Mirage(45)

There is total silence. I’m not sure if anyone’s ever seen him this enraged. Though, if I reach back in memory, I have. It’s terrifying. Nolan holds up his hands in a cocky gesture that makes me wonder if he’s drunk right now. Does he really want to fight? “No one?” he challenges. “That’s what I thought.”

But then the doors to the bus swing open. Everyone’s eyes widen in wary surprise as Paco climbs out of the driver’s seat, salutes my dad with his middle finger, and hobbles in his ankle brace out the open doors and down the highway in the pouring rain. We’ve lost one of our best jump-masters, our best cameraman, and our driver.

Worse, seeing my dad’s right-hand man abandon him has made everyone on this bus lose their confidence in Nolan Sharpe.

I stand, and my father pushes me back into my seat.

“Hey!” Dom yells. “Unacceptable, man.”

I stand again, and my father glares with an unmasked warning. I brush past him and climb into the driver’s seat of the bus, close the door, and pull away. Incredibly, no one stops me. They may doubt my sanity, but they don’t doubt that I’m probably the only person who’s driven this bus more than anyone else besides Paco, my father, and maybe Dom. I need to get the wheels rolling to a familiar place before we veer off into somewhere that’s so far gone that we can’t recover from it.

I may not be clear about a lot of things, but I’m clear that my father is teetering on his own edge and my family is on the verge of losing everything.

No one speaks for the rest of the drive. I think the worst of it is over, but when we arrive back at the skydive center, Yvon gravely informs my dad that there is major damage to the plane. It will take thousands of dollars and time that we don’t have. The big-way is in one week.

Defeat is written all over my father’s face as he shuts himself in his office with a bottle of Jack.





Twenty-Four


“TAKE ME FOR A DRIVE,” Gran demands.

She’s leaning a bit too heavily on the back of a kitchen chair, and I’m edgy that it’s going to tip over and spill her on the floor with it. I’m slanting off my seat, ready to jump for her. My mother rolls her eyes and swipes her brow with a flour-covered hand. She’s baking: a sure sign of discord.

Despite the clear skies outside, the house has a gloomy, stormy feel. My father hasn’t emerged from the bedroom since a group of jumpers deposited him here last night, reeking of whiskey and piss and cursing about how screwed up everything is: his life, his business, his rotten friend Paco, and me.

I made the list.

My stomach has been in knots since I heard him. I know that’s the moment I couldn’t fall back asleep. I had to lie there with a tangled stomach and listen to them fight.



“She jumped today, Ayida. Did you know that? Snuck her stupid, crazy ass on the plane and jumped! I can command an entire unit of troops but not my own daughter.”

“Commanding never worked for her. You know that. She needs you. You can’t hide behind the DZ. We are losing our daughter. She’s been trying to get your approval her whole life. Does she have to die to do it? And if that happens, do you think that business is going to be enough to keep you from going over the edge?”

“I haven’t been to the edge in years.”

“You’re drinking again. Every drink you have is another step closer. Why don’t you get in command of yourself before you think you can command Ryan or anybody else for that matter?”

“Out, bitch!”





“Now, Mama,” Ayida says, mixing mashed bananas into a bowl, “you haven’t been feeling well at all and?—”

“Did you not just call me Mama?” Gran’s voice rattles in her island accent. “Don’t talk to me like I’m the child here. I want to go to the mountains, to that lake we used to visit, and I’m going to go if I have to find a way to get there myself.”

“This is sounding a lot like hitchhiking for pancakes,” I mutter.

“Snitch!” Gran hollers at me.

“There is so much going on.” My mom sighs, but Gran interrupts again.

“Life is going on, child. And for some of you, it’s going to keep on going on, God willing. This world don’t give a hot hoot how you spend your day. I don’t think the Maker cares either, as long as you spend it with gratitude. Every problem you’re baking bad bread about will still be here when we get back.”

Gran inhales a long, careful breath like she’s trying to net a butterfly and hold it to her chest. “Make an old lady happy,” she entreats. “I want to go for a drive in the sunshine. I want to roll the windows down and let my gray hair fly in the breeze and listen to the music of the world humming by.”

My mother and I look at each other in defeat. I mean, how do you say no to that?

Within the hour we are packed into the sedan with a cooler of drinks and foul-tasting baked goods. My father is noticeably absent, apparently feeling too much like he’s on a winding road just lying in his bed. I don’t want him here anyway.

Another hefty sigh escapes my mom, but from the back seat Gran smiles with satisfaction as we head off. As promised, she made me pull the silver pins from her hair so she could wear it loose around her shoulders. The result gives her a strangely girlish look, but that could also be from the unabashed glee of getting her way.