I grab his leg. “Wait! I’m going to sit here while we fly? While we take off and land?”
His glorious smile returns. “Fantastic, right?”
“Right.”
One engine starts, then two, three, and four. The plane vibrates with the collective power of them. It’s like a racehorse at the gate, bursting with the desire to run. The plane moves forward, taxiing toward the run-up area. I can’t believe they’re letting me sit here as we move to takeoff position and the runway begins to roll faster and faster right underneath my feet.
A “whoop!” flies out of me as we leave earth. I can’t help it. This exhilaration tastes way sweeter than the acid of pain. My heart is pounding, and I feel so alive. We pull higher into the sky, and I try to disregard the reality that I’m essentially hanging from the bottom of the plane in a glass bubble.
I’d feel better with a chute on.
Progress.
The bomber banks to the right, and we climb higher. Mountains sweep past the left side of my glass bubble. If I lean forward enough, I can see in every direction. I’m sitting in the middle of a clear ball at fourteen thousand feet. The immense desert stretches from here to forever.
I stare in awe at its vastness. There is nothing in the world so rigidly true to itself as the desert. If the brown canvas of the Mojave had a dominant characteristic, it would be strength. The landscape is strong, stubborn: beauty that insists on its right to life on its own terms. I can appreciate that.
The steep turn of the plane makes my stomach lurch. My reflection materializes on the glass, stares out the window. We are watching the desert roll beneath our feet. Hands pressed against the glass like we could touch the sky. Strange, though, that I’m seeing the back of my head. I struggle with the laws of reflections for a moment. Shouldn’t I see my face looking back at me in the glass?
It’s not until my reflection turns slowly, looks sadly over her shoulder, that my heart stutters, and I realize who it is.
Nineteen
I DON’T KNOW WHY this time is different, but it’s like I can feel her ferocious sorrow and desperation with me in this dome of glass. It magnifies her, as if she’s standing, three-dimensional, right in front of me. She moves toward me, menacing. Her mouth is set in a grim line. Her eyes intent as she draws closer. She reaches for me.
My trembling fingers fight to unlock my harness, but the clip won’t budge. Panicked, I kick at the apparition of myself, but my feet flail uselessly in air.
This other me, Death disguised as me, advances like prowling smoke.
“What do you want?” I yell, but not as loud as I intend. Fear has choked off my voice.
I want?—?
“Hey, kiddo. Some view you’ve got up here.”
Our heads both pivot to see my father leaning into the bubble. I look back to the spirit, whose eyes now see only him. Her mouth moves. She’s trying to speak to him, but he can’t hear, and when her attention is not on me, neither can I. She lunges for my dad, and I want to fling myself in front of him but am still strapped in the damn chair.
His eyes narrow at my reaching arms. “You okay? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea?. . .”
“I, uh, I just wanted a hug.” It’s the first thing that came to mind, but I realize it’s true. But asking Nolan for a hug is like asking him to give me the Medal of Honor. He might wish he could, but he doesn’t have it to give.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze instead. “We’ll be landing soon.”
“Will you stay with me?” My eyes dart to where she was. Her sudden absence is as much of a shock as her appearance.
He squats down on the floor next to me. “You bet.”
“No, wait. Don’t. There’s no seat belt.”
He shrugs. “I’ll be fine.” His eyes squint with his reassuring grin. “We’ll be fine.” I feel better with him here. He seems to sense the electric charge in the air and keeps talking, to reassure one of us. “When you’ve spent half your life jumping out of the confines of an airplane, you tend not to be so concerned with whether you’re strapped in at all times.”
I slowly unclench my hands when I realize my nails are digging into my palms. “Why do you love it so much? This place? Skydiving? You’re happier here than anywhere else.”
Nolan chews his lip, gives my question serious consideration. “Some people jump because they’re addicted to the adrenaline, to the high. You’re like that.” His eyes scan my face as if he’s suddenly wondering if that’s still true. Neither of us is sure. “But for me, it’s not about the high. I’ve seen so much in the war and”?—?he casts his gaze downward and rubs his hands over his hair with a sigh?—?“done so much, I’m . . . My default is to be numb. Jumping is the only thing that makes me feel truly alive. Even though I’ve been close to death a few times, risking death now, by choice, makes me appreciate life more.”
“For some people, waking up to another day makes them appreciate life. That’s enough for them.”