Page 1 of The Flyboy's Girl
Chapter One
Natalie – Present Day
Sitting in the pick-up lane at school, a crisp fall breeze blows through the window as I watch an elderly man across the street rake the leaves in his yard. The ringing of the dismissal bell catches my attention as students begin pouring out the doors. Moments later, Alana comes into view, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, purple backpack slung over her shoulder and a bright smile on her face that took me three years in braces to obtain, while hers is completely natural.
Laughing and talking with her friends, Alana slowly makes her way to the car, flute case in hand. At twelve years old, Alana is every bit the social butterfly her sister is, even with the almost five-year age difference.
Finally saying goodbye to her friends, Alana opens the car door and climbs inside, dropping her backpack on the floor between her feet while reaching for the seatbelt.
I wait for the greenlight from the parking lot monitor and greet her, “Hi honey.”
“Hi Mom,” she replies while buckling her seatbelt.
“How was your day?”
“Oh, my gosh Mom, you are never going to believe what happened today,” she gushes while turning to face me as she talks in her seat with a bounce. “So Justin, you remember Justin Harris that I’ve known for likeever? Well Justin asked Marissa, who asked Amber, who asked me, if I would like to go to the Harvest Moon dance with him!” she squeals in delight, eyes shining, barely taking a breath between sentences.
“Oh Alana, how exciting!” I tell her as I turn the car toward home. Glancing over at her and then back to the road I ask, her excitement so contagious I find myself almost bouncing in my seat as I turn to her, my smile mirroring hers. “So I guess this means we need to go shopping for a dress this weekend?”
“Actually, I thought I’d see if Zoey would design something for me. Do you think she will, you know if I beg?”
At nearly seventeen, our oldest daughter Zoey is determined to become the next big name in fashion design. Of course, taking into consideration the dress she created for me for the charity gala Mark and I attended in the spring, she is incredibly talented, if I do say so myself.
“I’m sure she will. You know how much she loves designing. Just remember, Dad and I have to approve of it first.”
“Okay,” she readily agrees before her excitement takes over again. “Let’s see… today’s Thursday, so Zoe will be home early. Oh! Maybe we can get started tonight.”
“Alana, I hate to rain on your parade, but don’t you think you should wait until Justin actuallyasksyou to the dance himself before you start on a dress?”
“Mom,” she drawls out with a roll of her eyes. “He’s going to ask, this was just his way of finding out if someone else had already asked me. Which they hadn’t, by the way.”
“Okay, if you’re sure, just let me know what I can help with.”
“Thanks Mom,” she says as she continues to talk about her day as I drive us home. Of course, everything else in her day faired in comparison to being asked to the dance, even if it was via three people.
Pulling into the driveway, I put the car in park as Alana gathers her backpack before we make our way to the front door. Stepping inside, I drop my keys in the basket by the door as Alana starts up the stairs. “I’m going to go get started on my homework so Zoey and I can start planning tonight.”
“Don’t you want a snack first?”
“Maybe later,” she calls back just before she reaches the second floor, her foot hitting that all too familiar squeaky step.
My siblings and I spent our entire teenage years trying to avoid that step. My parents considered a built-in alarm, alerting them when one of us was either trying to sneak in past our curfew or out when we were supposed to be sleeping.
When Mom and Dad decided to retire and move to Florida, they offered Mark and I the chance to buy my childhood home. At the time, we were contemplating a move to a bigger place, so we jumped at the chance to raise our kids in a house that already held so many memories for both of us.
Once Mom and Dad were settled into their new place in Florida, Mark and I began renovations. We added an in-law suite, upgraded the electrical and the appliances, refurbished the floors, and gave everything a fresh coat of paint, both inside and out. But even with all the upgrades, we both insisted that squeaky step be left alone.
Standing in the kitchen peeling potatoes, I hear the front door, followed by, “Hi Mom, I’m home.”
“In the kitchen,” I call back just before she enters and we begin our afternoon routine.
Since the day Zoey started kindergarten, we’ve spent every day after school the same way. Of course, in the beginning it was I pouring her a glass of milk and giving her a cookie or two. I can still see her sitting at the kitchen table, blonde hair pulled up in pigtails, crayons scattered in front of her telling me about her day as she colored while I prepared dinner. Now at nearly seventeen, which is almost impossible for me to believe, Zoey has traded the glass of milk for a bottle of water. And even though fruit is now the front runner of in the world of after school snacks, Zoey still treats herself to a cookie or two.
“Hi sweetheart, how was your day?”
Making a beeline to the refrigerator, she takes out a bottle of water and takes a seat at the island. “Ugh,” she says on a sigh as she pushes her shoulder length dark blonde hair behind her ears and rolls her brown eyes. “Long. Mr. Rickman decided now would be the perfect time to assign a term paper on early American civilization.”
“Well that sounds like loads of fun,” I reply sarcastically.
