The Game of Love and Death(84)

“Everything,” Henry said. He walked toward the French doors. Mr. Thorne rose, still holding his hat. When Henry noted the man’s pallor, his heart lurched. He opened the door, knowing terrible news awaited.

“What is it?” he said. “What’s happened? It’s not Annabel, is it? She didn’t fall off her bicycle —”

“It’s Helen,” he said. “Something terrible has happened. It seems we’ve all been fooled, and I thought it only right to warn you.”





THE telephone rang as Flora was getting ready to leave. She’d dressed in something she rarely wore: a daring red dress with black buttons up its back. Too fancy for most days, not quite fancy enough for a performance, but perfect for a life-changing day like today. She had her sponsor. She’d make her flight. Her dream was coming true. She didn’t feel quite the way she’d thought she would, but maybe a bit of tarnish was the price of reality.

The ringing continued. Strange. She could not imagine who might be calling her so early in the morning. Or at all, really. She considered answering it, but she had an appointment with Helen. That, and no desire to talk with anyone. No desire for any human connection at all.

Even as she knew that hunger for solitude was how Death had shaped her heart, she didn’t see a need to change it. Ironically, it had served her well. Just as no one could hurt her if she did not form attachments, keeping to herself also meant she would not hurt anyone else, most especially Henry. The expression on his face when she turned him away was one she never wanted to see again, on anyone, as long as she lived.

She slung his coat over her arm and walked to the door. Her plan was to get to the airstrip at least two hours early to make sure the plane — and her nerves — were in fine shape. After their flight together, Helen could return Henry’s coat. She tried to ignore the pang that image gave her.

Helen. She shuddered a bit to think of the girl. She appreciated what Helen had to offer her: a way out. Flora was to stay away from Henry, and Helen would fund her trip. In return, Henry would be loved. It made perfect sense. But it didn’t mean Helen was someone she wanted to be around. The last time they’d been together, Flora had suffered that awful vision of her parents’ death. She wasn’t worried such a thing would happen again, as it had happened neither before nor since. But in the same way that certain scents evoke memories, the prospect of seeing Helen again, of being dependent on her in an even greater way, put Flora on edge.

The ringing continued. Flora locked the door behind her and walked down the steps to the street, and soon she was too far away to hear or care.



At least it was a beautiful day for a flight. Pale blue sky. No wind. Not a cloud to be seen, so no chance of thunderstorms, and it was the wrong time of year for ice. She couldn’t have asked for better conditions.

She sat in the cockpit of the new plane, polishing the wood until it glowed. Helen wasn’t due for another hour yet, and Flora had already checked everything she could off her list. Frustrating. She put her hands on the yoke and looked around, making sure everything was tidy. Something glinted underfoot. Flora bent to pick it up. A penny, and it was faceup. Lucky.

“I’m rich,” she said, to no one in particular. If only.

What would it be like to live as Helen did, to pull thousands of dollars out of a bottomless trust fund at a moment’s notice? To wear a dress only once before discarding it? To be considered a fair match for someone like —

Flora crushed the thought before it bloomed. She closed her hand around the penny. Flipped it in the air. Heads, she got a wish. Tails, she didn’t. The coin crested its arc. She snatched it, holding it a moment in her closed fist.

What did she want?

She glanced at the sky, knowing that she was supposed to want the freedom of that blue beyond. Knowing that she wasn’t so certain of that anymore. Knowing, in fact, that she wanted something else. Someone else.

What if it were Henry she was meeting? What if she could show him what it was like to own the sky? From above, one couldn’t see the mess of life. Not the chipped paint on the houses. Not the cracks in the sidewalk. No signs of imperfection or decay. Everything was clean lines and vivid colors. What’s more, the engine was too loud for idle conversation or even for much thought. The focus that flight required consumed her. It felt safe. And yet she wanted to share it, at least with him. As he had showed her that love was nothing to fear, she could show him the embrace of the beyond.

She wished on the penny until it felt warm, and then she opened her hand. Heads. She’d won. The ridiculousness of it made her laugh out loud. She dropped the penny into the pocket of her dress and decided to turn the props and check for oil. She’d have to do it once more before takeoff, but at least it would keep her hands busy.

Her boots had just touched ground when she heard his voice. Not wanting to believe it, Flora slowly turned around. And there he was, wearing the same clothes he’d been in the night before.

“Back for your jacket?” she said. “I have it with me. I was going to give it to Helen.”

“My jacket?” He looked momentarily puzzled. And then: “Oh, of course. Very kind of you.”

Something seemed strange about him, strange and formal, but she wasn’t surprised, given how things had ended.

He stepped closer, and a lock of hair slid down his forehead. He didn’t push it away. He looked as though he hadn’t slept well. She knew the feeling.