Borrowed Time

by Edie Claire

  "The way I see it," he explained calmly, "you have two options. You can either focus on the realities of the flight, we can talk about it, and you can try to enjoy the fun parts, or we can both pretend we’re somewhere else and avoid the topic completely. It’s your call."

  She thought for a long time. But before she could answer, his fear was realized. The occupant of the aisle seat arrived.

  "Hello, there!" the man boomed. He thrust a large duffel bag into the overhead compartment, then dropped his over six-foot, over two-hundred-pound body into his seat, spreading one long leg and one meaty arm well into Sarah’s territory.

  She shrank into the center of her cushion like a clam.

  Adam sighed. Mercifully, the man did not appear interested in engaging Sarah in conversation. He merely clicked his seat belt into place, unrolled the magazine he was holding, and began to read. Yet the proximity of any large, unfamiliar male seemed enough to put Sarah at stroke risk. Her blue eyes had already been wide, but now she sat stiff as a board—her pupils dilated, her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles blanched.

  "You know, Sarah," Adam said smoothly, unbuckling his seat belt. "I think it would be better if you sat by the window. Then if you do decide you want to look out, at least you’ll have a good view."

  She looked at him with frank relief—and appreciation. "Thank you," she whispered, adroitly pulling up her legs and maneuvering behind him and into his seat as he rose. "I think I would like to see the view."

  She zipped up the window shade and turned to stare out at the tarmac, her body pressed against the side of the plane as if she wished to escape through it. Adam moved into the middle seat and exchanged a polite smile with the stranger. The two men fidgeted a moment, attempting to jockey their equally broad shoulders into semi-comfortable positions.

  Adam tried not to sigh again. It would be a very long flight.

  ***

  "I think the last plane I flew on was a DC-9," Sarah remarked, polishing off the last drop of her complimentary coffee.

  They had been in the air for over an hour now, and much to Adam’s surprise, the time had passed swiftly. Sarah had weathered takeoff like a soldier, stony-faced, but resolute. Once they had broken through the clouds into the azure sky above, her nerves had seemed to settle, and for the last half hour, she almost seemed to be enjoying herself.

  "How do you know?" Adam asked. Her sudden desire to lead the conversation was another surprise, and a pleasant one. Perhaps it was the caffeine hitting her veins, or perhaps a delayed effect of her anxiety. Either way, he was enjoying it. Not that he minded holding up more than his half of a conversation—he prided himself on being good at that. But being granted a little window to her soul was a promising step forward.

  "Because I’m pretty sure there were only five seats in a row on that one," she answered. "From what I remember of the outside, it was either a DC-9 or a 737. But 737s, like this one, have six seats abreast."

  He cracked a grin. "So even though you haven’t flown since you were a kid, you’ve been reading about airplanes?"

  She smiled back. "I’ve spent most of my life in libraries. I’ve read about everything."

  He couldn’t resist. "Even theology?"

  Her gorgeous eyes narrowed at him. "Yes, that too. But I’m not going to discuss that particular subject with you, so forget it."

  "I thought you said you weren’t interested in religion."

  "I’m not."

  "So why do you read about it?"

  She uttered a growl.

  He chuckled. "Okay, sorry. What else do you like to read about?"

  She thought a moment. "Travel. I’d love to see Europe. And China. The Sydney harbor in Australia, with a side trip to Tasmania. The Amazon. A glacier. There’s not much I wouldn’t like to see."

  Adam straightened. Her voice, in the blink of an eye, had changed. She had begun by sounding upbeat, almost playful. But her tone had quickly deteriorated to a wistfulness, a soberness, that chilled him. She wasn’t listing the destinations as though she were looking forward to seeing them. Rather, she seemed to be bemoaning what she knew could never be.

  Was she that worried about her health? She had insisted to him before they left that the additional tests Melissa ordered had shown nothing wrong. His own uneducated assumption was that her problems were the result of previous trauma, though he hadn’t voiced that. With a flash of fear, he wondered if she were hiding a grimmer truth.

  "We’re talking entirely too much about me," she said, her voice back to cheerful again. "I want to hear about you. Why do you like to travel?"

  He wrestled with the desire to call her health claims into question, but decided against it. He was supposed to be keeping her in-flight attitude positive. "What’s not to like?" he responded with a shrug. "Flying, driving cross-country. Seeing new things, meeting new people. I’d like to get to all fifty states, but I still lack thirteen of them. I’ve only been overseas once, on a mission trip to Ghana. But I’d love to travel more. As for Sydney, I’ve wanted to climb the Harbour Bridge ever since the 2000 Olympics."

  "So you’re a thrill seeker," she announced.

  The designation startled him. "Well, no, I wouldn’t say that."

  The pilot’s voice came over the PA system, announcing that the plane was beginning its descent into Atlanta. Sarah immediately turned and shut the window shade with a snap.

  "Do you like roller coasters?" she asked briskly, a new note of anxiety in her voice. Had her parents’ plane crashed on landing?

  "Sure, I love them," he answered, assuming she was inviting distraction. "But I haven’t been on one in ages."

  "Why not?" she fired back. "There’s a whole new generation of thrill rides out there now. Some really do make you feel like you’re flying. I read that at Kennywood in Pittsburgh, there’s a ride where you free-fall on cables from a 180-foot tower. Have you done that?"

  She was talking fast, as close to babbling as a normally reticent individual could get.

  "You mean the Sky Coaster," he answered, making sure his own voice stayed light. "No, I haven’t. But I’ve always wanted to."

  "Then why haven’t you?"

  The plane’s nose pitched downward, and his ears popped. Sarah pushed her back flat against the seat, her hands clutching the armrests. He knew he should keep her talking, but she’d picked the wrong topic. The last thing he wanted to do, right now, was explain to her how much Christine had loathed any amusement that smelled even halfway dangerous, how she had nearly gone into apoplexy when he told her he wanted to try out the Sky Coaster. He hadn’t done a lot of things he’d wanted to do when they were together, and since she had died, the thought of running straight out and doing them seemed disrespectful.

  "The timing just wasn’t right, I suppose," he hedged. Then he came as close to a lie as he cared to get. "Besides, I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to go with me, and things like that aren’t as much fun if you’re alone."

  She looked at him. Her face was anxious, but not miserably so, and her grip on the armrests had slackened. "Yes," she offered. "I know how that goes. Still, you should try it sometime. I’m sure it’s safe, and it would certainly be something to remember."

  The plane’s engines revved. Adam raised his voice. "You have plans to go to Kennywood this summer?"

  She seemed shocked. "Oh, no."

  He laughed out loud. "Well then, you’ve got some nerve jumping on my case!"

  The plane lurched, its nose tilting still farther down, and Adam anticipated Sarah’s reaction with dread. But she seemed to be holding her own. "I suppose I am a hypocrite," she agreed. "I read about all the rides, and they sound like fun, but I can’t see myself ever actually going on any of them."

  "And why not?" he baited.

  Her eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn’t put his finger on. "It’s not that I’m afraid of the risk," she insisted, her voice firm. "I’m not. Really. It’s just that I don’t feel like—"

  Her voice broke
off, and Adam waited with frustration. Her unfinished sentences were maddening.

  "It’s just not for me," she concluded.

  Adam gritted his teeth. That was not what she had been about to say. What she had been about to say would undoubtedly have helped him understand her better. But every time the woman got close to accidentally saying something meaningful, she caught herself just in time. It was an irritating talent.

  "Well, if you ever do decide to try the Sky Coaster," he ordered, "give me a call. I’m not afraid of it either—I just need a little push. You don’t have a high-pitched scream, do you?"

  "I wouldn’t know," she answered. "I’ve never screamed."

  The landing gear came out with a thump. Sarah’s face paled for a second, then flushed. She leaned away from Adam and pushed the window shade back up.

  He watched her curiously as she gazed out the window, her forehead nearly touching the glass. Around her he could see the myriad lights of Atlanta, twinkling through the darkness below. Her lips curved into a smile.

  "Makes a pretty picture, doesn’t it?" he offered.

  She made no response. But the unexpected joy in her face spoke volumes. She continued looking out as the plane lowered, drawing back only when the first touch of wheels onto asphalt brought a jolt to the cabin.

  "The engines will get louder again while we’re braking," he advised, unsure how much about landing she remembered.

  She sat back in her seat quickly, her slender fingers with their short-trimmed, unpolished nails holding the end of the armrest between them in another death grip.

  He watched helplessly, fighting a natural desire to cover her slight, trembling hand with his own. He knew better than to touch her. Her reaction to his innocent gesture at the library was not something he wished to see repeated, particularly within the confines of an airplane. If he were to win her trust, it would have to happen from a distance. The irony of him, a stereotypically demonstrative Italian male, being chosen for such a challenge did not escape him. But he wasn’t complaining.

  "Just a couple seconds more, and we’ll be stopped," he assured. The plane shuddered and roared, then finally, slowed. The lights of the airport terminal appeared outside the window, then began passing by at a leisurely pace. They had landed.

  Adam watched as Sarah let out a long, slow breath.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  She looked straight ahead rather than at him. "I’m fabulous," she answered. Her cheeks were a healthy pink again; her face was glowing. "I did it."

  He smiled. "Yes, you did."

  She breathed heavily, the rise and fall of her chest drawing his attention, not for the first time, to the soft, clingy shirt she was wearing. Before he could force himself to look away, he was startled to feel her hand squeeze his wrist.

  "Thank you," she said, releasing him so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it. The gesture was a reflex, and a stiff one, but it was still significant. She was beginning to trust him.

  "You made the whole thing so much easier. I appreciate that," she continued. "I’m sorry I was so uptight. The way back will be better, I promise."

  "Does that mean we can debate theology next time?"

  "No. But it does mean I won’t chatter in your ear like some brainless twit." She glanced at her watch. "How long till they let us out of here?"

  He suppressed a grin. Sarah the Independent was back now, in all her glory. "Unless you want to break your leg jumping onto the tarmac, you’ll have to wait until we get to the gate. I suggest you relax. We’re in the back of a full plane—it’s going to take a long time to unload everybody."

  She sank back onto her seat cushion.

  "I’ll get you to Auburn tonight, don’t worry," he finished, his voice optimistic. "With the time change, we might even make it to the motel by midnight. Provided no one loses our luggage."

  Her expression clouded. "There’s no hurry," she said distantly.

  Adam clenched his jaws. For all of thirty seconds, she had been happy. One mention of their destination, and her face had drained of joy.

  He knew better than to ask what—or who—she was dreading. But he had every intention of finding out.

  Chapter 11

  Sarah drew back the thick motel curtains and squinted into the sunshine. Not a cloud was in sight. The day would be hot, hazy, and brutally humid, like every other July day in southern Alabama would also be.

  She raised her freshly brewed cup of coffee to her lips and took a long swig. Within seconds her stomach protested, the dull ache that ordinarily festered there being punctuated by a new, sharper pain. Most likely, her ulcer was coming back.

  She wasn’t surprised.

  The drive in from Atlanta had seemed endless, and she had hardly slept even when her head did finally hit a pillow. Adam was being nice enough, but keeping all knowledge of her past from him was proving more taxing than she had thought. The man wouldn’t give up, and a half hour into the ride she had had no choice but to feign sleep. She couldn’t rebuff any and all polite inquiries without seeming paranoid, but she hadn’t yet devised a competent cover story, either. That brainstorm hadn’t come until around 3:00 AM, when she had stumbled out of bed and scratched the idea down on a piece of motel stationery before she could forget it.

  She knew that Adam didn’t understand why she had waited so long to come back. He had to think her a horribly neglectful daughter, and when he saw the state of the farmhouse today, he would probably think her unstable as well. Why didn’t you just sell the place? He would ask. What use has it been serving, abandoned all these years?

  They were legitimate questions, but honest answers were not an option. She would say whatever she needed to say to satisfy his curiosity. Then she could conduct her business in peace, and they could go home.

  Her eyes swept over the courtyard, where a man was removing his shirt in preparation for a dip in the pool. She noticed that he was well built, as she did occasionally with men who were a safe distance from her at the time. Only after he finished pulling his shirt over his head did she realize it was Adam.

  She turned away from the window.

  Half an hour. In half an hour they would meet in the lobby as planned, and the day’s ordeal would begin.

  She took another sip of coffee, and her stomach cramped.

  ***

  "So," Adam asked jovially, gazing at the vista through sunglasses as he drove, "how long did you say it’s been since you were down here?"

  She turned her head away with a sigh. Not only did the man waste no time, he was as subtle as a ton of bricks. Last night she had pretended to fall asleep on that question. Now she was stuck, but at least this time she was prepared.

  "Five years," she responded. "That’s when my aunt and uncle divorced. After that, things got complicated."

  "Oh, I’m sorry. Complicated how?"

  She took a breath. The mix of fact and fiction she was about to deliver could be tricky. "My aunt was wonderful to me after my family died. She supported me through that summer, helped me get settled in at college, and brought me back to their house for holidays and school breaks. But Uncle Dwight, my mother’s brother, was and still is a narcissistic clod. Shortly after I graduated from college my aunt finally gathered enough gumption to divorce him, which was good for her but unfortunate for me. She and I lost touch, and I was left to deal with him directly."

  She stole a glance at Adam and was puzzled by the worry on his face. The whole point of the story was for him not to be concerned. Furthermore, she hadn’t even gotten to the sticky part.

  "Why don’t you get along with your uncle?" he asked.

  "I told you," she answered, working hard to keep her voice casual. "Because he’s a jerk. My mother never could tolerate him either. He’s the epitome of egocentrism. Everything is all about him, all the time."

  "Does he still live here?"

  Her eyebrows arched. It seemed a strange question. "No, he never did. He lives in Atlanta."

  Adam ope
ned his mouth as if to ask something else, then changed his mind. He seemed confused.

  She decided to finish laying out her story before she got confused herself. "I wanted to sell my parents’ house from the beginning. I just couldn’t see myself ever living there again, and neither my uncle nor my grandmother wanted to live there, either. But the decision wasn’t mine alone. Legally, I had to have my uncle’s approval, and he insisted we should try to rent it out instead. Of course, he never did anything about renting it out, so it just sat there. Every time I visited, even when my aunt was still around, he and I would argue about it. After she left, he paid someone to board up the house and change the locks. He kept telling me he would get a new set of keys for me, but he never did."

  Adam said nothing. His eyes were on the road, his brow creased into a frown of concentration.

  "I should have come down just to visit the graves, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, knowing that the house was here, falling apart, and that I couldn’t even get inside it. I never intended to wait so long between visits, but the idea of fighting with my uncle again was so off-putting…time just got away from me."

  "Which way do I turn?" Adam asked, hesitating at an intersection.

  She pointed towards the cemetery.

  He turned the car, but didn’t look at her. "You mentioned an estate auction. What’s that all about?"

  Sarah nodded. At least this part was easy to explain. It was true.

  "It turns out that Lee County settled the sale issue for us by condemning the whole farm under eminent domain. They’re building a new section of the bypass, and it’s supposedly going to cross right over the property. I tried to protest it, but I lost. Now I’ve only got a few days left to recover whatever I want from the house."

  "You got the keys from your uncle, then?"

  She stiffened. Such pesky, unanticipated details were likely to keep plaguing her. "Yes, he finally mailed them," she lied. "Turn in here—it’s just over the hill."

  The car pulled into the cemetery, and as her eyes moved over the familiar rows of upright stones, another ache gnawed at her middle. Adam didn’t speak as she directed him through the narrow, snaking lanes and showed him where to park.