Page 41 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“Couldn’t afford something a little bigger?” Camille jokes dryly.

“Not to your liking?” Wade asks, opening his door. He steps out, holding his hand out for her. “I assure you that the Cessna Longitudes are top of their class.”

She takes it in as a breeze tussles her hair. She steps out to a faint scent of petroleum in the air. Camille inhales, enjoying the smell as much as the view of the jet. She glances at Wade out the corner of her eyes, her cool composure a total farce. Her inner child hasn’t stopped squealing since she viewed the contract. Five million dollars and a trip in a jet…Evelyn is going to flip.

“It’ll do,” she says coolly.

Wade lets go of her hand, smiling. She pauses just before she takes the first step up the stairs to the jet’s open door. She glances down at Wade behind her, not having any qualms going first when the stairs lead to her first-ever ride in a jet. “You know, it’d be hard to beat it if you put one of your stickers on this thing.”

Wade turns his gaze to look down the side of the jet, giving it an appreciative nod. “You know, I think you’re right. ‘Easton sucks’ written in six-foot-tall letters across the side is exactly what this thing is missing.”

A stewardess is waiting inside for them. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks.

Camille stares at the woman, her mind going momentarily blank.

“Water, a soda, champagne?”

“A water,” Camille manages, “with lemon if you have it.”

The stewardess gives her a smile. “Of course.” She waves her inside the spacious interior.

Camille’s immediately taken by how much room there is overhead.

“I’ll take a sparkling water,” Wade adds, walking in behind her.

Camille looks over her shoulder to see that Wade doesn’t even have to duck his head walking through the cabin. He sets his briefcase on the couch, motioning with his hand at the oversized seats closer to the back.

“The chair facing the front has the best view.”

She sits down on the edge of the seat, looking out the window to watch the plane’s steps fold in. Wade takes the chair facing hers.

She glances across the cabin and out the other windows, where the public airport hub looks miles away from them. A hanger door is pushed open by an older man wearing clothes one would wear on a golf course. The hanger opens to a blue, yellow, and white four-door plane. An older woman in a tennis skirt with matching shoes hooks up a handled contraption to the front wheel. The man switches spots with the woman, who goes around to pull out wooden blocks from the rear tires. When she’s done, he takes the handles and pulls. To Camille’s amazement, the man singlehandedly rolls the plane out of the hanger with ease.

What a life. Stepping out of the country club and right onto the tarmac. Spending the evenings flying around in your personal plane. One of them must have their pilot’s license, or both do, and they take turns flying their personal million-dollar means of transportation.

“How much does it cost to get your pilot’s license?” she asks.

Wade glances up from his cellphone. “Not sure. Ten…fifteen thousand, maybe.”

Camille nods as she watches the couple move the plane out of the hanger. That’s chump change for these kinds of people. The stewardess delivers their drinks, the lemon smelling freshly cut. Wade barely looks up from his cellphone as the jet moves onto the taxiway. No waiting for people to load the overhead bins, no elbows in your space; not even first-class can compare to this.

They are up in the air in no time.

“I’ve got to take this,” Wade mumbles across from her.

Camille glances over at him to see him putting his phone to his ear.

“This better be good news.”

She stares out of the window, her hand grasping the large, oval windowsill that’s cool to the touch, despite the evening heat. Wade leans over, reaching for a clasp on the wall between them.

“Uh-huh,” he says into the phone, unlatching the clasp.

The sleek wooden piece of the wall detaches. As he lifts the bottom edge, Camille realizes that it’s a built-in table. He clicks it in place between them, providing a shiny table for her to lean her elbow on as she stares out the window.

Seeing her satisfied grin, Wade gives her a small wink before frowning at the phone.

“I thought we had this all worked out.” He covers the phone with his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers.

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