Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
“Are you safe?” I ask, the tears straining my voice.
“So far, so good.”
I was worried about Iron in prison, but not because of his safety.
When people like him go to jail, it’s only the start.
“You know,” he starts, “I was thinking of that time you took me to the Cocoa Beach Air Show.”
I remember. Sand. Clear day. Lawn chairs, kids with earmuffs, aviation geeks with their binoculars and coolers.
“Just you and me.” His voice softens, and I can tell he’s smiling. “I had wanted to go the year before, but Dad was just too busy. I know he tried, but it was what it was.”
Yeah. My parents had suitcases. Up in the attic, never used.
“We never got to go anywhere, and I just wanted to see it, because of the pictures I’d seen online,” he tells me. “I didn’t think it was real. Like planes and pilots and people who had adventures like that every day were something that only existed in movies. It was the first time I realized how big the world was. And what people can do.”
We don’t even use the suitcases now. We don’t go anywhere. They don’t even ask.
“Those planes flying in formation,” he goes on. “All the people in uniforms …”
I listen, still hearing the sounds of the jets whooshing past, slicing through the air.
“Everything in the Bay was draining, and that day was so full of energy.” He pauses and then continues. “The music, the crowds … You probably don’t remember it, but I never forgot what a good day that was.”
It was. It was noise that wasn’t stress. It was distracting. I didn’t think about home all day. I remember noticing that on our way back home.
“It was a good day, more so because you smiled a lot,” he says. “I felt special. Like it was something we both shared, and I don’t know why that felt so important, but it did and it stuck with me. I remember thinking we’d be closer because of it.”
I close my eyes.
“I’ve had too much time to think in here already,” he says. “I forgot how I wanted to be one of those pilots someday. Be a hero. Do brave things.” He pauses. “They wouldn’t take me now, would they?”
A knife slices my heart.
He’s a felon now. The military doesn’t take you with a record.
He breathes hard, and I grip the phone, forgetting the drawer.
“You don’t realize how badly you wanted something,” he tells me, “until you find out that it’s no longer an option.”
I stare at my shoes.
“I’m sick of regret.
“Sick of just surviving,” he adds. “But I’m going to be a pilot. I don’t know how.” His tone is steady and resolute. “And I don’t care if you don’t support me, but every path has to be carved by someone, so I’m making a new one.”
Something stretches my throat.
“I’m not coming back to that house just to exist,” he states. “You understand?”
I smile, just a little.
If I’m not dead, then I’m not done.
I can do this.
If he can do this—keep going—so can I. It’s going to be over eventually. No one lives forever. I can do more before I go.
I can show my family that we keep standing back up. I’ve got another fight in me.
Drawing in a lungful of air, I rise off the bed and whip off my jacket. “I’m building you a new room,” I say. “If you’re not home on time, I’m painting it lavender.”
I hear a muffled chuckle. “Well … I also like peach.”
I smile. “Talk soon.”
“Yeah.”
I hang up, tear off my clothes, and wrap a towel around my waist. Opening my bedroom door, I yell. “Aracely!”
In a few seconds, I hear her footfalls on the stairs, and she appears at my door. Her eyes drop to my towel, and she almost looks away.
I swipe up my shirt and hold it out to her. “Have the …”
But I stop, taking a moment to correct myself. “Would you please have the buttons on this fixed?” I ask her politely. Then I hand her the pants and jacket. “And take this suit to a tailor as a reference for sizing. Have them make me three more. You pick the fabric. Shirts, ties …”
Her face falls a little, but I don’t linger for questions. Swiping my phone off the bed, I hand that to her next. “Put this on the charger. And find a time on my calendar next week to talk to me. You’ll start handling my schedule, and we need to talk about you taking over managing Mariette’s.” My brain floods with everything I want to do, and my mouth can’t keep up. “I’m giving you joint control with her. Understand?”
Her eyes go wide, but then I see it. The smile. She nods.
Taking the pants back from her, I dig out my wallet and slip out a credit card.