Page 291 of Mountain Grump
It’sa special sort of torture, sitting this close. Being this close. And hurting this bad.
I can see it in her too.
The pain.
And I want to pull her into my arms. I want to hold her tight.
I want to make her understand.
Make her believe me.
But I secure my seat belt instead. There’s a process to this.
Andthis—flying her—that’s step one.
I hold out a headset, and Tilda takes it from me and puts it on.
When she puts her hands in her lap, I release the brake, and the plane rolls out of the hangar.
She twists her fingers in her skirt, and I can see them shaking.
I want to grab her hand and put it on my thigh.
I want to do it like we did last time.
But I reach into a side pocket instead. And I hold out the pair of sunglasses.
The ones she gave back to me. With that awful letter.
Her gaze darts to mine.
And I can see the shimmer.
And fuck. I hate this.
Her lips tremble as she takes them from me.
I put on mine as she puts on hers.
And when her hands are back in her lap, back to clutching her skirt, I turn us toward the runway.
Tilda’s inhales are rough through the speakers.
“Relax, Matilda.”
She tries.
“Breathe.”
She lifts a shaking hand and wipes at her cheek. But she doesn’t lower her hand back to her lap. She stops at her chest and grips the seat belt.
Clings to it.
That all-too-familiar tightness wraps around my neck, but I need to push my voice through it. Because I need to distract her.
And I need to tell her.
“I didn’t tell you about the letter because I didn’t want you to think I was like them.” I keep my voice steady, needing her tohearme. “Except now you think I’m worse.”
