K. Weiland - Storming

Campbell sucked his teeth. “I reckon. But you keep an eye on the sky.” He reached to shift the car’s gear. “Time for me to go enjoy the show. I’ll let you know when the next job is.” He pulled away.

No way there’d be a next job. Hitch hung his hands on his hips. He’d more than fulfilled any debt he had to Campbell. He’d fly out of here without looking back before he’d do another deal.

But the nape of his neck still crawled. Campbell had a way of twisting even straightforward situations until he got what he wanted. The sooner Hitch was out of here, the better.

He turned and scanned the crowd.

At the corner of the bleachers, Griff stood, watching him.

The skin on Hitch’s neck crawled harder. He dropped his hands from his hips. No doubt Griff would jump to the worst conclusion possible, seeing him talking to Campbell—especially after Hitch had warned Griff off himself. But maybe, after all, the worst conclusion wasn’t so far from the truth.

How had things gotten this snarled up? He stared at his brother and rubbed a hand through his hair.

A white-haired lady hobbled up to the bleachers, hauling a picnic basket about half as big as she was. Griff turned away from Hitch to tip his hat and take the basket for her.

Before the day was out, Hitch would track Griff down, make him understand for good and all. After that, it was Griff’s business whether he forgave him or not.

“Hitch!”

He looked around.

Nan strode toward him, cheeks streaked with red. Her straw cloche was mashed low on her head, her black purse slung inside her elbow. Aurelia, Molly, and two little girls who looked like twins trailed twenty feet behind.

“Where’s Walter?” she demanded.

He hooked a thumb. “Over with Jael, last I saw. I’m glad you let him come. This sort of thing means a lot to a kid like him.”

“I didn’t let him come. It’s the last thing I wanted. You and that dog of yours.” Her breath was shuddery. “He was supposed to let it jump out of the automobile.”

“I told him to send the dog over with Jael this morning.”

She crossed her arms. “Jael didn’t come home last night.”

“Yeah, we ran into some trouble—”

“I don’t want Walter out here, Hitch.” Her eyes bored into his, demanding but also somehow pleading. “How can I make that any more clear?”

He strained air through his teeth, fighting for patience. “Look, I do understand where you’re coming from. But if you don’t want him out here, then you make him stay at home. You keep acting like I’m going to push him into a propeller or something. I like the kid. He’s smart, he loves the planes. I’m not going to kick him like a stray dog whenever he comes around. He reminds me too much of me at that age.”

She went pale, all except for the hot slash up either cheekbone. “Hitch, you listen to me—”

“No, just listen to me this time.” He closed the distance between them and lowered his voice. “This isn’t about Walter, it’s about me. I know that. If it was any other pilot out here, you wouldn’t care a bit.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“All right, maybe you would, but only because you’re set against the whole breed just ’cause I’m one of them. But the point is, why ? Why can’t he hang around for a couple days? After that, I’ll be gone.” He hesitated. “Nan, I’m asking you to forgive me.”

The corner of her mouth trembled. “I thought I had forgiven you. But… then you came back.” She squared her shoulders and stepped away. “Even if I could forgive you, I still wouldn’t let him near you.” She shifted her gaze past his shoulder and raised her voice. “Walter, come here.”

The boy hesitated, glancing at Jael as if for guidance.

“Now,” Nan said.

He shambled over, Taos trotting after.

She took his hand. “It’s time to go.”

Walter’s shoulders drooped, but he followed, footsteps dragging.

He was a good kid. And maybe Nan was right. Maybe Hitch was corrupting him. Before the airshow’s arrival this week, Walter would probably have never even thought about disobeying her. A shiny red Jenny was an awful big temptation to put in front of any boy, especially one as lonely as that.

Nan should let him stay for the show. She should swallow her loathing of Hitch and give Walter at least that much.

But at the end of the day, it wasn’t Hitch’s decision to make. It was Nan’s. She was the one with a husband and a family. She was the one with both feet on the ground. She was the boy’s mother, even if she wasn’t doing an all-fired perfect job of it.

Hitch slapped his leg, calling Taos back from chasing after them.

The dog hesitated, looking between him and the boy, then ran back obediently.

Walter cast a forlorn glance over his shoulder.

There had to be a way to make this all right. Hitch waved at the boy. Had to be. A little luck, a little skill—that could make anything right.

In the open field, Livingstone’s band—consisting of a snare drum and a trumpet—struck up a circus march. Half a dozen plane engines roared to life, and the prop wash blew over Hitch, flapping his leather jacket and ruffling his hair.

“ Ladies and gen-tle-men !” Livingstone bellowed through his megaphone. “Col. Bonney Livingstone and His Extravagant Flying Circus welcome you to the ex- trav -a-ganza of your lives!”

Hitch’s blood started pumping. He took a deep breath and turned away from Walter and Nan. First things first: he had to win this competition.

He jogged back to the Jenny.

Earl gave the engine one more wipe with his rag. “You ready?”

“I’m ready. Let’s push her over to the start line.” He ducked to check the steel hook underneath the lower wing.

The first competition of the day would be the handkerchief pick-up. His heart pumped harder, and his thoughts started to clear, like always.

He looked around for Jael. By Livingstone’s rules, if a crew had a performer, he or she had to be in the plane at all times, even if the event didn’t require anything but flying.

She stood behind the wing, eyes on the red-white-and-blue planes taking off. She bent over and rubbed both thighs, like she was trying to warm them up.

“She’s limping again,” Earl muttered.

“What’s this?” Hitch called to her: “You all right?”

She turned and nodded, mouth tight.

“You hurting again? I thought you were past all that.”

“It is nothing.”

“Nothing, my foot,” Earl said. “You should stay on the ground, and we all know it.”

She looked at Hitch steadily. “I will not stay on ground.”

He looked back at her, trying to gauge how fit she was. “If you fall off and break your neck, I won’t be none too happy.”

She smiled, tightly. “There is no worry. I will go whether you say I can or not.”

Earl turned around so she couldn’t see his face. “Not if we tie her up, I reckon.”

Just the thought of that made Hitch’s shins throb. “If she wants to come, she can come. It’s her call.” When it came right down to it, she hadn’t made a bad one yet. He nodded to her. “Let’s go.”

After a few events, it started to feel like maybe Hitch was the one Earl should have tied up and left behind.

They barely squeaked by in the pants race—where the contestants had to land the plane, jump out to struggle into a pair of oversize trousers, then jump back in and fly across the finish line.

They came in a poor third in the handkerchief pickup. It took Hitch two tries to swoop low across the ground and use the hook attached beneath the wing to snag the bright white handkerchief from off its pile of tumbleweeds. The only consolation was that Rick didn’t even attempt the stunt—which seemed like quite the poor showing, considering this was the trick he swore up and down he invented.