Flying Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “I tell you it was her—”

  “I’m late for a meeting with Mr. Goodman.” Austin cut him off. A quick look at his watch assured him this was about to be true. “Good day, Mr. Koplin.”

  Austin grabbed a portfolio from his briefcase and ran from the room.

  * * *

  The street in Henderson was deserted, though a few small children were playing dodgeball in one of the front yards. Austin was amazed that they found room to play on the tiny patches of grass, bordered by decorative cacti. Coming from the lushness of his parents’ Wyoming farm, the Nevada desert had been a shock for him at first, and every now and then it still surprised him as he recalled acres of wheat and alfalfa and lazy summer mornings on the grassy bank of the swimming hole. He’d learned that Nevada had its own beauty in the succulent limbs of the cacti and flowers they produced and in the stunning palm trees, but though the display was nice, sometimes even exceptional, it wasn’t home. It wasn’t where his mind went when he dreamed. Strange that his mind had room for good memories of the farm, when it was crammed with so many that brought heartache.

  He climbed from his truck, smiling as a red ball bounced in his direction. With both hands he scooped up the ball and tossed it back to the waiting children. “Thanks, mister!” came a shout, and then they were back at play.

  Liana’s condominium looked like any other on the street, except there was a potted plant in a decorative vase on the narrow porch. The plant was dead and the soil dry. He checked the address he’d printed from the Internet one last time before ringing the bell.

  She opened it after only a short delay, and the surprise in her blue eyes told him she had not used the peephole. “Uh, hello.” She was dressed in baggy, blue plaid pants and a sky blue T-shirt that matched her eyes. What was she doing in pajamas at nearly two in the afternoon? He waited for her to open the door wider and to ask him in, but she remained clutching the door with one hand, blocking the space between the door and the frame with her body.

  “How’s the work coming?” he asked.

  “Nearly done.” Her brows drew tightly together, showing clear displeasure. “But I said I would call when I finished. Why are you here?”

  “I heard about your job.”

  She grimaced. “Christian.”

  “He was worried. I’m glad he called. After all, it was my big mouth that got you into trouble.”

  Her arms folded across her chest, and Austin knew things weren’t going well.

  “I talked to your boss. I wouldn’t be surprised if he called and offered you your job back.”

  “You called Mr. Koplin?” Her eyes opened wide with dis belief. “Just who do you think you are? I told you before, Mr. Walker, that you weren’t my knight in shining armor. I can handle myself.” She shook her head in disgust. “For your information, I wasn’t fired. I quit. The man was an overbearing, male chauvinist jerk, and I was going nowhere fast in that company. It was way past time I found a new job.”

  “Well, I maybe could work something out at Goodman’s. It wouldn’t be accounting but—”

  Her face flushed. “You don’t get it, do you? I can handle it. I have a degree. I know what I’m doing. I’ll work things out.”

  “Well, I . . . you see, . . .” What was it about her that made him feel so insecure? He was accustomed to solving problems; he was good at it.

  “Look, come in, and if you’ll wait a minute, I’ll print you out your forms. Then you can send them off by express mail and forget any of this ever happened.” She turned and stalked into her condo. He followed more slowly.

  The narrow entryway led into a sizable living room that seemed to be full of books. She pointed to a Victorian couch covered in a pale, flowered print. “Sit there.” She herself settled into a puke-green easy chair that looked more comfortable than any chair that ugly had a right to be. From a side table, she picked up the laptop he’d given her. “Just a few more things . . .” Her fingers flew over the keys.

  After ten minutes, she left the room and returned with several sheets of paper. “There’s more. It’ll take time to print them all.”

  “I could do it at the office.”

  “I need to check over it all once more.” She sat in her chair and focused on the papers in her hand.

  Austin shifted his weight on the uncomfortable couch. “Look, I was just trying to help. I didn’t mean to . . . you know.”

  To his relief her brows relaxed, and she smiled. He didn’t like to admit it, but that smile did funny things to his insides. “I know,” she said. “And I do appreciate the concern. But I really do know what I’m doing.”

  “So what exactly are your plans?”

  She contemplated him for a few seconds without speaking. “Accounting, taxes. I’m going to start my own business. It might be a little rough at first, especially if I’m not able to pick up clients before the tax season is over, but I’ll make it work.”

  For a fleeting second, he could see vulnerability in her eyes, but it lived so briefly that he wondered if she was even aware of it herself. A protective urge, one she most certainly wouldn’t appreciate, came to the forefront of his emotions. He often had these feelings where other people, less fortunate than himself, were concerned. Mercedes said the urge grew out of the helplessness he’d felt as a child, the helplessness to change his own life and that of his sister and mother. She said he needed to prove he could change everything he perceived as unjust.

  Maybe she was right.

  “I’ll be okay,” Liana assured him. Or were the words for herself? He couldn’t tell. Perhaps a little of both.

  An idea came so swiftly that for a moment he didn’t reply. “Well,” he said, leaning forward to give himself a rest from the stiff back of the couch, “since you’re basically starting your own company, I might have a job for you. That is, if you think you can handle it.” Adding this last bit was pure genius, he told himself when he saw her chin go up at the challenge.

  “What do you have in mind?” Stiffly, she laid her papers on the end table.

  “Well, aside from my job as sales manager of Goodman Electronics, I’m also the president of a small charity.”

  She relaxed slightly. “Christian told me. Your grandmother used to oversee it?”

  “Yes. She started out in Africa and India. Then in the early 1990s she began sending most of our aid to Ukraine. A few of our ancestors were Ukrainian, and she felt a connection to the country.”

  Austin had felt it, too. He’d been there a dozen times as his grandmother’s emissary when she had become too feeble to travel, and he had been amazed at the architecture, especially the impressive churches and cathedrals, which for him typified the Ukrainian determination to live. Despite centuries of struggle for autonomy, including decades of Soviet oppression and brutality, both the churches and the Ukrainians had survived.

  “Why did she only start sending aid to Ukraine in the nineties?”

  “That’s when Soviet rule ended and the country opened its door to international aid.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I remember reading something about that.”

  “So just before my grandmother died, she made me the new president. It’s not a big organization, but we manage to do quite a bit for our size. We have a buyer who purchases items to send to Ukraine, a lady who sends out donation requests, and we’ve been using the advertising firm your brother works for when we have events. There’s even a toll-free number for people to call if they want to donate by credit card—we pay a service to take care of the calls. My sister usually arranges flights, and I do finances. In Ukraine we have a full-time worker and two part-timers. That’s about it.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  He sighed. “It is.”

  “Why don’t you quit your job and do it full time?”

  “I think my grandmother intended for me to make the charity grow to the point where I could do that. And perhaps I could some day, though I really want the money to go to the children, inste
ad of a large salary.”

  “Which you are accustomed to receiving.” A faint smile played on her lips.

  “I guess it sounds a bit selfish.”

  “Well, I understand your wanting to maintain your current lifestyle. But if you worked at it full time, you might be able to grow the charity to the point where you could help more children and get the salary you need.”

  “You’re probably right. But truthfully, while I like to be involved, I don’t think I could do it full time. At least not right now. I enjoy my job at Goodman’s. I’m good at it.”

  “I’m sure you are.” She propped an elbow on the worn arm of her chair, one finger on her chin. “So what’s this job you had in mind?”

  Austin thought her words sounded forced, as though she wished she didn’t need to ask. He had to struggle to keep the grin from his face. “We could use some financial help—especially now. We’ve received a large donation from the estate of a man who knew my grandmother. I had them put it in the bank, but I need to see how that’s going to affect the charity in tax terms.”

  “Shouldn’t change too much. And you’ve been doing the accounts, so why pay someone else to do it?”

  “I’ve only done the accounts since my grandmother died last year, and I’m finding they take much more time than I expected. Time I don’t have, since I often have to go away on business.” He paused a moment before adding, “So, will you do it?”

  Her head leaned to the side to rest on her hand while she considered a moment. “Okay. I’ll need all the current statements as well as access to past records, of course.”

  “They’re in Wyoming.” He’d forgotten that. “Or most of them. I often go to my sister’s for the weekend, and since the rest of the charity employees are there, it seemed only logical to keep them there. I do have some current bank records at my house, though.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll need more than that.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Austin rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble that had already begun to appear. He contemplated his options and made a quick decision. “Well, how about taking a trip?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to be visiting several states this week for business, and one of the places I’m headed is Wyoming. I was going to fly, but I could rearrange my schedule and drive instead, and then you could come with me. It wouldn’t take more than thirteen hours, give or take an hour. Then while I go to Casper and Sheridan to take care of business, you could take a look, see what you need, and we’ll bring it back.” He could make up one of the days lost in traveling on Saturday.

  “Wyoming?” she asked.

  Austin didn’t know her well, but he thought she looked stunned at his proposal. He liked the idea of being able to surprise her. “Yeah, Wyoming.”

  “Can’t you just bring everything back with you?”

  “Too many boxes, even for my truck.”

  “I don’t know,” she hedged.

  “Come on. It’ll be fun. A vacation of sorts.” Austin suddenly found himself caring whether or not she accepted his offer. “You’ll love seeing the farm where I grew up—belongs to my sister and her husband now. It’s very green there, or will be soon. Spring is a wonderful time to visit. Everything is coming alive. A lot of baby animals are born; crops are put in and begin to sprout. Consider it a vacation. It’ll only take, what, two or three days, tops. I’ll do all the driving.”

  “Okay.” Her response was so soft he almost didn’t catch it.

  “Okay?”

  She nodded verification. “When do we leave?”

  “In the morning. I’ll pick you up at six.”

  She stood, signaling an end to their conversation. “I’ll be ready. Your papers should be finished by now. I can check them fast.” She left the room and returned with the printouts after several long minutes.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Don’t thank me yet. My bill is in there, too.”

  He grinned. “Good.”

  They stood at the door now, but Austin found himself reluctant to leave. “I’m glad it worked out—I mean for the charity.”

  “It hasn’t yet.” A smile softened her words.

  Allowing her the parting shot, he strode down the sidewalk. He was tempted to look around and see if she was watching, but he controlled himself and made his way to his truck. He looked then, but he’d parked too far to the right to see into the covered porch. Shaking his head, he backed up and drove away.

  CHAPTER 8

  Diary of Karyn Olsen

  Monday, February 28, 1966

  I wish Clari could do my hair for my date with Travis, our first since Valentine’s, but when I called her, she said she had a ton of calculus tests to correct by tomorrow. Whatever possessed her to teach math at a high school, I’ll never know. At least she’s always around to help me with math when I need her, although lately I’ve been asking Travis instead. He’s so busy with classes that I hardly see him except when I need help. At least he’s not dating anyone else. I had Angie ask her cousin. Her cousin thinks Angie likes Travis, but it’s not true. She’s seriously dating Craig.

  Tonight we’re going to a movie. I mentioned I was going at lunch, and Travis acted excited about going with me. We’re still having lunch together at the cafeteria almost three times a week. Sometimes he talks about building bridges and stuff, and it bores me to tears. Compared to the excitement of a living cell, or the birth of a new baby, bridges are so . . . well, boring. But I do love him, so I try to listen, though some of the concepts escape me. He is so intelligent and bright! I hope our children (one girl and one boy, of course) take after him.

  Liana awoke Tuesday morning feeling much more positive than she had in the past few days. The darkness seemed to exude a sense of expectancy, though she didn’t think the feeling derived from the impending trip to Austin’s childhood farm. The only memory she had of visiting a farm was on a first-grade field trip—and that hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

  “Come on, children,” Miss Jones called. “It’s time to ride the horse.”

  Liana felt her heart pound in her chest. What if she couldn’t control the horse and she fell off? Even when she saw the horse’s owner leading the children around on the horse with a rope, she couldn’t bring herself to climb up onto its back. She didn’t know the man—what if he let go?

  “I don’t want to ride,” Liana told her teacher.

  “She’s a big baby,” Jody said to Robby. A few of the children laughed.

  Liana slunk away to the picnic table in shame and anger. While the others were riding, she hid Jody’s sack lunch for revenge. It wasn’t exactly her fault that the farm dog found the lunch before Jody did, but after returning to the school, the teacher sent her to the office for punishment. When her mother arrived, Liana clenched her jaw and told the principal, “She’s not my mother. She’s not!”

  Clarissa’s face flushed. “Come on, Lara,” she said softly, blinking back tears.

  It wasn’t until she faced Christian at home that Liana began to feel bad. “She’s your mother whether you like it or not,” he scolded. “The only one you’ve got. And you’d better treat her better. She’s my mother, too, and I don’t want to ever see her cry again like she did today.” Christian stared at Liana so sternly that she started crying.

  “Okay,” she whispered, silently, vowing never again to tell anyone that Clarissa and Travis were not her real parents. But the knowledge remained inside, alive and eating at the soft parts of her no one could see. Her real parents were dead, and that made her angry at everyone.

  Liana showered and dressed before slipping downstairs to the kitchen for a quick bite to eat. Her small suitcase stood like a solitary sentinel by the front door, reminding her that she was traveling to another state with a man who was almost a complete stranger. She didn’t quite understand her reasons for going, but Austin had come alive when talking about the farm, and she had felt compelled to accept. Still, she would never have agreed to go i
f she hadn’t been desperate. Yesterday morning when she had been on her way to the grocery store, her Cavalier had thrown a rod and the man at the garage had quoted her thirteen hundred dollars for a repair. Thirteen hundred! She felt it was an outrageous price, though she had no choice but to pay. Buying another car wasn’t an option. She’d looked far and long for a nice used convertible she could comfortably afford.

  Over the weekend she’d spent several hours calling acquaintances, sending out e-mails, and putting advertisements in various newspapers, but so far she had received no response. Most people had already made their tax plans or would rely on a company with a solid reputation. She would be lucky to pick up a few jobs in the next two weeks. Though she was confident she would be able to build her business in the long term, for now she would have to live frugally to survive.

  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Austin’s offer was a godsend—even if it meant she had to endure his company for thirteen hours. But one thing she would not do was tolerate his music. No way, no how. She went into the living room to get the laptop Austin continued to lend her for this new job and to gather a few of her favorite CDs, including some that had been popular when Christian was a teen. As a child she’d spent a lot of time with him listening to his music, and it had found a permanent place in her collection.

  Austin arrived promptly at six, before the sun had risen, though the sky to the east was alight, heralding the coming of day. He wore blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and sandals, all of which made him look leaner and taller than she remembered. His black hair was shorter today, combed back and slightly sticking up, clearly showing the high arches in his hairline. There was a scar she hadn’t noticed before near the top left arch that disappeared into his hair.

  “Got a haircut?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Yeah. Going to see my sister and all.”

  “She lives on a farm—don’t all farm boys have long hair?”