Flying Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “We’ll get it done,” she replied lightly, pushing her door open. “See you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll wait until you get your car started.”

  She opened her mouth as though to speak but slipped down to the blacktop without uttering a word. After only a few steps she stiffened and came to a stop. Austin followed her gaze to a man who had emerged from the building and was now striding in their direction. The weak lights in the parking lot didn’t reveal much about the man’s appearance, but he walked with enough purpose to cause Austin alarm. Opening his door, he went around the truck and joined Liana.

  “Who’s he?” Austin could see now that the newcomer was about his height but weighed at least sixty pounds more—most of which was gathered in his chest and stomach. “Looks like Dracula with a belly.”

  She gave him an amused glance. “My boss.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She didn’t look okay. If Austin thought her face closed before, it now became a veritable fortress.

  “Liana.” The man’s voice showed superiority even in that single word.

  “Yes, Mr. Koplin?”

  “I thought you went home.”

  “No, I just left work. I’ve come back to get my car.”

  Koplin’s gaze shifted over Austin. “Oh, a date.”

  “A favor for my brother.” There was the slightest trace of annoyance in her voice. Austin imagined that she would much rather tell him where to go than to give him the satisfaction of an explanation. He found himself silently cheering her spunk.

  “Oh, nice to meet you.” Koplin held out a hand to Austin. “I didn’t know Liana had a brother.”

  “Well, actually, I’m not her brother,” Austin said, his nose tingling at the strong smell of soap and disinfectant that radiated from Koplin. “We just met today. I’m Austin Walker, sales manager of Goodman Electronics.”

  Koplin’s brows shot up. “Goodman’s?”

  “My brother does advertising for them,” Liana said.

  Austin nodded. “Our accountant quit, and we have some reports due, so when her brother said he knew someone who could help . . . well, that’s how Liana got involved.”

  Liana cast Austin a look that told him she wished he had kept his mouth shut.

  Koplin’s eyes narrowed as he pointed to the briefcase Liana carried, wringing his long fingers. “Did you use your laptop?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure you know that company equipment is limited only to company business. We’ll have to talk about this tomorrow.”

  Austin had to stop himself from challenging the man’s cold, arrogant words, but Liana nodded, her expression devoid of reaction. “Now if you will excuse me. Goodnight, Mr. Koplin.” She turned to Austin. “Goodnight, Austin.”

  Austin watched her walk away, back rigid and head held high. She showed no sign of concern, and he marveled at her calmness. That was one woman who would not allow anyone to push her around.

  Larry Koplin nodded at him and took a step away. Hesitating, he asked, “You really just met her today?”

  “Yes.” If it’s any of your business, Austin added silently.

  Koplin’s hand reached up to smooth his tie over his chest and belly. “I just wondered, since she called you by your first name. The way she addressed you—I thought you might be friends. Never mind. It was nice to meet you. Goodnight.” He turned and hurried across the parking lot to the red Mercedes.

  Austin felt compelled to go after Liana, and he reached her as she was about to slip into the convertible. Green, it’s dark green, his mind noted. The top was up tonight, though the Nevada weather was warm enough for it to be down.

  “Wait,” he said. When she hesitated, he continued. “Look, I didn’t get you into trouble, did I? I could talk to him, if you want.”

  Her eyes appeared dark blue in the night, as fathomless as the evening sky on the farm where he grew up. “Everything is fine, Aust—Mr. Walker.” Her voice wasn’t raised or angry, but each word came with deliberate precision, as though etched in stone. “But you aren’t my knight in shining armor—I don’t need one. I fight my own battles, and Mr. Koplin doesn’t frighten me. Now, will you please let go of my door? I’m tired and I’d like to go home.”

  He stepped back and let her drive away. If that was the way she wanted it, so be it. She was no concern of his. “A witch,” he muttered. “The face of an angel, a heart of ice.” He shook his head and snorted. “Knight in shining armor. Well, excuse me for trying to be nice.”

  Pushing all thoughts of Liana from his mind, he strode back to his truck and revved the engine to life. He’d better call Sonja tonight if he was ever going to be forgiven for breaking their date.

  * * *

  Liana was furious, and now that no one was around, she allowed herself the weakness of showing anger. How dare Mr. Koplin question where I’ve been or with whom! He had no right. He’s my boss, not my father or my husband. He had absolutely no right!

  She hated the way he’d made her feel—as if she were a child who had to account for her time, as though she weren’t capable of taking care of herself. Like a child who had begged to go on a plane with her parents to a remote village in India and had been refused.

  She didn’t really know if she had begged to go. The memo ries of that time were all but gone, but as a child she had imagined asking to go with her parents on their last flight. She understood why now: the belief stoked her feelings of abandonment, which in turn caused anger, and the anger obliterated the guilt of not going, of surviving without them. Understanding this now did not change the facts or her feelings.

  After a few moments of raging at the absent Koplin, a sliver of fear wove its way into her thoughts. She hadn’t thought he might be annoyed that she had used the laptop for outside work. She’d heard others at Klassy Accounting (no job too big or too small) talking about the extra money they made outside work hours using the laptops they’d been given. Everyone did it. As long as doing so did not infringe upon their work for Koplin, what did it matter? She hadn’t stolen a client or used something that was consumable. She’d been doing a favor for someone—and not for the first time. There wasn’t even a company policy about the matter. What was Mr. Koplin’s problem?

  Then she knew. She’d upset his plans for lunch with Jim Forrester, and he was trying to teach her a lesson. He might even threaten to fire her, but he wouldn’t dare follow through until tax season was over. Even then, he would hesitate, wouldn’t he? She was good at what she did.

  Before pulling onto the freeway, heading toward Henderson where she lived, she stopped and put down the top of her convertible. Then she pulled her long hair into the thick elastic band that she always kept on the dash. Accelerating quickly, she reveled in the cool breeze slapping against her face and sliding over the top of her hair like a gentle touch. Almost it felt as though she were flying. Flying like the eagle on the picture in her tiny rat hole of an office. There was no tapping of keyboards in the breeze at this speed, only white noise that soothed and calmed.

  When she eased the Cavalier into place outside her small condominium, her anger had died, taking with it the fear. Whatever Mr. Koplin said tomorrow, she would deal with it as she dealt with everything—by herself with her head held high.

  Inside, her condo was utterly quiet, without even the muffled hum of the air conditioner, which frequently drove her mad during the summer. Setting her briefcase on the floor, she turned on the light in the narrow entryway. The stairs leading up to her room beckoned, but she ignored them and stumbled to the small kitchen. There, she downed three aspirin tablets with a meal shake from a can. Most people used these to lose weight; she used them to fill her stomach when there wasn’t time or energy for a proper meal. Sometimes the shakes and nutrition bars were the only things she ate all day, though often they didn’t do much for her gnawing hunger.

  Her eyes burned and her head pounded. Willing the aspirin to start working, she wandered
into the living room, the only other room on the first floor besides a bathroom and a laundry closet. This was her favorite room and the largest in the two bedroom condo. It featured a gas fireplace which she rarely used, a sliding glass door that led to the tiny patio out back, and built-in shelves with room for a large TV but which she used only for her extensive collection of books. She read avidly, everything from fantasy intended for children to non fiction books on political science. The only books she didn’t read were the romance novels that made no sense to her. How could there really be a happily ever after? There was always the next morning and a new set of problems. Her favorite books were the Anne Perry mysteries, because in the end they were logical, believable, perhaps even predictable. She liked that.

  Scattered appealingly here and there and on the walls were knickknacks, pictures, and other decorations. These were mostly of her adoptive mother’s choosing, some coming from her childhood home. Clarissa had wanted her daughter to feel comfortable and loved when she moved into the condo. Tears came to Liana’s eyes at the memory. Strangely enough, those pictures and knickknacks did more for her than she was ever able to let on.

  Avoiding the flowery Victorian couch that was great for looks but lacked everything in comfort, she headed to her sloppy green easy chair, another cast-off from her parents’ home, to wait until the throbbing in her head abated enough for her to attempt the stairs. Her eyes drooped.

  She didn’t know this place or these people. A lady wept in front of a child who stared with wide, frightened eyes, her face slick with tears. Another woman tried to comfort the first, who refused to be comforted. Still another woman reached for the child, who stared and stared without speaking, more tears sliding down her cheek. As the people began to fade—growing smaller and smaller, grayer and grayer, until it was all black—a high, terrified scream pierced the darkness.

  Liana awoke, breathing in short, violent gasps. Her hand went instinctively to her heart, which now pounded with more intensity than her head had earlier. With a moan, she came to her feet, glad for the light she had left burning. She stumbled through the room, tripping once or twice over her own feet, which felt encased in lead. Using the thick wooden banister, she pulled herself up the stairs to her room. She sat on her queen-sized bed in the dark, breathing deeply to calm the terror that remained from the dream. Long ago this nightmare had come often, but now it was much more rare. She supposed it derived from an early memory in India, of her mother’s friends after her death. The silently weeping child must be herself.

  Fumbling in her nightstand, her hand closed over the small faded snapshot she had once carried everywhere. By the dim light that filtered in the door from the first floor, she could see the happy blond couple smiling out at her. Between them was a thin, brown-haired child, who despite her somber eyes looked content. Below the picture on the white border was a name, printed neatly in Christian’s fourteen-year-old hand:

  Liana with her parents Guenter and Karyn Schrader

  She no longer remembered why she had insisted on the name or where she had gotten it. Christian believed it was a nickname that meant something in Romanian, the first language of her birth father. She had never dared to check.

  “Write Liana,” she said tearfully, shoving the bent photograph toward him. “I know how to spell it. Mamata teached me. L-I-A-N-A.”

  “Who is Mamata?” Christian asked.

  Liana knew Mamata was the lady who had watched her when her parents were at the hospital, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t!—use so many words to tell him this. “Write Liana,” she repeated.

  “But you’re Lara,” he said. “Lara Clari Schrader. I mean, Lara Clari Winn, now that you’re adopted. That’s what we went to the judge for today. You’re Lara now. Lara. I know we’ve been calling you Liana like you wanted, and I’ll still call you that if you want, but Mom thinks you’ll be happy to have your real name when you grow up. Aunt Karyn, your real mother, gave you that name. You should use it.”

  More tears stung her eyes. “No, no—Liana.” Even if she had been willing to talk more, she found it impossible to explain how desperately she needed to be called Liana. Again she shoved the photograph at him.

  He stared at her. “Okay. Don’t cry. I’ll do it. It’s okay. Shush now.” Taking a pen from his pocket, he slowly printed the words. “There you go. For what good it’ll do.”

  The memory faded. Liana clutched the photo to her chest and lay on her bed in the dark. Her face was wet with tears.

  CHAPTER 4

  Diary of Karyn Olsen

  Friday, January 11, 1966

  I know I didn’t want to go to college so close to home, but now I’m grateful. I love this school. Go Cal Poly! If I hadn’t been here, I’d never have met Travis.

  Today I skipped biology (Angie took notes for me) and went to the cafeteria early again. My heart was banging around like crazy in my chest for fear that Travis wouldn’t be there. But he was. Angie’s cousin was not (yay!). I took a deep breath and went up to him. Gosh, I’m always shy and nervous around guys, but this is so much worse! When I’m around him I feel as if I’m looking over the edge of a cliff. My breath whooshes out of me, and I can barely speak.

  Then he invited me to sit with him! I couldn’t believe it. I raced to get my food, afraid he would change his mind, but he was still there waiting for me when I got back. I think he really likes me. (Oh, please, God, let him like me!) I never worried much about the way I look. I mean, I don’t look too bad or anything, but I never really cared before I met Travis. Just two days ago I only wanted to rush through college and finish my degree so that I could be a nurse and help people. But meeting Travis . . . I don’t know. Things seem different now.

  Liana awoke at 5:29 A.M., her body anticipating her alarm clock by one minute. She was accustomed to waking early and normally it was her best time. Not so this morning. Her head felt full of sludge, and her neck ached from sleeping on the pillow wrong. Great way to start a morning, she thought.

  In the darkness, she pushed herself from bed and into the connecting bathroom. There, she downed two aspirin, shed her clothes, and stumbled into the shower. She turned the water first too hot and then too cold, letting it sluice over her. Immediately her body came alive. Out of the shower, she slathered herself with one of the many tubes of lotion she had in her cupboard next to the large array of bath salts, bubbles, and candles. If there was one room that was her, it was the bathroom. Soaking in the bath after a hot day was her favorite luxury.

  Her hair took a very long time to dry, and most days she let it remain slightly damp. But today she wanted to look her best when she faced Mr. Koplin. After blow-drying her hair, she added a few hot rollers to enhance her natural curl. As she waited for the curlers to cool, she meticulously applied her makeup, using waterproof mascara so that it wouldn’t run from the heat that steadily increased as summer approached. It wasn’t in case she cried, she assured herself. Mr. Koplin wasn’t important enough to cry over.

  How things had changed from when she had first met Larry Koplin at a local charity fund-raiser she had attended. He had seemed so kind, so utterly concerned with providing help for abused women, impressing her with not only his generous contribution but with his nice suit and confident manner. She had also been eager to escape the awkward situation of a romance gone wrong at her previous job—the failure had been hers, of course; she simply couldn’t commit.

  Only much later did she realize that for Koplin business came before any other consideration. But at the expense of what? Employees who constantly feared for their jobs, employees who often worked overtime but who had little hope of bettering their situations? It was no wonder Liana’s two best friends at work—her only friends there—had quit the year before, Merriam to raise a family and Franz to accept a better job at another company.

  And yet the women’s shelter was flourishing for the first time in years. Koplin had likely saved lives.

  Was that why she stayed? Liana wished now that she had le
ft Klassy with Merriam and Franz. Life there had been difficult without them, but she had been afraid. Afraid, yet also hopeful for the office and raise Koplin kept hanging in front of her like a tasty carrot. When it finally came, she understood it hadn’t been worth the wait; she had sold her soul for a silver-plated dime.

  From her walk-in closet, Liana chose a maroon suit dress that had always made her feel feminine and confident. She told herself she made the choice because of her pending interview with her boss; it had nothing to do with the later appointment at Goodman Electronics. Nothing at all.

  Her cupboard was bare of even her customary English muffins, so she made a mental note to stop at McDonald’s on her way to work. Fortunately, her headache had abated, though the pain in her neck persisted. She rubbed it with an impatient hand as she ran to her car.

  Thirty minutes later, Mr. Koplin’s executive secretary looked up from her desk as Liana entered Klassy Accounting. “Mr. Koplin asked me to tell you he’s waiting in his office,” she said.

  “Thank you, Marla,” Liana replied, ignoring the hint at her supposed tardiness. So what if she was usually here at six-thirty or seven? Official working hours didn’t begin until eight, and that meant she was a half hour early.

  She felt the glances of her coworkers as she walked purposefully toward Mr. Koplin’s office. Though she’d worked with them for years, she didn’t know any of them well and suspected they were all secretly hoping she’d be fired. She’d overheard a man once at the coffee machine saying something about an ice maiden. The conversation died when they noticed her, leaving no doubt as to who was the topic of conversation. That day she wished she’d tried to make new friends after Merriam and Franz left. Instead, she had drawn further into her shell, telling herself that was what manager material did. Back then she had believed Mr. Koplin’s promises.

  I don’t need them, she thought, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. And I can handle Mr. Koplin. She tried to recapture some of the indignation she had felt the night before, but her heart fluttered in her chest.