Page 58 of Fly with Me

“Tell him your friend’s a nurse, and she’s the one asking. Sometimes dropping the nurse word makes people pay attention.”

“Okay.” Her thumbs beat another rat-tat-tat-tat, faster this time. “He says he didn’t hit his head, and his caregiver—he has someone who comes to help him a couple times a week—insisted on telling me.”

“Men.”

They both sighed in tandem.

“I know we talked about getting lunch, but I don’t think—”

“Let’s go. I know better than to ask to drive. But we can go straight there. I can take a quick peek at him if you want.”

“You’d do that?” Stella squeezed her phone, eyes wide.

“Of course. If we swing by my apartment, I can grab my blood pressure cuff and stethoscope and be more thorough.”

“That would be perfect. It’s so hard to get him to go to his regular doctor’s appointments to get his meds adjusted and blood drawn. An emergency visit is almost impossible.”

“Say your friend is a nurse busybody.”

And Stella kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“A quick kiss on the cheek is good in some situations?” Olive quoted the PDA section of the binder.

“This was definitely one of those situations.”

Olive turned away to hide her burning cheeks. “Let’s go. It’s no big deal. We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

They headed out to Stella’s car, which was, obviously, spotlessly clean. The Prius had that new car smell that Olive loved but could never get to stick around in her own car since she usually at some point left old taco wrappers in it too long. Stella yanked the gearshift into drive, turning on a playlist low in the background.

“What’s your dad like? What was he like growing up?”

“Strict but strong. He always had clear expectations for me, which was good. I do well with that. He was a great provider. Worked really hard. He’s brilliant. Won tons of awards at work. Always wore a perfectly pressed black suit and tie and came home telling stories about meeting with important people on Capitol Hill about aviation policy. My grandma came to live with us after my grandfather died. They raised me together since he worked a lot.”

“Is your dad a pilot too?”

“No.” She shook her head with regret. “He wanted to be. My grandfather was a Mexican fighter pilot in World War Two. He trained in the US during the war, then worked in aviation back home in Mexico after. He met my grandmother on a trip to Texas, and he married her and got a job for an airline there. My dad grew up wanting to be a pilot more than anything. Just like his dad was. I’ll have to show you some of the photos of my grandfather.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He joined the US Air Force, but then the day before he was supposed to start, he had a seizure.” She pulled her mouth in an expression of regret. “And that was that.”

“That sucks.”

“It did. He got degrees in engineering and public policy instead. My first memory is him taking me down to Gravelly Point in DC and us watching the planes take off from National. He’s this tall guy, and he’d put me on his shoulders, point to the sky, and say Stella Sofía, you’re going to fly one of those someday.”

“Did that feel like pressure?”

Stella smiled, sadly. “He said I loved planes more than Barbies. My grandmother said it all started when I was a baby, and he’d zoom me around the room like an airplane. My first word wasn’t Papi. It was up.”

“That’s the best story.” Olive wished she could hold her hand and make her happy again. It wasn’t that she seemed sad, rather more wistful or regretful. “Did your dad have more seizures?”

“Nope. Just the one. Destroyed his dream. And now I’m so close to doing everything he didn’t get to. He’s ecstatic about it. I owe it to him to not let anything stop me.”

“You love him so much.”

“Sure do. When I was growing up, he was never a feelings-type man. But he was always everything I needed. He paid for my college so I wouldn’t have student loans. He worked so darn hard every day. He made sure I had everything I need to—”

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