Except it wasn’tonlyher heart. It was also her lungs and her stomach and maybe her liver too. Basically, every organ in her body had tried to escape via her neck and, subsequently, had gotten stuck in a traffic jam.
Being careful not to touch any of the buttons or switches or levers, andcertainlynot the control wheel—all of which were far too close for comfort since she occupied the copilot’s seat in the Otter—she glanced apprehensively through the plane’s windshield at the storm clouds directly overhead.
The menacing weather had been rolling closer and closer ever since they left Key West. But no amount of strategic flying on Romeo’s part had managed to keep them ahead of it.
If we were meant to fly, we would’ve been given wings,she thought uneasily as a jagged bolt of lightning arced between two cloud formations. A split-second later, a deafeningboomrattled the fuselage.
She wouldswearshe heard the engine sputter. But a hasty glance at Romeo told her otherwise. He was the picture of calm, deftly manning the control wheel, checking his instruments and softly humming.
What was that tune?
Oh, for Pete’s sake. Is that “Leaving on a Jet Plane”by John Denver?Didn’t hediein a plane crash?
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. It was a lesson she’d learned from her childhood therapist. A way to calm her body’s automatic nervous system response when it went into fight, flight, or freeze mode.
“I cut this one a little close,” Romeo muttered. “But don’t worry. We’re nearly home.”
He’d barely gotten the last word out when the sky broke open like someone slit its heavy underbelly with a blade. Merciless rain pounded against the windshield, and she opened her eyes in time to watch Romeo flip a switch so a set of wipers came on.
Strange, but she’d never thought about planes having windshield wipers before. It seemed like such a mundane, everyday piece of equipment to be on something as sophisticated as an airplane and—
“Jesus H. God on a scooter!” she screeched when an evil rush of wind sent the Otter careening sideways. Before she could catch her breath fromthatlittle maneuver, the plane fell out of the sky.
Or, at least it dropped a hundred feet. Far enough that had she not been strapped in, she would have flown up and broken her neck when her head smashed against the top of the fuselage.
Another quick glance at Romeo revealed a line on his forehead to match the lines cut into his cheeks by his dimples. His motions were sure while he worked the throttle with one hand while making some nimble adjustments to the control wheel with the other. But he was no longer humming.
She wished he’d start humming again. Despite his song choice, there was comfort in his humming.
“Are we going to die?” Normally, her voice was throaty. It had been ever since the ventilator damaged her vocal cords. But now it sounded like she’d been eating rocks.
“No.” Romeo jerked his chin once.
“Would you tell me if wewere?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.
He shot her a quick look, and she was relieved to find confidence and a hint of his usual humor glinting in his eyes. “Probably not.”
“Well”—she blew out a breath at the same time she cinched her seatbelt tighter across her lap—“no one can accuse you of being a liar.”
“Hold on,linda.” The Spanish endearment might have tickled her ears if they hadn’t already been filled with the roar of the engine and the screaming of the wind. “I’m taking her in quick. It’ll be a rough landing.”
Wrapping her hands around the seat cushion until she was sure her nails left marks on the leather, Mia closed her eyes once more. She didn’t want toseethe moment she died.
“If we were meant to fly, we would’ve been given wings.”
She thought she repeated the phrase in her mind. But she must’ve said it out loud since Romeo responded with, “We were given the brains to build planes. And planes are better than wings. At least with planes, when you get caught in a storm, you don’t get wet, eh?”
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. The traffic jam in her throat had unsnarled enough to allow her stomach to hop into her mouth. Once there, it preceded to disgorge acid.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
On the off chance they lived through this, she didn’t want to suffer the indignity of having lost her lunch inside the cockpit. And on the off chance theydidn’tlive through this, the last thing she wanted Romeo to witness before his ultimate demise was her blowing chunks all over his instruments.
Once again, it felt like the plane fell out of the sky. But unlike the last time, this felt like a controlled descent.
Or perhaps controlleddivewas the better way to describe it.
I didn’t survive my childhood simply to die in a plane crash, she thought desperately.I’m not Amelia Earhart.
