Falling(46)

George tilted his head. “Okay…”

Dusty adjusted his hat, shifting his weight foot to foot. “It’s wild, man. The captain’s using his hand mic to tap out Morse code.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


BILL WAS AS RUSTY AT listening and transcribing morse as he had been transmitting it earlier in the flight when no one seemed to be listening. His old knowledge was coming back quickly, but he could feel sweat lining his palms in the intense focus. Morse was hard enough to do on its own—never mind having to do it in secret while juggling another conversation.

The average pilot doesn’t know Morse code. Some of the military old-timers might. But for the most part, the language was dead. That was true now, and it was true thirty years ago when Bill had made the same argument to his first flight instructor. But the World War II vet wouldn’t hear it. He didn’t care that Bill found Morse to be difficult, tedious, and a complete waste of time. It was one more tool for the toolbox. He said Bill would learn real quick that things could get real ugly, real fast. And when they did—which they would—Bill would want his toolbox to be as full as it could get.

Bill had never been so glad to be so wrong.

From the other side of the screen, Carrie watched him intently. This deep into their lives, Bill honestly believed she knew him better than he knew himself. By the look on her face, she knew his mind was elsewhere. He wished he could tell her where.

Hold on, baby. I’m going to figure this out.

Sam checked his phone. “We’re getting awfully close to decision time. I’m going to need your choice, Bill.”

Bill’s heart leapt into his throat. He shifted in his seat, stammering in his attempt to stall.

Sam cut him off. “C’mon, Bill. What’ll it be?” His tone was mocking. Out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw the gun extend closer to his head.

“Please,” a voice said. “Take me. Just me.”

The boy’s quiet voice had a purity that shattered Bill’s heart.

Scott’s bottom lip trembled. His plea was not the bargain of a mature man knowingly accepting the burden of his fate. It was the cry of a little boy forced from innocence, but left without the tools for understanding. A child merely mimicking what he saw the hero in the movies do. What he figured his dad would do.



* * *



The toy train looped around again, Scott’s eyes widening with delight as its tiny engine, chugging and puffing, passed them. Disappearing into the papier-maché tunnel, it popped out a few feet away near the area where the plastic horses grazed. The boy’s hands pressed against the barrier, his breath fogging the glass.

Bill looked at his watch. Forty-five minutes and not a word. He turned at the sight of a group of nurses walking by with their paper coffee cups.

The unplanned pregnancy had brought Bill and Carrie a world of shock. Their stunned reaction gave way to excitement—but the medical and statistical realities of a woman pregnant at forty-two years old had hung ominously over the last nine months. Bill checked his phone again for word from the doctor. Still nothing.

“Do you think she’ll like trains?” Scott asked.

Bill smiled. “I bet she will. You can teach her all about them.”

Scott’s eyes never left the circling toy. “Where’s she going to sleep?”

Bill considered. “Well, she’ll sleep in the nursery. That’s her room.” Bill had painted the room light yellow just the weekend before. He had asked Scott if he wanted to help, but Scott declined without much of an explanation. Bill didn’t push it.

“You mean my old play room.”

Bill hesitated. “Yes… your old play room. But now you can play in the living room. And when she’s old enough, you can play together.”

Scott muttered something under his breath. Bill was going to let it slide, but then he noticed the young boy was trying not to cry. He knelt down, eye level.

“Do you think she’ll like baseball?” Scott whispered. A tear slid down his cheek.

“I don’t know, bud,” Bill said. “We’ll have to wait and find out. Do you think she’ll like baseball?”

Scott shook his head.

“Okay,” Bill said. He was barely able to discern Scott’s whisper.

“We like baseball.”

Ah. There it was. Now Bill understood.

A decade ago, Carrie had handed him a positive pregnancy test. In that moment he felt what he knew Scott was now experiencing. Bill wasn’t ready to become a dad. They had only been married a year. They were going to travel, stay up late, sleep in without setting an alarm. Drink wine whenever they wanted. Carrie was finishing grad school. They lived in a crappy one-bedroom in a crappy part of LA. He wasn’t anywhere close to paying off his flight school loans.

But most of all—selfishly—he wasn’t done being the center of Carrie’s world. He had found the love of his life and he wanted her to himself. He wanted to be the only one she loved. He hated himself in that moment as he stared at the pregnancy test because his first thought was one of resentment. And now, all those years later, Bill knew Scott was feeling that resentment. Scott wanted to be the center of his parents’ world, he wanted Mom and Dad all to himself. He wanted to be the only one they loved.

Bill’s phone buzzed with a text.