“Tell me, Miss Shea, should I give him the job?”
Darcy looked startled. “Jack doesn’t work here?”
“He will, if you give him a good recommendation.” Pohlman sounded entirely serious, though Jack knew better.
“Of course,” she said. “He’s the best instructor in the world.”
“Well then,” said Pohlman, “the lady makes the call.”
No, she doesn’t. Despite the wild desire to be near Darcy, Jack was going back to Long Island. He couldn’t watch her fail. He couldn’t let her get any closer. He would take his chances with Curtiss, if Sissy agreed.
St. Anne of Comfort Hospital looked grand from the outside, with its turreted stone edifice, but the interior reeked of vomit, urine and bleach. Jack didn’t know how Sissy stood it. The colorful pictures she pasted on the wall and the flowers he sent each Monday couldn’t mask the scent of disease.
“What happened, Jackie?” Her pinched smile revealed concern.
“Nothing.” He settled into the chair at her bedside.
His sister appeared normal, except for the withered, stiff legs. Polio. It hadn’t taken her life, but it might as well have. It had crept far enough up her spine that she had to live in the hospital. Jack wished he could buy her a home and full-time nursing care, but that would cost tens of thousands of dollars. He had less than a hundred dollars.
“You can’t fool me, big brother.” Fragile and pale as a porcelain doll propped on pillows, she smiled readily. Cecelia—“Sissy” to him—loved to laugh.
Jack did not want to talk about Darcy. That impulsive woman would rush into the most dangerous ventures without so much as a backward glance. He couldn’t talk, so he gave Sissy his gift.
“For me?” Her eyes lit up as she tore open the paper. Sissy always acted as if every trinket was the first gift she’d ever received. She held up the silk shawl. “Oh, Jack, it’s beautiful.”
The dark blue silk glimmered in the light, the lavender flowers bright against her pale skin. Sissy loved anything colorful.
“I’ll wear it all the time.” She wrapped it around her shoulders and held out first one arm then the other to see how the light reflected off the fibers.
Shame rippled through him. Sissy had nowhere special to wear such a shawl. No trips to the theater or opera. No concerts or lectures. It was a thoughtless gift.
“Now, don’t think you can distract me.” She shook her finger. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” She leaned forward, her eyes animated. “Is it a woman? Have you met someone?”
He forced a laugh, trying to appear nonchalant. “Maybe little sis is wrong for once.”
She countered with the light and tinkling laughter that made everyone love her. “Little sis is never wrong. What is it?”
Jack looked at his dusty boots. The toes were nearly worn through, but he couldn’t afford new ones. Neither could he afford to tell her about Darcy. He knew what Sissy would say: “Spend time with her, see if she feels the same way, marry her. If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out.” Sissy was such a romantic.
“Nothing. Would you like your hair done? I could have someone arrange it, or whatever you ladies have done. Put it in the latest style.”
“The latest style?” She laughed. “Why would I need the latest style? There isn’t a patient or nurse who cares one whit what I look like.”
Another thoughtless comment. Jack scrubbed his chin. He needed a shave. “I thought maybe you’d like it.”
“I know when my brother is avoiding something. What happened?”
He rose and opened the window blinds. “You should look out more. There’s a fine view of the lake.”
“It’s gray and dismal and I don’t want to look out.”
She sounded just like Darcy. Headstrong. Stubborn. Jack pressed his face to the cold windowpane. He’d come to get Sissy’s permission to run back to the Island, but it didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
“Stop trying to hide things from me,” Sissy said. “You know I always worm it out of you.”
“There’s no reason to worry you—”
“There’s no reason not to.” Like always, Sissy persisted until she got what she wanted. “I’m a good listener.”
Jack sighed. He might as well spill everything. She would keep at it until he told her. Given the choice between Darcy and work, he chose the latter. “I’ve taken a job at the flight school here.”
“Here?” She clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“It has its drawbacks. Lack of students, for one. Income will be a little tight this winter.”
“I see.” Worry furrowed her brow. “I don’t need a private room. And Dad might do more.”
Dad would not do more, but he couldn’t tell Sissy that. “Don’t worry, I have prospects. There’s someone—” this was getting dangerously close to telling about Darcy, “—who is going to write some newspaper articles. Hopefully, they’ll spur business. If not, I can always go back to exhibition flying.”
“No Jack. Not stunts. They’re too dangerous.”