“Ah. Bad move. Can’t say I wouldn’t make it myself, but yeah. What were you arguing about?”
“Flying lessons. I don’t think he should be my instructor. We’re dating. And he’s not charging me.”
“So?”
“So,” I scoff, shaking my head as I gaze up at the stars and try to find some patience. But I’m worn thin. “I’ve grown up knowing what can happen to a woman when she sleeps with a superior. And excuse me for not wanting to be judged by every pilot who learns I earned my license for free while fucking my instructor.”
“Shit, Beth. They wouldn’t—”
“Some of themwould.” I glare at him. “Some of themdo. Don’t sit there and tell me how I’ll be treated when you don’t know, Shawn. When you’ve never…hell, can you justbelieveme?”
He blinks, then dips his head in a solemn nod. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know.” He leans toward me. “I believe you. I just hate thinking—knowing—that you have to deal with that.”
We sit in silence for a stretch, working on our beers.
Of course, it’s Shawn who breaks it. “Charlotte went through that. Didn’t she?”
I bite hard on my lower lip to keep from spilling every dark detail I’ve gleaned over the years and just give him a nod.
“Because of our—because of Karl.”
I don’t bother to answer. Not when it’s a clear yes.
“Well.” Shawn sighs. “I love you. And I get why you don’t feel comfortable with George as your flight instructor. But I hope you’ll consider using that three thousand dollars you offered me to pay for the rest of your flight lessons.” He taps the neck of his beer bottle against mine. “Don’t let the assholes keep you on the ground, Beth. You belong so far above them.”
Chapter
39
Even though Mom’stext said she and Marge would be out late, I wait up. After my heart-to-heart with Shawn, I want to feel better, to be a more honest version of myself that’s taking healthy steps toward my future.
But there’s a twisted voice digging deeper and deeper into my brain the longer I let it go unaddressed.
“She was going to get rid of you, you know that, right?”
So when Grumps starts barking, and Mom and Marge come in through the front door a moment later, laughing and carefree, I fight not to tell them a simple “Good night” and head upstairs.
“Beth! You’re still awake.” My mom smiles at me, but the expression fades when she takes in my reddened eyes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” She hurries over to me, setting a hand on my shoulder as her eyes scan me for injury.
“Nothing happened,” I assure her. “I mean, I’m not hurt or anything.” Not physically.
Still, she doesn’t relax. “You’ve been crying.”
“Why don’t I make tea?” Marge sets a pot on to boil while my mother settles herself in the kitchen chair beside me. I stare at my hands, where I dig a nail into the woodgrain surface.
Don’t bring it up. Don’t cause her stress.
“When I went to Tasha Baylor’s wedding reception, I spoke to Karl Newton,” I murmur. Maybe if I say the words quietly enough, we can pretend I never spoke them.
Tension settles over the kitchen. My fault. All my fault.
“Never mind.” I make to stand. “Please don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Mom grips my arm in a surprisingly firm hold. “What did he say to you?”
Reluctantly, I reclaim my seat. Marge sets mugs in front of us, a bag of chamomile resting in each just waiting for hot water.
“He was saying mean things to George. He and Mr.Bunsen. I stepped in between.” The memory has me clenching my fists. “Told him off.”
