“If everything’s all right.”
“The plane checks out. Ran through it already.”
“No, with you.”
“What do you mean?” Jack’s words resounded in the huge hangar, and she instantly regretted saying anything. This was personal, and she had no right to pry.
“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.” Her face was burning.
“Obviously it is something. Out with it, Shea.”
She took a deep breath. He’d asked. “Your health.”
“My health? What about my health? My health is fine. Why on earth are you asking about my health?” Thank God. Now she did feel the fool. “I—I,” she stammered. “Well, I happened to see you leave St. Anne’s Hospital yesterday.”
He stared. “Were you following me?”
“No! No. I had to deliver an invitation to…well, a doctor there. George Carrman, a cousin of Blake Kensington’s. My aunt invited him to dinner, but it turns out he can’t come anyway, so we’re one short.” The words spewed out faster and faster, but she couldn’t talk her way out of this embarrassment. “You’re all right then?”
He turned back to the controls. “I’m fine.”
“Then you were just visiting someone,” she gushed, relief making her silly, “just saying hello to an old friend or fellow aviator.”
“Are you ready now?” He pointed to the propeller.
Conversation over. She pulled on the helmet and goggles and spun the propeller. On the fourth revolution, the motor sputtered until it evened out to a mellow chug. She climbed aboard and the lesson began. Jack was all business, and the awkwardness between them disappeared. After they taxied onto the airfield, Jack reviewed the controls, making her confirm each one.
“I wondered if we’d fly today, considering the breeze,” she said, “but I can’t feel it here.”
“That’s because the buildings block it. If we were going higher it would be a concern, but for grass-cutting it’s fine.”
He sounded normal. He acted normal. He was even letting her fly.
“Thank you,” she said impulsively.
“Why?”
“For teaching me. And trusting me.”
“What makes you think I trust you?” he said with the old lopsided grin. He throttled up and waited for the propeller to get up to speed. “Put your hand below mine on the elevator control.”
She did as directed, and her thumb rested against his little finger. Even through the gloves she sensed his strength. This man was not ill. He held tightly to the things he dearly loved.
Jack released the brake and they were off. He applied the elevator just a little, so they skimmed the surface, and then brought it back down. He slowed and turned the plane to go back down the airfield. “Now you try.”
For each maneuver, he talked through the procedure and had her place her hand below his on the controls. Soon she reached for the correct stick without coaching. They moved in concert. She had never felt so alive.
She soon noticed he would look at her when he thought she was busy. And he smiled. When she laughed, he echoed it. When she shrieked over a mistake, he told her she’d done fine. Soon she could make a perfect pass.
“May I try a hop?” she asked as they taxied toward the end of the field. “You can correct me as I go.”
“Make no mistake, I will correct you.”
“Then may I try?”
He nodded and they were off. She worked the elevator and ailerons the way he had during the flight in Pearlman.
“Whoa.” He checked her ascent and brought them back down to a lower altitude. “Little hops, not flying to the moon.”
She had to laugh. Too much yet again. She held at level flight until he indicated she should descend.
“Back off the throttle,” he yelled. “Watch the elevator.”
But it was too late. They bounced off the ground and back into the air. Darcy shrieked and let go of the stick.
Jack seized the controls. “Let me bring her down.”
“I’m sorry.”
His face was tense. “Never let go of the controls. Ever.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Why, oh why, had she ruined things by trying to do too much?
After they’d landed and taxied into the hangar, she apologized again. “I’ll never do it again.”
He wiped oil splatters off his face. “Yes you will. Everyone does. That’s how you learn. Just make sure they’re not big mistakes.”
“I will. I promise.” She reached for the rag, but instead of handing it to her, he gently wiped the oil from her cheeks.
“You’re freckled.”
She sucked in her breath. “Big black freckles.”
He tipped her chin, and she nearly stopped breathing. “Tell me what you did wrong.”
She struggled to get her mind back on flying. “I used too much throttle and attempted too steep a descent.”
“A little off-line, too,” he said, letting her go. “You want to keep your target dead ahead. This airfield is forgiving, but in most places you need to navigate around trees and structures.”
“Like Baker’s field.”