. Kissing her hair, he held her tightly.
“Let’s hope,” he murmured, “that Miss Roberts gets her way. It would be an easy out on Patty’s problem, I think.” He loved Becky fiercely. Eight years earlier, he’d flown into Blytheville AFB in Arkansas on a training mission when his plane was grounded for two days in order to get a new engine. He’d met Becky over at the O Club, where she’d recently gotten her first job as a waitress.
Curt smiled, rocking his wife in his arms, the memory still warm within him. Becky had spilled a plate of spaghetti all over him in her nervousness to be a good waitress. The O Club manager was appalled and had apologized profusely to him for Becky’s act. Becky stood nearby, crying. It was when the manager turned and fired her on the spot that Curt had taken action. He couldn’t resist her tears or the cute Arkansas twang she had. He had defended her, but the manager refused to take her back.
Leaving the O Club, Curt had walked with her for a couple hours afterward. Becky was one of the few members of her large family to venture down from the mountains and try to make it in what she termed the “real world.” Her vulnerability, her honesty, struck him hard.
He kissed her temple. “Remember when you spilled that spaghetti all over me, Sparrow?”
Becky moaned. “Oh, Lordy, do I ever.”
With a chuckle, Curt added, “I finally got you to quit crying enough to convince you I was going to live—spaghetti stains or not.”
Laughing softly, Becky nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder. “I fell in love with you then. You cared about me, about me getting fired. I was so lost. I didn’t know what to do.”
“We went to your apartment you leased with two other girls and you washed my shirt.”
With a sigh, she looked up, drowning in his dancing blue eyes. “You were so kind, Curt. You still are, even to this day.”
“And you were like a small bird with a broken wing—fragile, pretty and completely unable to fend for yourself out in the world. I fell hard for you.”
“I remember.” Resting her head against his chest, a quiver passed through Becky. “I remember how afraid I was because you were a pilot. Planes scared me even then.”
“You were just raised in a different world was all,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her hair. It had taken him nearly a year to convince Becky to marry him because she was fearful he’d die in a fiery crash. Finally, she gave in to his need for her. His family wasn’t happy about Becky or her lineage, but Curt didn’t care. He loved her, and that’s all that mattered. A year later, Patty was born, and his family was grudgingly accepting of Becky—finally.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered, holding her a little more tightly..
“I’m still scared of those planes, Curt.”
“I know.” If only Miss Roberts could find a way to deal with Patty, their lives wouldn’t continue to be on the edge of a razor blade. Neither his wife or child had been happy since his transfer to Edwards. Curt wanted to place blame for his daughter’s behavior on the recent move. It had to be that and only that. Not the fact he was now a coveted test pilot. Leading her from the kitchen, he shut off the light.
Brad Jamison, assistant principal, hesitated at the door to Megan Roberts’s classroom. The late September heat moved through the quiet halls of the now empty school. The children were gone for the day, and so were most of the teachers. He held her request for a change of curriculum in his hand. Easing open the door, he spotted Megan at the board. She was drawing a huge hot-air balloon on the board in colored chalk.
There was nothing not to like about her, Jamison had decided. He walked quietly into the room. She had been hired while he was away on vacation. Normally, he did the hiring. But, to his surprise, this red-haired vixen was here when he’d come back from summer vacation three weeks ago. The principal, Jake Hamilton, had hired her.
Hamilton didn’t have bad taste, Jamison thought. Being divorced, Brad was always interested in pretty, young and single women. Even another teacher. Halting midway into the room, Brad watched her. The cascade of unruly red hair across her shoulders was like a crimson cape. Or was it a red flag? In the teachers’ conferences with the administration, she’d been absent, which was unusual. He really didn’t know this woman, but if her slender shape was any indication, it was going to be a real pleasure working with her. Besides, she was new and would be on probation for three years. Megan Roberts would be a pliable, willing creature and would realize that her job could be pulled from her at any time if she didn’t go along with what he wanted.
“Megan?”
Megan turned, startled by a male voice so close behind her. Eraser poised in hand, she saw a short, bulldog-shaped man in a gray suit standing in the center of her room. He had thick blond hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, his eyes were a dark brown color. Perhaps it was his short, squat appearance that made her go on internal guard; Megan wasn’t sure. His face was round, and he appeared to be in his early forties. It was the light in his small eyes that bothered her.
“Yes?” Who was he? Her gaze fell to the folder in his grasp, and she recognized it as her outdoor education curriculum plan.
Holding out his hand, he came forward. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Brad Jamison, assistant principal.”
His fingers were strong, holding her hand far longer than necessary. Megan pulled her hand from his grasp and set the eraser down. “Mr. Jamison, it’s nice to meet you.”
He grinned. “I hope you mean that, Megan. You’re certainly a bright spot here at school. Beautiful young teachers aren’t the norm, and if your credentials from Ohio State University are any indication, I’d say Mr. Hamilton has hired a very special lady.”
Scowling, Megan went to her desk and kept some distance between them. She didn’t know what to expect from the administration because this was her first job at a school. Linda Yarnell, a motherly woman who had taught at bases for eighteen years, had warned her that the teachers’ union and this particular school administration weren’t on good footing with one another right now.
“I would hope that Mr. Hamilton hired me because I was a good teacher, not necessarily a ‘special lady.’”
Brad’s smile broadened. He liked her spirit and spunk, her chin raised at an imperious angle, her green eyes flashing with a hint of anger. “Do I hear feminism talking?” he teased, walking over to her desk.
Megan sized him up. “I’m sure you do. But that shouldn’t come as any surprise. It’s 1990, and feminism started in 1970. Everyone’s had twenty years to adjust to the fact that a woman is an equal.” She smiled slightly. “I see you have my curriculum suggestion in hand. Is that what y
ou’ve come to talk about?”
“Ah, yes. Your suggestions.” Brad made himself comfortable on the corner of her desk, no more than a foot separating them. Megan was dressed in a bright kelly-green shirt-dress, the brass buttons and belt showing off her figure and complexion.
“I wasn’t sure who should receive my proposal,” Megan said, holding her breath. Would admin go for it? Would they allow her to change the education model to help the children?
“I’m the curriculum coordinator, Megan. I know you’re new here, so all’s forgiven.”
“And what did you think?”
He held the file in both hands, tapping it lazily against his knee. “I think it’s rather radical—”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Jamison—”
“Call me Brad.”
Megan frowned. Was he making a pass at her? He couldn’t be. Still, her instincts warned her that Jamison wanted something from her. “All right…Brad. If you’ve read my file, you know I’m an Air Force brat. I grew up on bases, and as a matter of fact, I graduated from this very high school five years ago. I feel that my insider’s knowledge of what these children need is worthy of attention.”
Brad smiled. Like any new teacher, Megan was enthusiastic and out to change the world. She’d find out very quickly that admin and the union didn’t operate that way. “You are in the position to know more than most of our teachers about the children of military parents.”
“It’s more than that, Brad.” Megan walked around and faced him. “My second grade class has a couple of disruptive children, arid I feel my education model will help them integrate so that I can get on with the job of teaching all the children in the class.”
“Who are they?”
Taken aback by his unexpected and almost wolfish interest, Megan hesitated. And then, she reasoned that he was the assistant principal. Jamison would know sooner or later about her reports on the children, anyway. “Patty Merrill and Scotty Stang. Both are children of test pilots.”
“I hope you’ve been sensitive enough not to report this, Megan.”
Night Flight Page 3