Mirage(36)

His eyes narrow at my reaching arms. “You okay? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea?. . .”

“I, uh, I just wanted a hug.” It’s the first thing that came to mind, but I realize it’s true. But asking Nolan for a hug is like asking him to give me the Medal of Honor. He might wish he could, but he doesn’t have it to give.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze instead. “We’ll be landing soon.”

“Will you stay with me?” My eyes dart to where she was. Her sudden absence is as much of a shock as her appearance.

He squats down on the floor next to me. “You bet.”

“No, wait. Don’t. There’s no seat belt.”

He shrugs. “I’ll be fine.” His eyes squint with his reassuring grin. “We’ll be fine.” I feel better with him here. He seems to sense the electric charge in the air and keeps talking, to reassure one of us. “When you’ve spent half your life jumping out of the confines of an airplane, you tend not to be so concerned with whether you’re strapped in at all times.”

I slowly unclench my hands when I realize my nails are digging into my palms. “Why do you love it so much? This place? Skydiving? You’re happier here than anywhere else.”

Nolan chews his lip, gives my question serious consideration. “Some people jump because they’re addicted to the adrenaline, to the high. You’re like that.” His eyes scan my face as if he’s suddenly wondering if that’s still true. Neither of us is sure. “But for me, it’s not about the high. I’ve seen so much in the war and”?—?he casts his gaze downward and rubs his hands over his hair with a sigh?—?“done so much, I’m . . . My default is to be numb. Jumping is the only thing that makes me feel truly alive. Even though I’ve been close to death a few times, risking death now, by choice, makes me appreciate life more.”

“For some people, waking up to another day makes them appreciate life. That’s enough for them.”

He pats my leg. “But not for people like us.”

In all the memories I can access, I can’t remember a time when he has said we were alike.

“I blame myself for the fight we had when you low-pulled. Hell, I blame myself for your stunt. I know my wild child. I denied you a shot to prove yourself, so you set out to do that.” His nostrils flare. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not. I realized something the day you kooked out on acid. I haven’t been very good at, well . . . I think you were looking for my attention. Acting out.”

I heard what you said! You never wanted a girl. You said you weren’t made to father anything but boys!

This recollection hits me full force. How did the ghost know before I did that my father didn’t want me? It’s like the dreams that have plagued me, only with different players. The shrill voice in my head rails at him, but I feel nothing but confusion: scattered memories blow in the wind, and I don’t know which are real. There’s no actual emotion behind the specter’s very emotional words ringing in my ears. My father and I are alike in this way. I’m numb too.

He never wanted me.

“You never wanted me.”

His mouth hangs open like he’s wishing an argument would leap from his tongue and refute what I’ve said, but nothing comes out.

Instead of staring at him, waiting for his reply, I find myself looking out of the glass bubble. It appears as though the earth is reaching up to us, but we’re descending. I close my eyes as we drop, attempting to block out the world and to shut out the girl whose apparition sits in the enclosed space with her head on her knees. She looks so sad. There’s a part of me that wishes he hadn’t shown up right when he did. I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I want her to finish her sentence. I want to know what it is that she wants.

She haunts me, but I have to know what’s haunting her.

If I knew that, could I put her to rest?





Twenty


THE B-17 ROLLS to a stop. When the engines cut, it’s like I’ve never heard silence this loud before. I have, though. I’ve been to a place where there are no sounds and no pictures but the memories in my head. I clung to them like a life raft. The night of the LSD, I was in a place so silent, it hurt.

My father helps me unfasten the clip on my belt, and I follow him out to the door. The stairs are propped against the side of the plane. Dom waits for me.

“We a go?” my dad asks him, to which Dom gives a thumbs-up. Probably another load of jumpers. I can’t decipher this man-speak, but I’m glad to see that my father isn’t blistering mad at Dom anymore. The drop zone is Dom’s life too. He and his brother have practically lived here since their mom died. Their dad, well, he didn’t want his kids either. It’d kill Dom to lose this family.

For the second time, I get a rush of loss like a hot wind that’s blown through me. This was our life, together. Then the air inside me stills.

My dad walks away but looks back at us as he does.

“How’ve you been?” Dom asks.

I bite my lip, force a smile. “Been better.”

“That could be interpreted two ways.”

“Probably should be.”

Dom reaches up, smooths his hand over my newly cropped hair. Bumps of pleasure flare on my skin. “I never thought I’d say this, but you’re even more badass without your hair. Gives you a rougher edge.”