Page 59 of Shared By the Pilots

Me: I actually have COVID. So I’m probably out of commission until the weekend.

Luke: My reason for wanting to meet with you has nothing to do with our relationship. But regardless, if you don’t want to see me, you can just say so. Tell me we’re done, that you never want to see me again, and you won’t hear from me again.

I stared at the screen for a long time. Here was the fork in the road. I could end things with Luke and exclusively date Adam, or talk things out a little more.

Me: I’m not trying to avoid you this time. I swear. I do think it would be good to sit down and talk with you about everything. I don’t know how I feel about us, but I don’t want to end things yet.

Luke: I’m really glad to hear that. Text me this weekend if you’re feeling better. And if you feel like having an extremely handsome pilot deliver soup directly to your door, you know who to call.

Me: Actually, that sounds really good. Can you give me Captain Cox’s number?

Luke: Ouch. I wouldn’t call Hank handsome, extremely or otherwise.

Me: Maybe I’m into balding men with beer bellies.

Luke: I happen to know exactly what kind of man you’re into.

Me: Maybe my tastes have changed. A pudgy dad-bod sounds real appealing right now.

Luke: I think you need to get to the emergency room. COVID has clearly fried your brain.

It felt good to laugh with Luke again. His deadpan humor was something I had missed over the past month, despite being frustrated with him. I was immediately relieved that I had agreed to see him again.

I wonder what he wants to talk to me about. It was probably just an excuse to see me. I didn’t even mind, though.

Enough thinking about Luke.I turned my light off.Tomorrow, we figure out what’s really going on with Excelsior.

33

Veronica

I met Taylor at the Houston private terminal wearing a sweatshirt with the hoodie pulled up to cover my face. Even still, I was terrified of someone recognizing me and asking questions that I didn’t have answers to. Specifically, Rita at the check-in desk.

To avoid her, I waited outside the front entrance for what felt like an hour. Finally, when several passengers went up to the desk and crowded around to ask questions, I slipped inside and hurriedly walked through the private terminal without being noticed.

Taylor was waiting outside by the tarmac. When he saw me, he chuckled. “You look like the Unabomber. Glasses included.”

“Well yeah, I’m trying to go unnoticed!”

Taylor gave me a confused grin. “Why?”

“Because…” I searched around for a reason. “If someone recognizes me, what will they think? I’m not scheduled on any flights today.”

“They’ll think,” Taylor said with a smirk, “that you and I are involved in an exciting affair, one that has escalated to international travel. Come on, my plane’s this way.”

Despite what he said, I didn’t lower my hoodie until I was inside his plane. It was the exact opposite of flying in a fancy private jet; there were three rows of cramped seats, with cushions that were worn and patchy. Taylor handed me a headset, which had two functions: protecting my ears from the loud engine noise, and allowing us to speak via microphones.

And it was a good thing we had the protection, because the propeller engine wasloud. After sputtering to life, it was a constant roar that made it difficult to think. Taylor chatted with the air traffic controllers, taxied us out to the runway, and then took off. Compared to the private jets I was used to, it felt like we were barely moving at all. Like a horse-drawn wagon compared to a new Corvette.

“You’ve been spoiled, is all,” Taylor said when I brought it up. His voice sounded hollow in my headset. “This here is the best way to fly. Jet engines are overrated.”

Despite the lack of bells and whistles, I enjoyed the flight on Taylor’s plane. In a private jet, everything was so smooth and effortless that it was easy to forget you were flying. But on a small seaplane I felt every bump, and squealed at every updraft that made us lurch suddenly in the air. The cockpit carriage was also entirely made of glass, which meant I had a much better view of the sky all around us, instead of a few small portholes to look through.

Taylor spent the flight chatting me up about his career. Mostly he talked about planes. He described the cropduster he flew in Iowa, and then the replacement he leased after the first one blew an engine. He explained how he saved up to buy a share in his first seaplane up in Alaska; pilots often split the cost of purchasing a plane into thirds or fourths to make it more affordable, which he did in that situation. Then, finally, he was able to buy this seaplane outright.

“Don’t have to share her with anyone else,” he said proudly. “She’s all mine.”

Taylor was a natural storyteller, and I immediately saw why his customers loved him. Getting flown around by him may not have been luxurious, but it certainly felt more like an adventure.

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