Blue Skies

by Robyn Carr

  This was good, she thought. They were more wound up about her celebrity than the fact that she’d been held at gunpoint. As long as that was their perspective, they’d get over this pretty quick.

  Everyone had to touch her, pat her, hug her. Even Ethel, who had been in tears on and off all evening.

  “We didn’t want you to come to a boring household for Thanksgiving,” Nikki teased.

  “Oh, my goodness, we were frightened to death!” she said.

  And Opal had genuine tears in her eyes. “My girl, my poor Nicole—are you ever going to get over this? You poor darling! And who was that handsome pilot you had your arms around?”

  “That was the copilot, and we were pretty relieved by the time that was caught on film.”

  It was a full house and she was glad yet again that she’d bought this place. The late-November nighttime temperature was hovering around forty, and a fire crackled in the family room hearth. Nikki sat in the corner of the sofa, legs curled up under her, looking out at the city lights, watching those bright dots that were planes lining up to land in Las Vegas. Carlisle brought her a glass of chilled white wine and everyone gathered around. Opal and Ethel took the love seat beside each other, Jared and April sat next to Nikki on the sofa, Carlisle and Buck turned chairs around from the breakfast nook as they waited to hear the details from beginning to end.

  She looked at them and said, “Why do I feel like a kindergarten teacher at storytime?”

  Three hours later, story told and retold, she still sat on that sofa, still looked out at the lights and the now-rare beacon of a plane coming in. The house was quiet and dark, except for a dim light glowing in the living room and the night-light over the stove. The fire was the only illumination in the family room and Nikki hadn’t moved since she walked in the door. She’d been waited on by Carlisle, who brought her food and served her a cup of tea before he left for his casita, turning off lights as he went. Because of all the excitement, everyone was staying here at the house instead of a hotel. Ethel was upstairs in the spare room and Nikki assumed Buck was bunking in with Jared.

  She turned at a noise in the kitchen and heard the refrigerator door open. Her dad was digging around in there for a diet cola, which he pulled out and snapped open. He sat on the love seat perpendicular to her. “You doing okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she said. “I just can’t get enough of those lights.”

  “It must feel particularly good tonight, after the long day you’ve had.”

  “It isn’t getting any easier in the airlines, that’s for sure. Every year it’s a little more challenging, a little more uncertain. Isn’t it funny—our equipment just gets better and better, our systems safer and safer, and yet it’s a tougher job. Funny.”

  “That guy—Sam Landon. They did a profile on him on one of the stations. His wife died in 9/11.”

  “Oh, man,” she said, annoyed. “I wish they hadn’t done that. I think he and his daughters have enough of a load without media, too.”

  “They say he did a good job with the guy.”

  “He was awesome,” she said. “At first I thought he was stricken. But then he got himself together and he’s the one who got me out of the cockpit.”

  “Was it because you were a girl?”

  “No. No, absolutely. He would have gotten anyone out. It was his idea, the new flight plan. He had it working for him with the gunman—he had to do it that way. If he’d volunteered to leave the cockpit, it would have been fishy. Not that our guy knew the difference between fishy and unfishy. Shew.”

  “I was real proud of you, Nick.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “And the kids were. And Opal.”

  She laughed. She was quiet for a long moment, then said, “He might not come back, you know. Sam. He had just barely come back after two years off. And when he left, he said he didn’t know how much time he’d need. It depended on a lot of things. His daughters. And he didn’t say…himself. It depends on how much of this shit a person can take.”

  “That’s not always something we’re in charge of.”

  “Huh?”

  “How much we can take…How well we do with crises. Trauma. It’s like a pain threshold. You get what you get. Some people are tougher than others. You don’t know until you’re there.”

  “You think that?”

  He shrugged. “Deductive reasoning. Take two soldiers who have a similar war experience. One suffers for years, becomes an addict, can’t hold a job, and the other re-ups, can’t wait to get back into combat. I don’t think either one of them responded the way they did intentionally. It’s what they were capable of.”

  “You don’t think you can get better at handling the hard stuff?”

  “Within reason.”

  She smiled. “So you don’t think I’m all that tough, just lucky.”

  “I think you’re both tough and lucky. And smart as the devil.”

  She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “I like him, Dad.”

  “Sam?”

  “Uh-huh. I thought we…I was resisting liking him because I’m the…Oh, hell, I’d just made up my mind that it would be okay if we saw each other. Dated. You know. And then…This.”

  Buck considered what she’d just told him. “He’s got an awful lot of baggage there, Nick.”

  “Oh, and I don’t!”

  “Just the usual stuff. And some of it’s real good.”

  “Some of his stuff is real good, too.” She felt the tears on her cheeks and she never cried. Never. It’s just that she and Sam had been so close to getting together. And it had been so bloody long since she’d loved anyone and been loved back.

  “I know you haven’t had the easiest time, Nick, but you’ve had some damn good breaks, too.”

  The list is long, she thought. “Yeah, I shouldn’t complain.”

  “It’ll work out the way it’s supposed to.” Buck’s mantra. She’d heard that all the while she was growing up, through her darkest moments.

  And it always had. More or less.

  “You don’t have to sit up with me, Dad. I’m fine.”

  “I’m not sitting up with you. You’re on my bed.”

  It was maybe the best Thanksgiving Nikki had ever had, even though Sam hadn’t made it. Her mother and her father, not exactly together, but together. Their dogs had to be put in separate rooms, but Buck and Opal managed. Dixie and Danny were too cute for words. “Ew, you’re making me gag,” Jared complained.

  Carlisle’s mother was such a trip—talk about being from a simpler place. Whenever anything the least bit racy or provocative was uttered, she went completely crimson. Opal said, “Ethel, I’m going to do you a big favor. I’m going to take you to San Francisco for Christmas shopping and introduce you to all my very favorite homosexuals.” Everyone standing immediately collapsed to the floor and practically wet themselves while the walls rocked with laughter.

  Opal was no tease. She did take Ethel to the gay Bay Area. But unfortunately she said she’d be right back.

  Work and school recommenced. Buck returned to Phoenix. Plans were being set in motion for a big Christmas open house—pretty much the same group that had made Thanksgiving plus some New Century employees and their families. Carlisle was in a tizzy of planning, making lists and collecting recipes, when the doorbell rang. He went to answer it, and there stood Alex.

  “Thank God,” Alex said, placing his hand on his chest. “You were not easy to find, you know.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was looking.”

  “When Aries shut down, I immediately called your house to see if there was anything you needed. That man, Roberto, said you’d been gone for a long time, but he refused to tell me where.”

  Carlisle smiled. “He’s such a jerk.”

  “You’re okay, then?”

  “Perfectly all right,” he said. Better than all right, he wanted to shout. Happy, healthy, reunited with family, thrilled to see you standing there. “Great. And so good o
f you to think about me, Alex.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” He kind of peeked inside. “Nice place, Carlisle.”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “You don’t live alone, do you?”

  “No. No, I’m living with someone.”

  “Ah. I see. Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I just wanted to assure myself—”

  “You live with someone, as well, Alex,” Carlisle reminded him.

  Alex looked confused. “I…?” He shook his head. “I’m not in a relationship, Carlisle. I haven’t been in years.”

  “That young man…”

  He frowned again, shook his head.

  “The young man who offered to put out wine and cheese when I dropped by your house.”

  “Christopher?” Alex asked.

  “My God!” Carlisle gasped. He had not recognized Alex’s son! “I can’t believe it! He must have thought me so rude!”

  Alex laughed. “He was just spending a couple of weeks. He’s full time at Stanford. Has a serious girlfriend and they’re threatening to move in together. I think he’ll make me a grandfather long before I’m ready.”

  “Oh, Alex, you don’t know what I thought.”

  “I do now,” he said.

  “Oh, my God, come in. Come in, my good friend. I am so happy to see you!”

  And so, there was one more for Christmas.

  New Century Air benefitted from the unfortunate demise of Aries Airlines. Four months after ceasing flights, a skeleton staff was still trying to get an operation up and running, but labor relations remained strained.

  Bob Riddle moved on to a senior vice president position at a start-up in Florida, where, it was rumored, he was making more money than he had at New Century. Joe Riordan admitted he was tempted to call the CEO there and give him a heads-up on Riddle’s phone call conspiracy. “But,” he said, “it would just create a madrid of problems.”

  No one ever knew how long Riddle sat at the office waiting for his meeting with Joe. It was never spoken of again.

  Nikki moved up and Danny Adams moved into the chief pilot’s position. Joe Riordan acquired six more 757s, to be delivered over the next twelve months. Of course, every time he found more airplanes, they had to rush to hire and train more pilots, and if they could just slow down a little, Nikki’s life would be easier. But why should she want it easy?

  Sam called regularly. His daughters were doing fine, he said. They all were. But he didn’t make any plans to come back. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” he said. “I’m getting a little counseling. I want to be sure that commercial flying is good for me—and that I’m an asset to the airline.”

  She told him the same thing every time—his job and his number were secure, and she would look forward to his return. She didn’t push him, didn’t tell him she missed him or that she wanted him to come back. If he did return, it had to be because he was compelled to return. But in her heart she assumed he was done. Done and having a hard time letting go.

  As she knew would happen eventually, Carlisle went back to Phoenix, to Alex, where he was completely happy. He wasn’t working, just keeping the home fires burning and thinking about going back to school for an advanced degree. Dixie and Danny, inseparable outside of work, were edging cautiously toward marriage, and Nikki expected to see a big ring any day. And Opal, kicking and screaming, had been moved into a sweet little bungalow in a retirement community just a stone’s throw from Nikki and the kids. She still spent as much time at Nikki’s as she pleased, still squawked about not having long to live, and still had more energy than the average teenager.

  On one particularly busy day in the first week of March, Joe Riordan stuck his head into Nikki’s office. “Are you going to be here awhile?”

  She looked at her watch. It was five. “Another half hour. Maybe hour. What do you need?”

  “I want to show you something at the airport, but I want to show you after dark. Or at least dusk.”

  “What?” she asked again, in no mood for games.

  He grinned. “You’ll see, you’ll see. Meet me out front at five-forty-five.”

  “Is this going to take long?”

  “Five-forty-five,” he said, and left.

  At the appointed time, she met his car at the curb. She got in and said, “You aren’t going to blindfold me or anything, are you?”

  “You’ll thank me for this,” he promised her.

  They walked into the terminal together, went up the long escalator to the second floor where the concourses were, but rather than going toward the gates, they went in the opposite direction. They came to a restaurant, a bank of slot machines and a bookstore. There were rest rooms to the left and an unmarked door to the right.

  Joe took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Inside was a large unfinished room, construction debris scattered around a plywood floor. Wires were hanging from the walls and ceiling, plumbing fixtures stuck out between the studs, and there was no drywall at all. But the entire wall opposite the door was glass, and on the other side of the glass was the Las Vegas Strip. The pyramid, the Sphinx, the beam from the Luxor to the stars, the big green MGM, the gold Mandalay Bay—all of them close enough to touch.

  “God,” she said. “What a view.”

  “You like it.”

  “Yeah, I like it.”

  “It’s our new executive lounge. I’ll get you a membership.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup,” he grinned.

  “When do you sleep?”

  “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

  “If you don’t stop buying things, I’m gonna be dead.”

  “Bitch, bitch, bitch. Want me to give it back?”

  “No. This I like.”

  Joe’s phone twittered. He pulled it out and looked at it. “Jewel,” he said, and answered. “What? What? Why? All right, yeah, yeah, yeah…” He moved away from Nikki and backed out the door—for better reception, Nikki assumed.

  She stood in the empty space, her back to the door, taking in the staggeringly beautiful view.

  “Hey, boss,” Sam said.

  Nikki turned around with a start. “Sam!”

  “I’m back.” Grinning with that perfect bad-boy smile, his hair floppy from the wind, he stood right behind her, hands on his hips. It sliced through her again, how handsome she found him. She didn’t know if he really was, but she sure responded to that square jaw and bushy brows.

  “So you are. How’re you doing? How’re the girls?”

  “Everyone is good. You going to let me work again?”

  “I told you. Anytime. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I got a note from the shrink. I was sure, anyway, but I wanted good backup.”

  “You’re not scarred from the experience?”

  “No. You?”

  “No.”

  “I think we worked pretty well together,” he said.

  “We did. Mission accomplished, anyway. No one got hurt.”

  “It hasn’t been that long, Nick. Three months. And we were just about to…Weren’t we?”

  “Seemed like it,” she said.

  “How do you feel about that now?”

  She shrugged. “How do you feel about it?”

  “Every time we talked, I kept waiting for you to say something like, ‘I miss you.’ Or ‘Hurry back.’ Or, ‘Are you almost ready to come back?’ But you never did, so I assumed it meant I was welcome to come back as a pilot, but not anything more.”

  “I didn’t want to push.”

  “You sure didn’t.”

  “Well, you never said anything, either. Like you really missed me and couldn’t wait to get back or—Well, I did some assuming, too.”

  “I didn’t want to push,” he said. “You never were real comfortable with the idea.”

  “It was growing on me.”

  He took two steps toward her and put his hands on her waist. “Then one of us is going to have to push.”

  “And I guess the
other will have to push back,” she suggested.

  He pulled her closer. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He held her for a moment and then, holding her away from him just a bit, he asked, “By the way, what did Riordan say that got you to come here, take this on?”

  She frowned as she thought. Then her face broke into a grin. “He said, ‘Nikki, I think you’re going to like this New Century.’ And you know what? He was damn straight. It just gets better every day.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-3733-3

  BLUE SKIES

  Copyright © 2004 by Robyn Carr.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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