Page 54 of All I Desire

We smooch softly and I groan.

“I want to leave and get Chloe, but I don’t want to leave you. Today was incredible.”

She snickers a little. “It was, wasn’t it? It’s okay, though.”

“Okay. Have fun. Talk later, babe.”

“Matthew?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay here and watch you take off?” She looks eager and excited. So freaking endearing. Man, I wish she could come with me. I brush a kiss onto my angel’s forehead and she sighs happily.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

“Co-pilot, prepare for landing,”I say into my headset.

“Prepare for landing,” Chloe echoes, adjusting her child-sized headset. She sits up a little straighter in the passenger seat next to me. At ten, she’s still small enough to need a booster seat so she can see through the windshield — but she won’t need that extra boost for long. She’s tall, like her mother.

This conversation is a ritual of ours. Ever since she could speak in complete sentences, I’d hook her into the onboard radio.

I flick a switch so I can radio the control tower — which, according to the fly-in community’s calendar, is really just my next-door neighbor. As part of the community, we all take turns helping with the air traffic, mostly so we don’t crash into each other while taking off and landing. Since there’s only a handful of houses, and half of the residents only live here during the winter, it’s a cinch.

“This is Mancini 1702,” I say. That’s my call sign and my numerical address — Matthew Mancini, 1702 Aviator Blvd., Paradise Beach, Florida.

“Mancini 1702, copy,” says my neighbor as the radio crackles to life.

I point the plane toward the asphalt runway of my subdivision.

“Permission to land?” I request.

“Cleared for landing on runway two-four left,” my neighbor responds.

“Roger that. Have a good night.”

I click off the radio and guide the plane down easily. This is one of the best feelings in the world, flying this World War II-vintage aircraft. It feels solid in the air, stoic in my hands, and like it’s got total command of the sky. It’s built like a tank, with landing gear so rugged that it can be safely deployed at any airspeed. It’s a boat. It’s a plane. It kinda makes me feel like a superhero when I think about it.

When the plane touches down to earth, it glides along the runway’s new asphalt, wheels skimming along smoothly.

Chloe raises her fists in triumph. “We’re home!” she shouts over the whirr of the propeller.

“Yes, we are, Cubster.” I’m grinning and using her childhood nickname for the first time in ages.

I navigate the plane over to the house, and Chloe and I pause for a few moments while the propeller slows to a stop.

“Dad?” She slides off her headset.

“Yeah?” I’m flipping switches and shutting down the electrical systems.

“About that nickname.”

I glance over at her, and my daughter’s face is serious. Uh-oh. Yvette warned me about this recently. Chloe’s been unusually sensitive lately, possibly because of the bullying, but also due to the move. There’s been a knot in my stomach for days. Will she like it here? Will school be better for her? What if she hates her new room?

“What about it?”

“I don’t mind if you call me that in private, but around other kids, can you just use my name?” She presses her lips together.

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