Page 96 of Come Fly with Me

I grab the wrench from her hand and hang it back on the tool board. “Who says there’s anything to sort out?”

Sofia rolls her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. “Please,” she starts.

I chuckle, not wanting to admit to anything because I have no idea what, if anything, Taylor has admitted to. These girls are kids and while I’m all about teaching them life skills and shit, I’m not sure discussing mine and Taylor’s relationship is in their need-to-know basket.

“Look,” Sofia continues. “There’s clearly something going on. Taylor was super sad when she came in this afternoon and didn’t want to talk about it. Then you show up and while she looked, I don’t know, like weird about that, she’s definitely been happier since you’ve been here.”

I lift a brow. “Is that so?”

“Hmm mmm,” she replies, nodding. “We can help you get her back if you want?” she adds when I don’t say anything more.

I laugh. “Who says I need any help?”

She rolls her eyes again, that same what-the-fuck look on her face as before. “Please,” she says dramatically. “Men always need help. I mean, my dad is useless when it comes to understanding why my mom is mad at him.”

I burst out laughing now, loving this kid and her give-no-shits attitude. If there was ever a girl that I knew was going to succeed at achieving her dreams, Sofia would be it.

“I see, and that makes you an expert at all this now, does it?”

Now it’s Sofia smiling, giving me a wink as she leans in to theatrically whisper. “Well, we’ve been talking,” she says, jerking a thumb over her shoulder to the rest of the girls. “And we figure you gotta go big with your apology. I mean showing up here is great and all, but you gotta walk the walk if you know what I mean.”

I have to bite my lip in order to stop myself from laughing again. “Uh huh,” I manage to get out. “So, what did you have in mind?” I ask, knowing I’m already working on a plan to prove to Taylor how much she means to me.

“Well,” she says conspiratorially before she beckons me closer and leans in to outline the plan she and the rest of the girls have come up with.

After she’s told me, I straighten, a smile on my face as I say, “You know what, you might be onto something there.”

Sofia smiles smugly, crossing her arms again as she nods once and says, “Told you so.”

Thirty-Three

Taylor

I understand his reasons, but they still don’t make it any less hurtful, any less of a lie. We all do shitty things, but it’s how we respond to them that makes us who we are. Acceptance and forgiveness are interesting, but they never go hand in hand—at least not in my world.

I’m sitting on my couch, a glass of vodka in my hand, the bottle on my coffee table while I try to process Jake’s words and figure out where I go from here. I want to forgive him. I want to forget this whole mess ever happened because I miss him. But that’s no reason to just willingly let someone back in.

I’m inside my own head when my phone rings, and a part of me secretly hopes it’s Jake. But when I pick up my phone, it’s a number I don’t recognize. I’m not in the mood to deal with someone trying to sell me something, so I send it to voicemail and resume my replaying of today.

It felt good to have Jake helping me with the girls and seeing his support of what I do, but it also scares the shit out of me to jump in headfirst and trust him again. He lingered after the class was over, but obviously not wanting to push things too far, he said his goodbyes and left, leaving the ball in my court.

Again, my phone chimes out, interrupting my obsessing and letting me know I have a voicemail. I let it play and for a split second I don’t even know how to respond.

The voice of a woman plays in my ear, her words filled with excitement and promise, and I don’t even hesitate in calling her back.

The line trills just once before the woman who left me the voicemail answers.

“Hello?”

“Is this Emily Bishop?” I ask, hardly stopping to greet her properly.

“Is this Taylor Patterson?” she responds.

“It is, and I got your message.”

“I’m sorry to call you, but I got your number from Dean Clynes. We went to school together, and I’m a pilot for Hawaii Air. It’s no Crescent Airways, but you know,” she rambles, a nervous excitement to her voice. “I heard what you’re trying to do and I want to help.”

It’s a horrible thing when my mind immediately wants to question someone’s motives, but that’s where mine goes the second this conversation starts. What could this woman possibly want from me? I have nothing left to give. I fight on my own because my trust in people is broken, and there are few left in the world that I will put my faith in. But when she mentioned Dean’s name, I will admit she piqued my interest.

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