Chapter 13

 

Amy’s pulse kicked into double-time when Michael turned the van into the flight club parking lot the next morning. The hangar buildings, the office, the runway on the far side of the fence… nothing had changed. Except her.

Her body knew that light aircraft could crash. Amy tried to work enough moisture into her mouth to swallow.

Beside her, Michael turned off the engine. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“We don’t have to fly today. Want to just look around a bit? Maybe sit in the plane?”

Amy cleared her throat. “I want to do this.” Her hand shook as she opened her door.

When they walked into the office, a middle-aged man in a stained blue shirt nodded at them and held up his index finger, his attention on the phone pressed to his ear. Amy glanced around the room while he finished his conversation, taking in the bright posters and overflowing message board, the faint sound of a machine shop coming from another part of the building.

The sharp tang of oil brought bile to her throat. She swallowed hard, eyes casting wildly for the bathroom. If she threw up before they even reached the plane, Michael would never let her fly.

Amy’s chest burned. She gulped a cooling breath, then another. Michael’s eyes seemed to read her fear.

For Gilles. She had to do this, for Gilles. Defy the physical reactions. Get into the plane. Remember a clue, anything she could use as proof.

Her smile felt wobbly. “I’ll be okay once we’re moving.”

Brow creased, gaze searching, Michael reached for her hand. “Amy—”

The man behind the counter put down the phone. “Sorry about that. What can I do for you?”

Michael’s mouth firmed. He was going to back out. Amy’s eyes welled. “Please.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then released a half-heard sigh. He turned to the flight club worker. “We’re here to meet Rafe Bisson for a sightseeing flight. I spoke with him yesterday.”

Sharp black eyes scanned them both and checked the schedule in front of him. “Stratton? Rafe’s doing his aircraft pre-flight. He’ll be right in. I’m Grady.”

“Michael Stratton and Amy Silver.”

The black eyes narrowed, looking daggers at Amy. “You’ve been told to mind your own business.”

Michael raised his hand like a traffic cop. “My friend and I wanted a safe flight, to help her let go of the crash memories. I would think that is her business.”

Matching Grady’s glare, Amy gritted her teeth against the words boiling on her tongue. Her chin lifted and steel replaced the trembling in her core.

His glare intensified. Could he tell from her smile that he’d helped conquer her panic?

Behind Amy and Michael, the door banged. “Mr. Stratton?”

Michael turned, stepping between Amy and her accuser. “Rafe?”

“That’s me.” Rafe was on the short side, stocky, with a ruddy complexion and deep laugh lines. He strode toward them, hand out to shake. “You two ready to go?”

Michael jerked his head toward the counter. “That’s up to your boss, here. He doesn’t think my friend deserves another chance at flying.” He gestured to Amy. “Amy Silver, survivor of the crash two years ago that killed Gilles Renaud.”

Rafe’s eyes widened, and he held out his hand to Amy. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her hand felt small in his. He barely squeezed, as if Amy might still be fragile. She smiled. “Thank you. Will you take us up?”

He shook Michael’s hand next. “This guy’s not my boss, and I’ll fly who I like. Grady, you oughta be waiving her fees, a young woman brave enough to take another flight after that last one.”

Grady spat a curse. “This Silver chick is nothing but trouble.”

Michael stiffened, but Amy silenced him with an elbow and a look. She took a slow, deep breath, eyes locked on the man behind the counter, watching his face darken. Her lungs held the air, and when she released it, her words flew like arrows. “Would you like some trouble? Or would you rather apologize?”

The man’s Adam’s apple twitched. Finally he shrugged. “I was out of line. But so is stirring up rumours and gossip. The investigators’ report clearly marked that crash as an accident. We run on a shoestring budget, lady. If people start thinking our planes aren’t safe, that could put us under.”

Amy shook her head. “I never said your equipment was unsafe. I just want to know what happened. What if someone did sabotage that plane? Wouldn’t you want to stop them doing it again?”

“The investigators—”

“Might have missed something. That’s what the case in the US says.”

Michael put a hand on her shoulder. “But that’s not why we’re here today. This is about healing. Moving on.” His eyes warned her to let it drop.

“Right. And we’re wasting flight time.” Amy turned to Rafe. “You’ve done your walk-around, but could you show me again, just so I’ll feel safe?”

“Of course.” He led them to the aircraft, a white Cessna single engine plane with red accent paint. “I filed a basic sightseeing flight plan. Was there something specific you wanted to see, or an area you wanted to avoid?”

Like flying over the crash site. Amy shivered. How easy was it to change a flight plan? “I didn’t think about that. Let’s go with what you have.”

Watching Rafe’s inspection felt surreal, as if he were re-enacting Gilles’ final flight. Saliva flooded Amy’s mouth and she choked it down. Focus on the details. Detach. Pretend it’s not real. Remember any clues.

She mustered a smile for Michael. “It’s okay.”

Caution shadowed his eyes, but he nodded.

Rafe swung open the passenger door. “Who’s my co-pilot?”

Amy glanced at Michael. “Could we both sit in the back? In case I need some moral support?”

Rafe chuckled. “I won’t take it personally.” He helped them climb into the craft, and shut the door.

The sharp click of the latch made Amy flinch. She tried to cover it by adjusting her seat belt while she brought her body back under control. She could do this. For Gilles.

While Rafe settled into the pilot seat and prepared for takeoff, he ran through a safety briefing. Then he spoke into the radio and waited for clearance.

Michael pulled an airsickness bag from the seat pocket ahead of him and offered it to Amy. “Gilles told me when you’re nervous, just holding one of these helps. Plus, if you need it, there’s no time to dig it out. Not that I think you’ll need it.”

Amy took it without protest. The last thing she wanted was to spew all over the inside of the plane, and she’d die if she were sick on Michael.

The engine revs increased, the roar vibrating through her body like a rising current. The little plane trundled onto the runway, bucking at every seam in the tarmac.

Heart pounding almost loud enough to deaden the sounds around her, Amy clenched her teeth and reached for Michael’s hand.

Outside, the ground rushed past. Then they were airborne. The plane lost its awkward motion and lifted, as if drawn upward by a thread.

The band around Amy’s lungs loosened enough to let her breathe. She pulled in as much air as she could. Fainting now, or hyperventilating, would ruin everything. She closed her eyes and concentrated on Michael’s gentle touch. Her lifeline.

When Amy felt the plane level out, she opened her eyes. The bright sky made her blink. Still gripping Michael’s hand, she peered out the side window at the ground below.

So far, so good.

Rafe glanced back at her. “Doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” It felt like they were floating over the earth.

Rafe flashed her a thumbs-up and turned back to the controls.

Amy smiled at Michael. “I’d forgotten how much fun this is.”

He squeezed her hand and let it go. “Remember this. This is what Gilles wanted to give you.”

The plane followed the shoreline, high enough that the ocean waves were lines of white skimming dark blue water to the shore. Outside of the city, houses became sparse, bordering the narrow road that snaked the coast. A few cars inched along the grey strip.

Visibility was perfect, with a high cloud cover that protected their eyes. Over the engine noise, Rafe called, “I’ll take us over Peggy’s Cove next. It’s a whole different view from up here.”

Gilles had done the same, not because he cared about Nova Scotia’s most-photographed lighthouse, but to show Amy more of the province where they’d live until he convinced his father to reassign him to the Montreal dealership. He’d looked at the Halifax position as a proving ground. If his performance pleased his father, Luc might give him the assistant-manager spot in Montreal, until Luc retired and let Gilles run the show.

The thought of impulsive, unrestrained Gilles in an expensive suit, directing the high-end car sales establishment always made Amy smile. He’d done it, and his charisma brought results, but she preferred the side of him that she’d known so briefly.

She stared out the window. Below, the enormous rocks of Peggy’s Cove looked like slabs of grey-brown modelling clay pushing out into the ocean. The red and white lighthouse looked like a toy.

Michael pointed past her. “The gallery’s that way.”

Amy craned her neck without any hope of seeing the house. Rafe turned inland and soon they flew over dark evergreen forest mixed with the lighter greens of different leaves. From this height, Amy couldn’t see the occasional traitorous leaf that had already turned yellow, orange, or red. She’d seen them from the ground, though.

The plane jolted downward. Amy screamed. Cold swept her skin, iced her heart. Frosted her sight.

“Sorry about that.” Rafe sounded perfectly calm. “Air pocket. We’re safe.”

Safe. Amy pulled a shuddering breath through clenched teeth and fought memories of the crash. See the sky. They were still airborne. Smell the cockpit scents. No burnt wires. No blood or fluids. Hear the roar of a healthy engine. The propeller whine and assorted rattles. Feel the vibration of the little craft pushing through the sky.

They were not falling.

Her mind believed it, but her body shook. Her throat felt ready to explode. Or erupt.

Michael stroked the back of her hand — when had she grabbed his leg? The fingers of her other hand clutched the armrest.

“Amy, it’s okay. Just keep breathing. Nice and slow. See outside… everything’s fine.” He spoke in her ear, soothing, coaching. “You can do this.”

Rafe looked over his shoulder. “I can’t guarantee we won’t drop like that again. Are you good to finish, or should I radio for clearance to head back early?”

“I want to keep going.” Amy bent to retrieve the paper bag from the floor. She stared at it for a minute before pulling the water bottle from the pocket in front of her and twisting open the cap. Her throat muscles were too tight to let much pass, but a trickle of liquid went down. She took another sip.

Rafe nodded. “Good girl.”

Amy glanced at Michael, her face suddenly warm. “I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“That’s nothing. Aunt Bay once latched onto a total stranger on a commercial flight.” He rubbed his thigh. “I’ll have a nice set of bruises.”

The heat in her face flared. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s why I’m here. Look down there — see the river?”

A winding strip of blue lay among the textured green forest as if someone had dropped a ribbon. Amy concentrated on the terrain beneath them and tried to regain the peace she’d felt at first. Here and there a house appeared, and ahead the trees gave way to farmland.

Slowly her heart rate dropped and the plane’s vibration loosened her muscles. Before she was ready, the green changed to urban sprawl, roadways, and a few parks. Then Halifax Harbour stretched below them, with its twin bridges and port traffic.

A tiny island slid past, the plane banked, and Rafe called, “Landing in a few minutes. Everything’s good.”

Eyes twinkling, Michael held out his hand to Amy. “Use this instead of my leg? I need to walk to the van.”

The shakes were back. Amy took his hand, wedged the paper bag between her knees so she couldn’t lose it, and gripped her armrest with her other hand. Breathe. Concentrate. Planes landed all the time. They’d be fine.

The ground rushed to meet them. At the last instant, Amy shut her eyes and hid her face against Michael’s shoulder. He tightened his grip on her hand.

With a dull thump, the wheels caught tarmac, and they were down. Amy lifted her face and slid her hand free of Michael’s. “Thank you. I’m sorry for getting in your space.”

His patient smile said it didn’t matter. “Did this help?”

“I think so.” Not with clues, but with closure.

Rafe taxied to a stop and went through the shut-down procedure. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Amy unfastened her seatbelt. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry I screamed.”

“You did great. You weren’t even sick.” Rafe opened his door and jumped out. He extended a hand to help Michael and then Amy.

The ground felt good under her feet, if a little wobbly. A gentle breeze lifted the ends of Amy’s hair and filled her nose with warmth and the smell of aviation fuel. She gave Rafe a shaky hug. “Thank you again.”

His sun-weathered face creased in a smile that deepened his laugh lines, but his eyes stayed serious. “Gilles logged a lot of his practice hours with me. He was cocky on the ground, but he took the aircraft seriously. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Amy nodded. “Today you gave me back a connection to him. I lost it in the crash.”

His eyes held hers. “You’re not the only person to question the investigators’ findings. But you’re not the one to be asking. Sabotage means enemies, and Gilles would want you out of danger.”

“I don’t even know what to ask.” Amy passed her tongue over her lips. “Troy Hicks, the journalist who raised this in the paper? Would you talk to him?”

Rafe squinted at the sky as if searching for an answer. Finally he pulled out his wallet and passed Amy a card. “Have him call me, but tell him not to get his hopes up.”

Michael passed Rafe a handful of bills. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. Since I retired, I take any excuse I can to fly. It was a pleasure meeting you folks. Anytime you want to go up again, give me a shout.” He stuffed the bills in his pocket and sauntered toward the office.

Amy turned to Michael. “You heard what he said about the investigation.”

A patient look settled in Michael’s eyes. “I did, but it’s only speculation. Even if it could have been deliberate, that doesn’t mean it was. There’s still the whole motivation thing. Gilles had no enemies.”

Amy remembered the warning texts. “None that we know of.”