mouth. The texture was perfect, crunchy and thick with maple butter, but the taste was too sweet. John could barely get the bite down without feeling sick. When he went to the sink for water, he noticed a phone standing on a table by the window. He headed over and picked up.
A girl’s voice came on the line. “Operator.”
“Which operator?”
The girl paused. “Fourteen?” she said.
“No. What’s your name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I was just trying to be friendly. I thought you might be tired of being treated like a nobody all day. Operator this, operator that, connect me to wherever. Forget it, though.”
The line was silent.
“My name’s Patricia,” said the girl.
“Patricia. That’s beautiful. See? Now I’m picturing a beautiful girl, sitting at a switchboard somewhere, pretty brown hair—”
“Blond.”
“Pretty blond hair. Big green eyes.”
“You sure lay it on thick.”
“Is it working?”
“Keep going a minute and I’ll tell you.”
But then there was a rustling on the line. John heard a man talking in the background, and when Patricia came back on, her voice was flat.
“Connection?” she said.
John gave her the number.
The phone rang eight times before Rollie picked up.
“Hello?” he said, sounding hoarse and sleepy.
“Guess,” said John.
“Who is this?”
“It’s John. Your son.”
“John? What time is it?”
“It’s only eleven o’clock. Snap out of it and guess.”
Rollie coughed. “I don’t know. Missouri.”
“South.”
“Kansas.”
“Kansas is west. I’m in Oklahoma. It’s beautiful. I’m calling to tell you to tell Dale Morton to go fuck himself.”
“Tell who what?”
“Tell Dale Morton not to keep a job for me at Sweet Fizz. I’m not coming back.”
“I’ll tell him, if you want, John. But let’s talk about this some other time, okay? It’s too late for me right now.”
“Too late,” John said. “Right.”
“Be careful,” said Rollie. Then the line rattled and went dead.
John replaced the receiver. He considered heading to bed, but decided instead to go out to the barn and check on the plane.
Most farmers didn’t like John parking the Jenny inside their barns; the engine dripped oil, the tires left tracks. At best they allowed him to station the Jenny beside or behind their barns, to afford at least a bit of shelter from the elements. But the Calbraith brothers had insisted John use their barn to house the plane. They’d even cleared out some of the pecan barrels to make extra room.
John took the lantern down and slid open the barn door. As he stepped inside, the odor of the plane hit him: a rich mixture of petrol, doping varnish, and old leather. The scent warmed him, and he felt a sudden, deep affection for his Jenny. How beautiful she looked too, standing beneath the rafters at the back of the barn, her linen wings shining pale gold in the lantern light. John thought back to the very first time she’d taken him up, during his orientation at Fort Hawley: how frightened he’d been, clutching the cockpit rim, teeth clenched, as his flight instructor lifted off. He’d experienced a kind of primal, childlike terror, watching the Texas grassland fall away beneath the wheels. But then a transformation had occurred, and his terror had changed to pounding exhilaration, and, finally, delight. Because now, for the first time in his life, he felt entirely apart. He could see the horizon in all directions: see it as it was, a brilliant white ring encircling the world. A string had been broken—that was the sensation—and John could feel himself drifting higher, released.
“You cutting out on me?” said Helen.
John turned to find her standing in the doorway. “No,” he said. “Just partied out.”
Helen slid the barn door closed. “And here I thought you were Mr. Party,” she said. “There were at least a couple of telephone ladies at the pub, you know.”
“Ha-ha.”
She walked over to him, kicking a stray pecan ahead of her. “Someone’s in a bad mood.”
“I’m not in a bad mood. I just don’t like surprises. That’s all.”
“So,” Helen said, resting a hand on the propeller blade, “what was the surprise?”
John squinted at her, confused.
“Was it all the money we made?” she said. “The people taking us out afterward? What?”
“The wing-walking, Helen. You shouldn’t have gone out on the wing without talking to me about it first.”
“The wing-walking,” she said, nodding. “You’re right. That wasn’t polite of me.”
“Polite? You could have fallen off and gotten killed.”
“True,” she said. “But that’d be my problem, wouldn’t it? I mean, you could just go on barnstorming. Get yourself a new girl. A new Mrs. Barron.”
John pushed past her, heading for the door. “We’re a team. You should have talked to me. That’s why I’m angry.”
“Wait,” Helen said.
John yanked the door back.
“John!”
He stopped, the door open before him. “What?”
“No more surprises after today,” Helen said. “I promise. I’ll ask you first about everything.”
“Fine. Done. I’m going to bed.”
“Not yet,” Helen said.
“Helen…”
“I want to ask you something.”
John sighed and leaned against the door frame.
“Do you think I’m a coward?” Helen spun the propeller blade.
“What are you talking about?”
“A coward,” she said. “Do you think I’m a coward?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Well,” Helen said, spinning the blade again, harder this time, “I am.”
John walked over to her. “You’re not a coward, Helen.”
Helen nodded and continued smacking the propeller through its rotation. With each slap the blade twirled faster, until John caught it.
“You walked out on the wing of a plane today. I think that qualifies as brave.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes. It does.” He bent his knees, trying to look her in the eye, but she wouldn’t let him. “Helen, you’re the bravest person I know.”
“Don’t say that!” Her voice echoed through the dark barn. She tried to push him away, but he caught her wrists. “Listen to me. I’m telling you,” she said, struggling against him. “I’m telling you…”
John pulled her to him and kissed her. He could taste salt on her lips, and beneath that, the warm sweetness
