“Not in my book. Children are a sacred trust. They shouldn’t be used like pawns on a board to further someone else’s career.”
Melody’s eyes constricted as she studied her. “You wield considerable power at the base. That surprised me.”
“And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Taking another drink, a longer one this time, Melody nodded. “This is strictly off-the-record.”
Megan smiled, holding her cold gaze. What Melody meant was: none of their conversation had better leak out to anyone else, or Megan would pay a heavy price for that indiscretion. “Any conversation I have with parents about their child is always held in the utmost privacy.”
Melody stared hard at her. “You’re an Air Force brat. You know how the system works.”
“Yes, I do. But I don’t like using the system, Mrs. Stang. Only when I’m backed into a corner and my children are at risk, will I use it.”
“Like you did last Friday night.”
Megan shrugged, tense. “What I did isn’t important. All children will win if my program gets pushed through.”
“Brad Jamison doesn’t like your idea.”
Wondering how Melody knew Jamison, she shrugged again. “We’ve agreed to disagree, that’s all.”
“You fight for what you want. Your father was legendary for that same trait.”
Her lips compressed. “Mrs. Stang, don’t ever compare me to my father. His motives were entirely different than mine.”
“Still, you have his stubbornness, his grit.” She grinned. “I admire that in my enemies.”
“And I’m your enemy because I’m insisting that Scotty be tested for hyperactivity?”
Taken aback by Megan’s bluntness, Melody looked away for a moment. “I meant what I said—I want our conversation off-the-record. Will you promise me that?”
Melody’s voice was surprisingly husky with emotion. Megan nodded. “You have my promise,” she said softly, leaning back against the black leather seat.
Glancing around before she spoke, Melody made sure no one was within earshot. Lowering her voice, she leaned forward. “I’m aware of Scotty’s problem, Megan. I’ve got a degree in child psychology, and I can spot hyperactivity.”
Megan met her gaze. “So you agree, Scotty is hyperactive?”
“Yes.” Melody frittered with her leather gloves. “I’ve known it for some time. I’ve tried to help Scotty, but…he’s getting worse. I can barely control him at home, so I know what he must be like in your classroom.”
Anger sizzled through Megan, and she sat up, inches separating them. “Then why haven’t you gotten your son the help he needs?”
Brows knit, Melody refused to hold her furious green eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Really?” Megan’s voice held disgust. “Let me guess—your husband’s going up for early promotion and he doesn’t want anything to mar his perfect, flawless fitness report. God help the officer who has a child who’s less than perfect, who has a flaw in him or her.” She clenched her fist beneath the table. “Don’t sit here and tell me that’s not the reason why you haven’t done anything to help your son, Mrs. Stang.”
Glaring at her, Melody hissed, “You know that’s the reason! I came here today to ask you to stop putting in those weekly reports on Scotty. Jack finds out about his promotion in January. If you can just wait until then, I can promise you, I’ll take my son to a doctor and get him the drugs he needs.”
Eyes hardening, Megan rasped, “No deal, Mrs. Stang. How dare you put your husband’s career in front of your son’s needs! He’s a human being, for God’s sake! A human! Not a miserable promotion, not a pair of oak leaves on your husband’s shoulders.”
“Wait until January, Megan.”
When Megan spoke, her voice wobbled with fury, with barely withheld personal feelings. Long ago, her father had thrown her and her mother to the wolves, too, in search of his next promotion. She wouldn’t allow it to happen to Scotty. “No way.”
“You’ll be fired for this.”
Megan’s mouth barely curled. “So far, my union is backing me on the request for Scotty to be tested.”
“Jamison will have you fired!”
Getting up, Megan grabbed her purse, her body a line of tension as she looked down at Melody’s furious features. “I’ll take the risk, Mrs. Stang. At least I have my priorities and values straight—your son is more important to me than he ever was to either of you. What a pitifully sad commentary on you, as parents, and on a system that condones that kind of behavior. Someday, Scotty will recognize it, too.”
Getting to her feet, Melody, towered a good six inches over Megan. “I don’t care for judgmental bitches straight out of college, either.”
“I may be young, Mrs. Stang, but I’m old and wise to the way the military works. I’ve got more time in grade than you and your husband combined, so don’t try and get to me through any more power games. I think you realize General Dalton is on my side.”
Jerking on her gloves, Melody warned tautly, “You’ll be sorry for this. That’s a promise. I’m only asking for a little while before Scotty gets the help he needs.”
Megan straightened, as if throwing off tension in her shoulders. “I don’t compromise on the needs of my children. Not now. Not ever.”
Purse under her arm, Melody raised a brow. “Battle lines are drawn, Ms. Roberts. And no quarter will be given.”
Megan stood there, watching Melody march imperiously out of the inn. Her breathing was ragged with anger, and she took several gulps, trying to settle down. Thank God Sam didn’t know the extent of this.
There was one word Sam wanted to use to characterize Design on Monday morning. It was tenterhooks. Everyone was edgy, grim and uncommunicative. Lauren was utilizing the bulk of information he’d brought back from Maryland with him, her desk cluttered, civilian design engineers surrounding her like an enthusiastic wolf pack, all adding input.
Things were cooking over at Lauren’s desk, and that was good, but it was tense. Real tense, because they were behind schedule.
From his desk, he could see Merrill, who looked pale and shaken, his eyes dark with rings under them. Becky was still in the hospital, under observation. Today, she’d be coming home. Curt had withdrawn, been moody and silent, so Sam didn’t know what he was thinking—or feeling. In truth, when he looked into his mirror to shave this morning, he had shadows under his eyes, too. Holt tried to concentrate, but it was impossible.
Loving Megan Friday night was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And to her, he reminded himself. He’d remained at her apartment and slept with her that night. Megan had been restless, but at least she slept. Sam hadn’t, laying awake in the dim morning hours thinking.
Actually, Holt admitted to himself, it wasn’t thinking at all, it was worry coupled with anxiety. He was afraid when Megan had woken up on Saturday morning, she’d reverted back to her former decision, and would tell him to walk out of her life forever. Any moment, he could lose her, and he knew it. Everything was tentative with her, like walking on eggshells. Could the love they forged with one another hold them together through the coming days and weeks of stress, of the personal demands each of them wrestled with? God, he felt fragile this morning. And helpless.
“Hey, Holt!” Stang called from his desk, “you got a lady picked out to go to the Christmas ball over at the O Club?”
Sam studied him. What was Stang up to now? “Hadn’t even thought about it,” he mumbled, pretending to pay attention to the report in front of him. That was a bald-faced lie, of course, because he’d asked Megan to accompany him, and she’d agreed.
“Melody wanted to know what your lady was wearing. Yours, too, Merrill. What’s Becky got picked out for this mandatory dog-and-pony show?”
“Don’t bother me,” Merrill growled.
Undeterred, Jack continued. “Melody’s got this lavender designer dress, and she didn’t want to clash with what everyone else was wearing. Yo
u know how women are. Holt, who you taking to the ball, anyway?”
“I didn’t say.” After Becky’s suicide attempt, Sam wondered if Megan would want to go to the O Club, back to memories of her father, and his abandonment of her and her mother. There would be a lot of drinking, and he knew Megan hated being around liquor. Still, he had to show up for that, date or not. It would make the evening go faster and less painfully with Megan at his side.
Stang slid a glance in Porter’s direction, raising his voice a notch. “You know, Holt, there’s a hot little number over at the O Club. She’s got every single jet jock drooling over her. Her name is Liza Cooper. Now, there’s a willing filly.”
Sam was about to respond, but Porter’s head snapped up. She shoved her chair away from her desk and pinned Stang with a glare. “Captain, I think we’ve got a hell of a lot more to do in here this morning than gossip, don’t you?”
Grinning, Jack went back to work. “Sure thing, Major, sure thing.”
With a sigh, Holt took Lauren’s directive. She was in no mood to be pushed or pressured. She was under enough strain with the design changes to the engine structure. Making a mental note, Sam decided to buttonhole Curt at noon. Something was eating him up alive. He looked positively ill.
“Hey, buddy, what’s going on?” Sam cornered Merrill in the parking lot, where he was slowly walking around in deep thought. He noted Curt’s hands in his pockets, and the fact that his head was bowed, as if in defeat.
Curt turned, and then frowned. “Sam?”
“You looked like death warmed over in there, and I didn’t want to say anything with Stang around.” To make sure, Sam glanced toward Ops. No one was within earshot of their conversation, but he wouldn’t put it past Stang to invite himself over to eavesdrop.
Running his fingers through his hair, Curt replaced his dark blue garrison cap. “When Becky tried…” He couldn’t bring himself to say suicide. Instead he spoke in a raw voice. “In the hospital room, she said something I’d never thought I’d hear from her,” he told Holt, needing to share it with someone.
Frowning, Sam stared over at the jets sitting on the apron. The wind was cool because it was December, but the sun was pleasantly warm. “What’d she say?”
Agitated, Curt leaned against the wire fence that divided the parking lot from the runway area. “Becky asked me to quit.”
“Quit what?”
“Flying.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Flying?”
“Yeah.” Curt shook his head. “Christ, Sam, I can’t. I mean, it’s my life. I love it. My father brags to everybody how I’m a test pilot. I can’t let him down.”
A strange, unsettled feeling moved through Sam as he stood there, not knowing what to say. The choices weren’t many. Sam had seen too many marriages break up because the wives refused to live under such pressures. Somehow, he couldn’t envision Curt and Becky getting a divorce. They were just too right for one another. And then Sam laughed derisively to himself. He felt Megan and he were right for one another. The road they recently chose to walk together was just as unsafe and littered with land mines as the one Becky and Curt were on.
“What are you going to do?” Holt finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.
“Hell, I don’t know. I’ve tossed and turned every night since then. Couldn’t sleep. I mean, what can I do?”
“Do you love Becky?”
Curt lifted his chin and held Holt’s gaze. “Yeah, I love her.”
How much? The words almost came out, but Sam knew he wasn’t in any position to play devil’s advocate. The exact same scenario could be played on him by Megan at any time. And if she gave him that choice—quit flying or lose the relationship with her—which would he take? Holt didn’t even want to think about it.
“I’m going to try and devote at least an hour a night to Becky and Patty,” Curt responded softly. “I think we need quality time together. It means an hour less on study, but somehow, I’ve got to do it.”
“That might help,” Sam said. It would play hell on Merrill’s testing, because every pilot spent hundreds of hours pouring over computer data and reports, and attending briefings in order to absorb highly technical information that would all come into play when they took up an aircraft for testing. Even an hour less on a critical manual might mean the difference between life and death. But then, Sam told himself, the Merrills’ marriage was at that juncture, too. Who lived? What died?
“I’m going to do it,” Curt said with resolve. “I love her so damn much. She’s right, I have been ignoring her and Patty. I haven’t meant to, but this project—”
“Has been a son of a bitch.”
Merrill managed a pained grimace. “Roger that one.” He wrapped his fingers through the fence wire, staring off into the distance, and saw nothing. His voice was low, tense. “I can’t lose her, Sam. I can’t lose Becky….”
Placing his hand on Merrill’s tense shoulder, Sam stood there. Words were useless. There were no simple answers. And then, Holt began to tell Curt about Megan and himself. Just being able to share it with someone who understood, took a tremendous load of fear off his shoulders.
Merrill smiled slightly afterward. “I like Megan. But your situation is no more stable than mine.”
Nodding, Sam rested his back against the wire. “I’m living one day at a time,” he admitted slowly. “It’s like carrying around a live grenade. I never know when it’s going to go off and kill our relationship.”
“You mean if she asks you to make a choice between her and flying?”
“Yes.” Across the base, Megan was teaching her class. What was she wearing? He sharply recalled how fragrant her skin had smelled, how soft it was. The thick silk of that fiery red hair spoke of her spirit, her strength. He hoped she remained strong about their relationship.
Merrill sighed. “We’re both in a hell of a fix.”
“You think Becky will be ready for the Christmas ball?” It was coming up in two weeks and was mandatory that every officer and his wife show up for it—or else.
“I don’t know. The doctors will release her today. Becky knows how important it is to make an appearance at it. Are you inviting Megan?”
“Yes, but I don’t know if she’ll still come.” Sam didn’t add because of Becky’s suicide attempt.
“Well, Becky really likes Megan. And she hates these functions, always feeling ill-at-ease at them. Maybe, if Megan comes, Becky wouldn’t feel so pressured. Could you ask her to come for Becky’s sake, if for no other reason?”
Holt got the message. “I’ll talk to her tonight about it.”
“Christ,” Merrill said in a low voice, looking back toward Ops, “if Stang ever gets ahold of all this, my career is shot down. I’m sweating out someone getting wind of the fact Becky’s been in the base hospital for two days.”
With a snort, Holt pushed away from the fence. It was time to get back to Ops. “Worse,” he muttered, “is the damage it would do to Becky. Right now, I don’t think she could take that kind of cruel gossip.”
“Well,” Curt added, slowly walking across the parking lot with him, “let’s just get past this damned Christmas ball. One step at a time.”
Holt was struck by Merrill’s words. Those were the exact ones he and Megan used with one another, a reminder that there were no promises, no “for sures” in life. What a hell of a way to live. But he disliked the other choices even more.
“Isn’t that our cozy group we’ve been waiting for?” Melody leaned over and whispered to her husband, who looked darkly handsome in his dress officer’s uniform. Gala Christmas music was being played by the five-piece Air Force band. The huge, rectangular room at the O Club was crowded with men in their dark blue and silver dress uniforms, and women in subdued, but tasteful pastel gowns.
Stang lifted his head from the group of majors he was making small talk with. Soon, he’d be one himself, and he wanted to remind them of that. Captain Curt Merrill, his pale wife and Megan Roberts had jus
t arrived. Becky was clinging to her husband’s arm as if she were scared to death. She wore a bright yellow cocktail dress, the color out of place among the pastels of the group. Worse, it hung on her, fitting poorly. Becky appeared haunted and fearful-looking. Megan Roberts hovered protectively at Becky’s side, like a maid-in-waiting to her.
“Interesting,” he whispered back to Melody. “I’m glad Holt and Porter are TDY in Maryland. It’s a shame they had to miss the ball, but this gives us open season on their significant others.”
Melody winked, feeling a thrill as they were about to engage their prior tac-and-strat plans from the night before into high gear. Since her meeting with Megan Roberts, the teacher’s firing was at a stalemate. Jamison was doing all he could, for a considerable amount of money, to continue putting pressure on the administration side to have her relieved of teaching duties. Unfortunately, the union was fighting back with a demand that Scotty be tested.
They had agreed to allow the situation to remain a stalemate. Megan couldn’t put in any more reports on Scotty until the situation was resolved. It was in their best interests to let it drag through January until Jack got his early promotion. Melody clenched her silk-gloved hand. Then, she would enjoy watching Megan Roberts get booted out on her ear. Absently, she caressed the lavender fabric across her small waist, the most elegantly dressed woman at the ball. Making a smooth exit from the group of majors and their wives, Jack and Melody glided toward Megan and the Merrills.
“God, you look gorgeous,” Jack said with fervor. Indeed, Melody looked as if she’d walked straight out of Vogue magazine. Her black hair was swept upward, fastened with a real diamond barrette, her feathery bangs barely brushing her arched eyebrows. At her throat was a recent birthday gift he’d bought for her from Tiffany’s in Los Angeles: a ten-carat diamond pendant. It caught the light, glinting fiercely with fiery color, and drew attention to her classical features.
The her gown hugged her form to luscious perfection. Full breasts, Melody had informed him earlier while they were dressing for the ball, were in fashion again. Those who had them could flaunt them once more. Those who didn’t would rush to their plastic surgeon and get silicone implants to keep up with the latest fad. And she had one hell of a pair, the dress design making them tastefully revealing, celebrating her womanliness, Jack thought. Of course, Melody had spent three thousand dollars on the gown, and none of the wives of the officers here could afford that kind of price. She was a knockout, and Jack enjoyed the catty, envious looks from the wives, and the equally lustful looks from the husbands.
Night Flight Page 24