Take a Chance on Me

by Becky Wade

  He circled his hand up her back several more times without success. “Do you have a blanket nearby?”

  He knelt on the living room rug while Penelope retrieved it. Without having to ask, she placed the blanket on the floor in the swaddling-ready position. He lowered the screaming girl onto it, then wrapped her securely.

  Madeline’s eyes rounded with outrage. More bawling.

  “She knows we’re not Mom and Dad and that this situation is jacked up,” Penelope stated.

  “Does she have one of those, you know”—he held his arm at a diagonal angle—“baby seat things?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’ll go get it, Madeline and I will meet you in the laundry room.”

  “I will not allow you to place my niece in the washing machine.”

  He laughed. “Meet us in the laundry room.”

  Inside the small space, he cleared items off the dryer, then turned it on.

  Penelope arrived with the seat. “Are you wanting me to set this on top?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She did so. “Is this another of your brother’s techniques?”

  “Yep.”

  They worked together to snap the sobbing baby into the seat.

  “This is what happens,” Penelope whispered, “when two sane, responsible parents leave their child in the care of an aunt who bakes pies and a fighter pilot.”

  “If we can bake pies and fly planes, we can handle this.”

  “Naivety is empowering.” She repeated her statement from yesterday, then tipped a wry look at her niece. “That’s Madeline’s why-did-you-rookies-put-me-on-the-dryer face.”

  “Pacifier, please.”

  “Are you now the baby happiness doctor? I’m her aunt, so I should be the doctor. You should be my nurse.”

  “This is no time to protest this hospital’s hierarchy.” Humor curved his lips.

  She darted away. Moments later, she handed him a pacifier. Over and over again, he tried to get Madeline to take it. She kept refusing, but the dryer’s sound and vibration did seem to be calming her a little. On his tenth attempt to interest her in the pacifier, she finally accepted it.

  “That a girl.” Eli kept his fingertip on the pacifier’s end, whispering lullaby words. “Cat in the cradle . . . Peter pumpkin eater . . . The dish ran away with the spoon.”

  Penelope sank onto the laundry room’s wooden stool. “Thank you Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Quiet has never sounded so sweet.”

  Madeline sucked her pacifier with rhythmic concentration, her watery eyes wide open.

  “That’s her you’re-so-unorthodox-that-I’ve-decided-to-give-you-brownie-points-for-creativity face,” Eli said.

  When Penelope didn’t reply, he glanced at her and caught her staring at him as if in the middle of a daydream. “I . . .” She clicked her teeth together and said nothing more.

  “In case you’re hungry, I brought dinner,” he told her. “It’s from The Junction.”

  “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, bread?” she asked hopefully. Old-fashioned, Southern comfort food was her favorite.

  “You got it.”

  “Bless your soul. I’ll start getting it ready.”

  “I’d help but—”

  “You have your finger on a crack in a dam. I’d prefer you not move until she’s asleep.”

  Madeline’s eyelids grew heavier.

  “That’s her now-that-awesome-Eli-is-here-I-can-sleep face,” he said.

  “That’s also her you-two-are-so-inept-that-you’ve-tired-me-out face.”

  Madeline’s lids drifted closed. The noise of her drawing on her pacifier continued.

  “That’s her I’m-dreaming-of-returning-to-the-womb face,” Penelope said.

  “It’s also her I’m-imagining-my-future-career-as-a-pilot face.”

  “It’s also her I-adore-my-aunt-Penelope-and-will-one-day-apologize-to-her-for-my-tantrum-by-buying-her-peppermint-gelato face.”

  “I’ll buy you peppermint gelato,” he said.

  She vanished into the kitchen.

  He stayed in the laundry room with Madeline for several more minutes. Then, unwilling to risk removing the baby from the seat, carried the entire thing to the dining room.

  “She looks like a really tired Cleopatra on a litter,” Penelope remarked.

  He saw that Penelope had set the table, filled their plates with food and their glasses with tea. He placed the baby seat on the floor near their chairs as carefully as if it contained plutonium.

  Madeline continued sleeping.

  He took his seat. Penelope said a prayer, then they started in on the meal.

  Distantly, he could tell that it tasted good. It was hard to concentrate on flavors when Penelope Quinn was seated next to him.

  “I’d like to know what it was like for you, over in Syria,” she said. “Would you be willing to talk with me about it?”

  “Sure.”

  She asked curious questions, and he answered her as thoroughly as security restrictions allowed.

  “Can you give me a sense of what a normal work week in Syria was like?” She took a bite of potatoes.

  “We’re constantly going through a rolling process. We’re given a mission objective. We plan. We perform the mission. Debrief. More intelligence is gathered. We’re given another mission—”

  Madeline made a sound and they both froze.

  The pacifier popped onto her blanket. Eli put his reflexes to work by leaning down to retrieve and reinsert.

  Success. The baby’s head slumped to the side in sleep.

  “That’s her I-thought-it-would-be-fun-to-scare-you-because-I-don’t-want-you-to-get-too-comfortable face,” Penelope said softly.

  “That’s her you-guys-fell-for-it face.” He grinned at Penelope over their running joke.

  She smiled back at him for a split second, then looked away. The amusement in her face disappeared.

  He cursed inwardly and set down his fork. He hated that he’d hurt her before he’d left for Syria.

  She rose. “More butter for your roll?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He rose, too. After straightening his gray shirt, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was being deployed.”

  She paused in the act of removing the butter from the fridge. Then continued her movement, setting the dish on the counter, closing the refrigerator door. Finally, she met his eyes, her face carefully neutral.

  “I liked you from the first day we met,” he said. “The more I got to know you, the more I liked you. You’re the Picasso of pie. You’re devoted to your family. You crack jokes that make me laugh. You love your cat. I don’t know anyone in the world like you . . . and I mean that as a compliment.”

  “I’ll take it as a compliment.” She set a hip against the counter and loosely crossed her arms. It was a casual pose, but he could read caution in the angle of her jaw.

  “But I couldn’t convince you to go out with me,” he said, “because of your rule.”

  “I know you think my rule’s unfair. However, I have ten years of experience to back up its validity.”

  “Actually, I think half of the reason for your rule is fair. You’re right about the fact that any Air Force boyfriend of yours would have to leave for months at a time and have to move often. None of that can be changed.”

  “I wouldn’t ask anyone to change it. What you do is hugely important, Eli. I respect it. And I fully support it.”

  But his job didn’t make him good boyfriend material. He understood, very well, why that was the case. A few years from now, he hoped to make Major. He was committed to defending his country, which meant that any girlfriend of his would have to make big sacrifices because of his commitment.

  “The other half of the reason for my rule is also fair,” she said.

  He already had a lot to overcome with her because of his career. So it made him crazy that the lousy behavior of Penelope’s friends’
boyfriends had hurt his chances further. “I admit that I’ve known plenty of Air Force guys who have the type of personality you don’t want—arrogant, selfish, ambitious. The problem is, that’s a stereotype and stereotypes are often liars. I’ve known a lot of guys who are nothing like that. I’m nothing like that. Which is what I was trying to show you before I deployed.”

  She cocked her head. “But then you lied to me by omission by not telling me about Syria.”

  “Which was a mistake. I should have told you. I didn’t because I worried that you wouldn’t give me a chance if you found out I was about to go.”

  She had an unforgettable face, powerfully beautiful. “Instead of predicting my response, it would have been better to tell me honestly about the deployment, then let me decide on my response.”

  “You’re right.” Pressure built inside his head because he wanted so badly to get this right with her. “I didn’t want to lose you so I said nothing.”

  “And your strategy worked. You kept Syria a secret and I kissed you. But you won a battle only to lose the war because Jodi came to the pie shop the next day and told me about Syria. In that moment, I felt like I’d been used, the same way my friends had been used.” She pushed one of the long, wavy strands of her hair out of her face. “Years ago, I promised myself that I wasn’t going to get played by any of you. And then I got played. It was humiliating because it made me feel like the easy-to-manipulate hometown girl I’d never wanted to be.”

  “I screwed up and I’m sorry. I’ve regretted the way I handled that for the last six months.”

  “Well,” she said lightly, waving a hand. “No doubt, because of Theo, we’ll see each other a lot before you’re sent to another base.” She carried the butter to the table, took her seat. “We can be friends.”

  “I want to be more than friends.” He remained standing.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, while you were away, I started dating someone else.”

  His body turned to stone. “Who?”

  “Cameron Kaplinsky.”

  He bent stiffly into his chair. His brain had turned the color black. He’d known, of course, that she might find someone else while he was gone. If that happened, he’d thought Theo would tell him. Because Theo hadn’t said anything, he’d assumed he was in the clear. “Is Cameron the guy who was at Peyton’s Christmas party? The computer programmer?”

  “One and the same.” She continued with her meal.

  His hands remained motionless on his thighs. “He’s not good enough for you.”

  “I think he is.”

  “No. How long have you been dating him?”

  “A month.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “No.”

  “Exclusive?”

  “No.”

  Thank God. “What can I do to convince you to date me instead of him?”

  “I don’t date Air Force—”

  “Penelope.”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you try for just one minute not to paint me with the same brush as your friends’ boyfriends?” he asked calmly. “What concerns do you have that aren’t about my job? What concerns do you have that are just about me?” He flattened a hand against his chest.

  “That ship has sailed—”

  “We’re not over. We haven’t even gotten started. What are your concerns?”

  Several seconds passed.

  He adored everything about her, and he couldn’t remember when something had been as important to him as this was.

  “I’m concerned that I can’t count on you to be truthful,” she said at last. “I don’t want to be manipulated.”

  “And?”

  “I’m concerned that you’re too macho to communicate your feelings.”

  “And?”

  “I’m concerned that you’re not the type of guy who, I don’t know . . . would be willing to make a fool of himself for love. You’re so self-possessed all the time.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Okay.”

  She tilted her head. “Now do you agree that we shouldn’t date?”

  “There’s nothing on this earth,” he told her firmly, “that I disagree with more strongly than the idea that we should not date.”

  Chapter Five

  The F-22 became an extension of Eli when he flew it. Yet the plane also reminded him, every time, that he was the most fragile, mistake-prone part of the machine.

  On Monday morning, just after take-off, Eli hauled the jet up, planted a turn, then streaked cleanly into the sky.

  The F-22 Raptor was a weapon built for war. A single-seat, two-engine stealth tactical fighter constructed by Lockheed Martin for the Air Force at a cost of 150 million dollars each. Top speed: fifteen hundred miles per hour.

  Its raw power could push him down into his ejection seat at nine times his weight. The plane was a mighty beast and its awe-inspiring strength buzzed through every one of his five senses. The plane was also a wicked scalpel, capable of incredible accuracy.

  He looked through the head-up display of electronic words and symbols to the scenery beyond. Sighting a ridgeline, Eli pointed the plane’s nose toward it. He placed the green velocity vector circle directly over the point above the ridgeline where he aimed to pass. It was seven miles away, but traveling at this speed, the F-22 would cut through that exact airspace in one minute flat.

  Last night, Penelope had told him her three concerns about him. He was glad she had, because now he knew what the obstacles were.

  He’d faced obstacles before. When he’d been determined to get into the Academy. When he’d been determined to become a pilot. Every single day on the job.

  He was a professional at facing challenges.

  His plane rocketed forward, the adrenaline in his blood stream making him feel sharply, wholly alive.

  • • •

  In her rented kitchen space, Penelope stirred glazed peaches and swayed to the melody of “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”

  She served five types of pie year-round. Peach, pecan, apple, mixed berry, and chocolate (Theo’s Pie). Plus, she always offered one or two seasonal pies, such as cherry or pumpkin, depending on which ingredients were fresh. Each pie was available as a whole pie or by the slice and each slice could be ordered plain or à la mode.

  She kept her drink offerings simple. Water, hot coffee, and hot tea in the cold months. Water, milk, iced coffee, and iced tea in the hot months.

  Today’s seasonal pies, strawberry and key lime, had just come out of the commercial ovens opposite her humongous central workspace. The three peach pies she was assembling now were the last of today’s efforts.

  She’d steeled herself against Eli yesterday, leaving the instant she’d finished her fried chicken dinner. She wished she’d been as successful at steeling herself against thoughts of him. Instead, she’d been replaying and replaying memories of the things he’d said to her last night. Each time she did, emotional glitter spun in her chest, glittering.

  His words had been powerful enough but the way that he’d said them! He’d spoken in that unvarnished way he had, looking directly at her. His hair had been rumpled and she’d been repeatedly distracted by the play of tendons in his masculine forearms.

  The hurt she harbored toward him was behaving like a chunk of arctic ice. Pieces of it kept cracking off and toppling into the ocean. Problem was, she understood that the strength of her own desires could wreck her objectivity and persuade her to fall into a relationship with Eli even if doing so was seriously ill-advised.

  She slid the peach pies into the oven, cleaned her workspace, then decided to treat herself to pie. She did a great deal of tasting but didn’t usually indulge in a full slice at 10:02 a.m. This morning, though, it felt imperative. Pie would lift her spirits.

  She plated a wedge of key lime and took slow bites. Critically, she assessed its balance and flavor. The creamy tartne
ss of the lime provided an ideal complement to the crisp, buttery richness of the graham cracker crust.

  This pie was exactly as she wanted it to be.

  She only wished that relationships were as simple as pie.

  • • •

  It was Taco Tuesday at Pablo’s, a casual roadside joint north of town. The place smelled like fried tortillas and sounded like mariachi music.

  Eli and his friend Sam Turner had just given their server their order. They handed her their menus, but instead of leaving, the young woman shot Eli a long and hopeful look before giving the same to Sam. “Your accent’s great,” she told Sam. “Where are you from?”

  “Australia.”

  Her eyes widened with awe. “Wow.”

  Eli relaxed back in his seat, watching with amusement as she asked Sam follow-up questions.

  He’d met Sam at the gym shortly after moving to Misty River. He, Sam, Theo, and several others played basketball together at least once a week. Eli had hung out with Sam enough to know that women almost always flirted with him and people of every age and gender asked him about his accent. It was unusual to run across an Australian accent in the North Georgia mountains.

  What Eli could predict with ninety-five percent certainty: their server’s interest in Sam would get her nowhere.

  Eli sensed a knot of grief at Sam’s core and suspected that a woman might be to blame but didn’t know for sure. Sam was disciplined, hard-working, and solemn. He lived alone on a historic farm outside town and utilized much of what he grew at his farm-to-table restaurant.

  Their server moved off.

  “I could use your help with something,” Eli said.

  “Yeah?” Sam dipped a chip in the salsa bowl.

  “You know how I feel about Penelope Quinn, right?”

  Sam surveyed him with pale green eyes. “I knew how you felt about her before you left. You still feel the same way?”

  “I feel even more strongly now.” Two days had passed since his dinner with Penelope. Eli had told Theo he was free to babysit in the evenings during the work week, but so far, Theo hadn’t taken him up on his offer. Penelope or Aubrey’s friends or members of Theo’s church had been covering shifts with Madeline whenever the baby wasn’t with her parents. “When I saw her a couple of days ago, she listed the things about me that concern her.”