Page 35 of Air Affair

It was a fair point but not one Hank was ready to concede. “There will be no sneaking away. It’s too dangerous. There will be no gossip because nothing will happen.”

“Really? She’s throwing this whole party for you, and you’re going to turn her down? On her birthday?”

Hank had a momentary vision of sneaking away from the party to a quiet hotel room, stripping off her evening gown, and making love to her until dawn. And it would be making love, not fucking. He felt altogether too much for her, which made it all the more important that he stay away.

“I’m not going to let her get disowned on her birthday.” He emptied his glass.

Signaling the bartender for another round, O’Donnell said, “And you don’t think she’ll have a plan to avoid getting caught? Besides which, do you really think she’ll let you refuse?”

And that was why he drank an ocean of whiskey last night. He wanted her and couldn’t have her and couldn’t say no.

With a groan, he put down the invitation and sat up. His mouth tasted like a distillery. Still. He had to pull himself together. At 1 p.m., he had to fly the mail to Philadelphia. It was already—he grabbed his alarm clock and squinted at it—eleven thirty.

He got up and stumbled into his pristine kitchen, filling the percolator with water and coffee, turning on the gas range.

As he fried up some eggs and bacon, he thought about how well his bachelor’s life suited him. He was quite capable of keeping house, gardening, and cooking his own simple meals without assistance. It was a good thing, too, because as he told Rory, he had no plans to settle down.

If only it wasn’t such a lonely life. Not that he couldn’t find female companionship when he wanted it, but what would it be like to be with someone who truly understood him—someone like Rory?

He shook his throbbing head. If he was having thoughts like that, he must not have been entirely sober yet.

Five minutes later, he sat down at his compact kitchen table with his coffee and giant plate of hangover food. The caffeine, grease, and salt did their magic, and he was able to look out the front window at his blooming pink roses without wincing.

But try as he might to focus on his food, he couldn’t stop thinking of Rory. What would it be like if she was a nobody like him and they could be together? Instead of waking up late and hung over, he would have woken up early with her in his arms. He’d cook her breakfast because he couldn’t imagine Rory being domestically inclined in any universe. She’d kiss him goodbye as he went off to a responsible job that paid him well and didn’t require him to risk his life. If she wanted to work, she could, but she didn’t have to.

He’d come home in the evening to her abysmal attempt to make dinner. They’d laugh over it, and he’d cook up some simple steak and potatoes, maybe with some home-grown carrots on the side. After dinner, he would take her to bed and make furious love to her until they were sated and exhausted.

On weekends when the weather was nice, they would go to the airfield and rent a plane, enjoying the thrill without the risk and discomfort of going up in all weather, year-round. Maybe she would get her pilot’s license, though the thought of Rory terrorizing the airspace above Long Island was somewhat frightening.

Children would come eventually. The thought of a tiny Rory running amok around the neighborhood made his heart ache—a little daredevil, just like her mama, jumping off ledges, climbing tall trees.

Maybe he would finally finish his engineering degree and start his own aeronautics business like a responsible family man. Who knew airplanes better than him? He could build something of his own instead of working for others. The kids would be proud of their Pops. Rory’s face would shine with pride.

It was an idyllic picture, he thought to himself, scooping up the last of his breakfast with a piece of toast. It was also impossible. Her father would never allow it, and even if he did, she wasn’t interested in anything more than a bit of fun. She said so. Not that it mattered, because he was perfectly content as a bachelor.

He looked at his kitchen clock. Time to call Kate. He walked over to the living room and picked up the phone. It was lucky the house was wired already when he moved in. Most of the other houses weren’t yet. Kate was standing at a pay phone, he knew, so he had to be precise about what time he called. The farm was unlikely to get wired anytime soon.

“Hello, operator?”

“What number, please?”

“I’m placing a long-distance call to Michigan. It’s Grand Rapids 5-9354.”

“Just a moment. Let me connect you.”

He heard a crackling noise and then ringing. “Hello, Hank. Is that you?”

It was always a relief to hear Kate’s voice on the other end. “Hi Kate. It’s me.”

“It’s so good to hear your voice.” That was always the first thing she said, but he felt the same way.

“You too. How are the boys?” The last time he saw them, they were three and five. Now they were four and six and he was willing to bet, inches taller than the last time he saw them.

“They’re making me pull my hair out, as usual. Pete says he wants to be a pilot, just like his Uncle Hank. He climbed onto the roof with cardboard wings. Jeremiah—that’s my husband—had to go up there and get him down.”

Hank laughed. “He’s just like me. I’m so sorry, Kate.”

“He’d love to see you.”