Her Great Expectations (12 page)

“I wouldn’t need advanced mathematics if I went to a technical college.”

“Technical college?” Sienna laughed. “Wherever did you get such an idea?”

Oliver started to speak, then closed his mouth.

Sienna made a couple more dabs, then sat back. “If you take the post out and let the hole grow over you won’t have this problem again.”

“I’ll take better care of it,” he said, reaching past her to the counter for the antiseptic mouth rinse.

“Well, mind you do. You don’t want the infection to get so bad you have to go on antibiotics. You could have scarring and who knows what hideous disfigurement.”

“You’re just trying to scare me.”

“Is it working?” She gazed intently into his face, pretending to look for signs of fear.

“No.”
His lips twitched. For a moment they almost shared a smile. “Can I watch TV?”

She dropped the cotton ball into the bin. “No, you’re going to study for your math test. But I’ll make you a deal. Take the piercing out and I’ll unground you.”

Oliver relapsed into a sullen frown. “No.”

“Suit yourself.” Sienna turned on the tap and washed her hands. The sooner he got accepted into advanced math, the better. Then they could start looking at his course selection for next year. Technical college, indeed.

Sienna slid him a sidelong glance. His head was tilted back and he’d rocked onto his heels as he tracked the flight path of the tiny plane. He had a look of heightened awareness and keen concentration. Whatever else he’d lost the day of the crash, it wasn’t his love of flying.

The Tiger Moth straightened out and started to descend.

“Are you sure you won’t fly the plane?” Sienna asked. Jack didn’t seem to hear her. “Hello. Earth to Jack?”

“Huh?” He turned to her, blinking. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you sure you won’t pilot the Tiger Moth?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Nah, not interested.”

“Really? I saw your face just now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe you don’t want to fly the plane, but you could go up. Here, you take the ticket.” She tucked it into the front pocket of his shirt.

He put it straight back into her purse. “Are you chicken, Dr. Maxwell?”

“Me, chicken? Just because the Tiger Moth looks like those toy balsa-wood planes Olly used to put together and fly with the help of a wound-up elastic band?”

“Cluuuuck, cluck, cluck, cluck.” She had to swat him on the arm to make him stop.

“Oh, dear, was that your sore arm?” she asked, knowing full well it wasn’t.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Damn. Turn around and I’ll have another go.”

He twisted, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close so she couldn’t strike. He kissed her, hard and fast, surprising her into a breathless smile.

“You’re going up and you’re going to love it. See you in an hour.” He started to walk away swiftly.

The Tiger Moth had landed and was slowly rolling across the tarmac toward them.

“Where are you going?” she called, taking a few steps after him. “Aren’t you going to stick around?”

“There’s a metalwork shop over in Hastings. I’m going to pick up some supplies while I’m down this way.”

“For your ultralight?” she asked, hoping he’d been inspired.

“For the stovepipe of my wood-burning heater.” He gestured to the hangar. “Don’t worry about the loop-the-loop. Mac’s just showing off. He won’t do that unless you want him to.” With a brisk salute he turned on his heel and headed to his truck.

“What the hell?” she wondered softly, watching him drive off. She would understand if the crash had made him afraid of flying, but she would swear that wasn’t it. He
longed
to be up there.

“Good morning,” a tall bald man with a Scottish burr called out. “Are you the lucky raffle winner?”

She turned to see Mac, in tan pants and a black leather bomber jacket, striding toward her, two brown leather helmets tucked beneath his arm. He was about fifty years old but with the rangy physique of a much younger man.

She swallowed. “Lucky. That would be me.”

As she walked behind Mac to the Tiger Moth the butterflies in her stomach began to nosedive. She barely heard what he was saying, catching just enough to know he was cracking some wildly inappropriate joke about falling out of the sky.

Mac glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

“No.” She smiled gamely. If only Jack was beside her, holding her hand, this might not be so hard. As it was, her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. Commercial flights on jets were fine; she could pretend she was in a large safe building. But a small plane with only a thin shell between her and the earth hundreds of feet below?

She put on the leather helmet Mac gave her and then posed stiffly, one hand on the battered metal fuselage, while he snapped a souvenir photo of her. All the while she could feel pressure building in her chest.

She climbed a wooden step onto the bottom wing, ducking to avoid bumping her head on the top wing. She started to get into the rear cockpit, but Mac motioned her to the front. Worse and worse. The door was a rectangular flap of metal that folded down instead of sideways. Swinging her leg over, she slid into the padded leather seat, so low she could barely see over the side.

She wiped a hand across her clammy forehead.
No one ever died of an anxiety attack. I can be anxious
and still deal with this situation.
But her stomach was roiling, her breath was short, leaving her dizzy and light-headed. What if this wasn’t panic? What if she was actually having a heart attack?
I am in control of myself and my feelings. My feelings aren’t controlling me.

Yeah, right.

Then Mac lowered heavy straps over her shoulders, weighing her down, holding her firmly in place. Her heart began to race. In spite of knowing all the right things to do, she
couldn’t
deal with it. She
wasn’t
in control.

“Let me out!” she said, frantically struggling to undo the buckles. “I have to get out.”

He eyed her. “You didn’t go up, did you?”

Her shoulders slumped as she dropped the act. “No.”

“Are you that afraid of flying?”

“I had a panic attack.” She turned her mug around, her short-nailed fingers flexing, agitated. “No offense to Mac—I’m sure he’s extremely competent. Panic attacks aren’t very rational.”

“Has this happened to you before?”

She glanced up, clearly troubled. “I used to get them when I was going through my divorce.”

Jack nodded to the waitress as she set his coffee on the table and topped up Sienna’s cup. “I suppose that’s another situation where you weren’t in control?”

“You make me sound like a control freak.”

“I’m just putting two and two together.”

Sienna shrugged and reached for a packet of sweetener, shaking the crystals down.

Jack stirred cream into his coffee, studying her. “It’s over. So why are you still tense?”

“I’m
not
tense,” she said, ripping the packet so hard the sugar substitute spilled over the scarred red Formica. “I just don’t like failing.”

“Or what you perceive as failing,” Jack suggested. “What made your marriage break down?”

“My ex cheated with another woman.”

“Then he’s scum.”

“He’s not scum,” she said reluctantly. “I tried to do everything right. I still couldn’t make my marriage work. The question is,
why
did he cheat?”

“Because he’s scum.”

She rose abruptly. “I’ve had enough coffee. This is my third cup and my hands are starting to shake. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Jack watched her go, shoulders squared, head high. She was so hard on herself. But anyone who would cheat on her
had
to be scum.

He paid for the coffee he hadn’t drunk, then pushed through the glass door to join Sienna at the edge of the tarmac. A Piper Cherokee was taking off, its engine revs increasing as it trundled down the runway, increasingly faster until takeoff. Now the plane was climbing, the wings rocking slightly, buffeted by the wind. Jack could almost feel the lift and vibration through his body.

“What’s your story, Jack?” Sienna asked. “Why don’t you fly? You’re clearly longing to get up there.”

Her question brought him to earth with a thud. “Look at the time,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’d better get going.”

Without waiting for a response he started striding down the gravel path to the parking lot, his running shoes shooting small stones into the weedy grass.

Sienna hurried to catch up, her springy hair bouncing. “How did that crash happen? Was it caused by the GPS?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I would respect that if I wasn’t so certain you
need
to talk about it. Do you feel guilty or something?”

He glanced at her. “Are you my therapist now?”

“Do you need one?”

Hell. “Okay, yes, it was the GPS, the instrument I designed and built. It was faulty. When I needed it most, it stopped working.”

“How…” she began.

“It’s complicated,” he snapped. “It broke and I didn’t notice because it reverted to dead reckoning mode.”

“What—”

“What does that mean?” he cut in. “It means it looks like it’s working when it’s not. Leanne and I were talking. I was distracted.”

Jack, honey, we’re going to have a baby.

The memory hit him hard—he could almost hear her voice inside his head. He stopped, needing a moment just to breathe. His anger and impatience, which had been holding him together, drained away.

“Jack, are you okay?” Sienna asked.

“When it came time to land, I believed I was at the airstrip.” Jack faltered, his gut tightening as he recalled with stark clarity the moment before impact. When he realized, too late, what had happened. “I lowered the landing gear. And flew straight into an escarpment.”

“Oh, Jack.” Sienna touched his arm—she might even have stroked it. He couldn’t feel a thing.

“When I saw that cliff face coming at us I hauled on the controls with everything I had, trying to gain elevation.” His arms tensed, fists clenched, as if he was even now trying to work the controls. “Then a strong gust of wind caught the plane, twisting it so that the passenger side hit first.”

“Leanne—”

“Was killed instantly.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded robotic. “I sustained multiple fractures and internal injuries that kept me in the hospital for six months.”

“Oh, my God. That’s so awful.” She squeezed his arm. “It’s a miracle you survived. I’m so sorry about Leanne.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. It took an extraordinary effort not to fall apart.

“Was it just you two in the plane?” Sienna asked. “Were there any other casualties?”

Jack couldn’t breathe. The way the controls had crushed his ribs. Leanne had lain broken in the mangled wreckage of the copilot’s seat.

“No,” he lied. “It was just the two of us.”

She should try to change the tire herself. But she was ashamed to admit she’d never done that and she wasn’t about to start learning while wearing her good silk blouse. She would walk. It was a nice day and her house was only a mile away.

A mile was nothing—except that she was wearing new shoes. They’d felt comfortable when she left the house this morning, but by the time she got home her heels and the sides of her small toes were blistered.

Inside the front door she pried the tight shoes off her swollen feet and limped down the hall. Olly’s books, jacket and schoolbag were scattered from the front door to the kitchen. There, the breakfast dishes he was supposed to tidy up still sat on the counter.

“Olly!” Sienna knocked on his bedroom door before opening it. “You’ve left a huge mess. I hope you’re studying.”

He was cross-legged on the carpet in front of a two-foot square of plywood strung with wires. He had the metal probes of some sort of meter hooked up to either side of a lightbulb.

Her hand tightened on the door frame. “
What
are you doing?”

“I’m testing the amount of current going through the bulb.” Olly touched the probes to the bare wire on either side of the bulb. “See the needle move? That’s the voltage.”

“Where did you get that thing?”

“Jack.”

Sienna took in a deep breath, struggling to control her annoyance. “I know I sound like a broken record, but you need to concentrate on studying for your math test, not play with silly gadgets.”

“It’s a real voltmeter,” Oliver said, his face flushing. “I’m practicing for when I go to technical college.”

“Don’t start that again. Now, crack those books. I’ll tidy up and start dinner.” She started to leave, then a thought struck that stopped her in her tracks. “Wait a minute. Did
Jack
tell you about technical college?”

Wariness stole over Oliver’s face. He began coiling the wire on the voltmeter probes. “Maybe.”

“Tell me, Olly,” Sienna demanded. “What nonsense has he been filling your head with?”

“It’s not nonsense,” Oliver said. “
He
quit school at sixteen to do an apprenticeship. Why can’t I?”

Jack hadn’t graduated from high school?

Her fingers tightened on the door frame. “Did he tell you to quit school?”

“He didn’t say that, not exactly.” Oliver opened his schoolbag and started pulling his notebooks onto his desk.

“But he encouraged you to apprentice?”

“Yes,” Oliver said. “But only because I
want
to.”

All this time she’d been grateful for the attention Jack was paying Olly. Meanwhile he’d been undermining her efforts to keep her son on track academically. He
knew
she was worried about Olly. How dared he go behind her back and try to influence him away from a medical career?

“I’m going to call him right now,” Sienna said, clenching her hands into fists. “This has got to stop.”

“Mum, you can’t,” Oliver pleaded.

“Just watch me.” Pushing up the sleeves of her silk blouse, she marched to the phone. Gripping the receiver, she stabbed at the number pad. “It’s time I made it perfectly clear where your future lies.”

“He’s not at home,” Oliver said from the doorway. “He kayaks on Tuesday afternoons.”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, she slammed the phone back on the hook. “Then I’ll track him down at the beach. You get on with your homework.”

She shoved her feet into sneakers and stalked out to the garage, her irritation growing by the minute. Then she stopped dead at the empty space.
Damn.
She’d forgotten about the flat tire. Well, that wasn’t going to stop her. Wheeling out her bicycle, she set off.