George’s lips tighten. What’s up with him? Does he think I’m going to be rude or something?He’sthe one who’s always dismissingme.
“Just stay by me. I’ll introduce you.”
Does he think I need him to hold my hand? That I can’t handle myself in a group of strangers? I’m a pro at strangers. Serve them with a smile every day.
Or maybe he wants me close so I don’t embarrass him. Like someone will ask how I know George, and I’ll reply,Oh, his dad co-owns a company with my dad. Though calling Karl Newtondadis generous, seeing as how the man was so furious when he found out my mom was pregnant with me that he bullied her into quitting her job—where he was her boss—and then he’s spent the rest of his life trying to forget I exist. A decision I bet his business partner, aka Mr.Bunsen, was in full support of. So I guess you could say our families know each other.
“Of course,” I say, affecting my bubbly waitress voice. “I’ll stick to you like glue.”
George’s brows furrow. He opens his mouth, then seems to rethink whatever he was going to say and continues on to the club gathering.
We ease into the BBQ mixer, swinging by the food table so I can set down my brownies among a whole stretch of cookout food. I’m glad this is a casual hangout and not an official meeting because it means I can hold a drink instead of trying to find a place to put my hands while I talk to people. The ginger ale is my safety blanket.
“Tim is working on his pilot’s license,” George informs me after introducing me to a group of guys ranging in ages. They all appear tobe cis white males, not that I’m surprised. I’m literally the only woman at this gathering.
Maybe that’s why George told me to stay close. Although that way of thinking doesn’t seem to pair well with his insisting that they’re all “good guys.”
I smile at Tim, who I’d guess is mid-twenties, like me. “That’s exciting. Is George your instructor?”
“Nah. I’ve been going up with Aden.” He nods to another guy in the group. “Only a few more hours of flight time, and I’ll be ready for my check flight.”
I enjoy chatting with Tim and Aden for the next half hour about which routes they’ve flown and how Tim has performed on the different skill tests.
Our group grows and re-forms. George disappears at one point only to show back up with a guy at his side. He introduces me to the tall white man with suntanned skin, who only appears a touch older because of the handful of gray strands snaking through his blond hair.
“This is Vernon Roswell,” George explains. “He’s the president of the club. He was also my instructor, ten years ago.”
“Don’t tell her that!” Vernon gives George’s shoulder a friendly shake. “She’ll think I’m ancient.”
“If the worn shoe fits.”
Vernon scoffs and pretends to elbow his former student in the gut. George chuckles, and the sound surprises me.
He’s relaxed around Vernon. The two of them must be close.
This is probably how George and Shawn are when I’m not there.
“It’s always nice to have fresh faces in here, Beth. Don’t let this grumpy ass scare you away.” Vernon gives George a hearty backslap before letting his hand drop. “I’m tired of looking at the same old ugly mugs. It’s nice to have a pretty view once in a while.”
My smile that came so easy a moment ago feels brittle on my face now.
I don’t want these men to think of me as apretty view.
But from the way the others throw lighthearted jeers Vernon’s way, I get the sense he’s always making these kinds of jokes. And maybe the descriptor wasn’t because I’m a woman. Maybe he would’ve said the same thing if George had brought Shawn along.
Still, I can’t help thinking his voice sounds similar to the one from that voicemail. I guess I’ll know for sure if he starts calling me “sweetheart.”
While Vernon is busy regaling a group of guys my age about his ability to spin some aerobatic airplane for ten revolutions and get out of it no problem, I slip away, murmuring a vague comment about food. Aerobatic planes don’t really interest me, and I still have a lingering bad vibe, as well as a suspicion that the club’s president might not have changed since I was nineteen.
When my plate is full, I aim back toward Tim and Aden, the two of them seeming happy to chat about ground school and what I should expect.
“I think I still have a few of the study manuals I used in my trunk. You want them?” Tim jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward the parking lot.
“Seriously? You’d give them to me?”
He grins. “You’d be doing me a favor. My car is a mess. The more I can get out of there, the better. Though I can’t promise a mouse hasn’t made a nest in one of them.”
“That’s fine.” I find myself smiling back, at ease around this down-to-earth guy. “They can be friends with the mice that keep sneaking into my basement.”
