Such a Rush(42)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“Of course there is,” I said. “Both of y’all have been through so much in the past few months.”

Alec sucked in smoke and huffed it out his nose. “Yeah, Dad died and Jake died, but I’m still the same person I was at Christmas. Grayson isn’t. He had to go to counseling for impulse control when we were kids. They taught him to grip his fist really hard to keep himself from doing or saying something he’d regret later. Like this.” He made a fist and squeezed until his hand turned white, just like Grayson did. “Mom and Dad would make him do it at the dinner table when he interrupted the conversation or tried to steal all the rolls. He would never do it unless they made him. And nine years later, have you seen how often he’s doing it?”

He shouted these last words as Grayson parked his plane next to ours. The engine cut off. Grayson jumped down from the cockpit and strode across the tarmac toward us.

“Put that garbage out,” he told Alec, sounding exactly like Mr. Hall. Not his imitation of Mr. Hall, but Mr. Hall himself, annoyance and superiority behind those gruff words.

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Alec’s comment was harsh, but his tone was mild. As he said it, he stubbed out his cigarette on the asphalt and stood. He tossed the butt into the trash can at the corner of the hangar, then walked back to me. “See you on the other side.” We bumped fists, and he jogged toward the yellow Piper without another word to Grayson.

Grayson sat beside me in Alec’s place. “You’re not smoking, are you?” he grumbled.

“Not anymore. Your dad made me quit.”

“Really?” Grayson seemed surprised. “Why?”

Alec started his engine. I waited for him to turn his plane and taxi toward the far end of the runway, engine noise fading, before I explained. “Your dad said it took him thirty years to quit and he was going to save me the trouble. This was back when I was still paying him for lessons. I told him he couldn’t tell me what to do, and he refused to take me up unless I quit.”

Grayson said knowingly, “You could have faked quitting.”

“He would have smelled it,” I said. “My hair is large and aromatic.” For emphasis, I ran one hand through my back-to-normal curls. Grayson wouldn’t have believed my real reason for quitting: I had made a promise to Mr. Hall, and therefore I had kept it.

“Do you ever want one?” Grayson asked.

“No. Sometimes I think I do, and I start one, but it’s been more than three years since I finished one. I didn’t want to sit out here and watch Alec smoke, but… no, I don’t want one.” Something in Grayson’s hungry tone made me ask, “Do you?”

“Yes. I’m like”—he inhaled deeply through his nose—“ahhhh, secondhand smoke.”

“When did you quit?”

“Saturday.”

“God!” I exclaimed. “No wonder you’ve been acting that way.”

Tiny on the opposite end of the runway, Alec took off. Molly lost her hold on a banner and chased it through the grass on a breeze, which was picking up ahead of the approaching storm.

Finally Grayson said, “Alec and I both were smoking more because of the stress, I guess, and it got out of hand. We agreed to quit because thirty years of smoking was part of what killed Dad. Alec’s having a harder time than I am.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “I would think you’d have the harder time.”

“Why?” he asked flatly.

“Alec says there’s something wrong with you. You’ve changed.”

A new engine started up. In front of the airport office, the Admiral was getting ready for his afternoon flight.

Grayson said quietly, “I changed that day I crashed last December. I’d never been scared before. Never. I’ve been scared ever since.” He sounded so uncharacteristically solemn that I turned toward him.

He still didn’t look at me as he continued, “I understand cause and effect now. Life was more fun when I didn’t, but I can’t undo it.”

At the far end of the runway, the Admiral had finished his run-up of the engines. He raced forward and sailed into the air, sweeping toward us and then away, headed for the sun.

“There’s something wrong with Alec, though,” Grayson said. “I’m doing all the brainwork for this business. It’s like him to be worry-free, but it’s not like him to trust me.”

His phone rang in his pocket. He drew it out and glanced at the screen, then answered it. “Hello, this is your favorite son. May I help you?” His imitation of Alec was dead-on, both the words and the teasing tone of his voice.

I didn’t offer to walk away and give Grayson privacy for his phone call with his mom, like I had for Alec. I wanted to hear this.

His tone returned to normal: a pleasant voice. A radio voice, as in a DJ rather than a pilot, not too high or deep, friendly with just a hint of the sarcasm under the surface, waiting.

“Everything is going great,” he said. He didn’t have a cigarette to fidget with like Alec had, but I heard him playing with a rock, tapping it on the hard tar beside him. “No, that hasn’t been a problem, because I planned it out before, remember?” The rock tapped faster as she said things he didn’t want to hear.

Finally he tried to interrupt her. He was imitating Alec again. “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mo-ther. The business is running just as smoothly as when Dad was here.”

I looked at him incredulously before I realized what I was doing.

His eyes darted to mine and away. He reared back and hurled the little rock he’d been tapping. I followed its trajectory across the sunny tarmac. It sailed a long time, bounced on the asphalt, and kept going. I couldn’t see where it went.

“Okay,” he said. “Love you too. Bye.” The instant after he pressed the button to end the call, he turned to me and said angrily, “It is running just as smoothly as when Dad ran it, because when Dad ran it, it didn’t run smoothly at all.”

He probably suspected again that I’d figured out his secret by listening to his conversation with his mom. I hadn’t. All I could hear was how worried he was. About what, I had no idea.

“I didn’t say anything.” I stood to duck inside the hangar and snag a drink before taking my last flight of the afternoon. “By the way, thanks for feeding me today. And yesterday.” I paused. “And Sunday night.”

He shrugged. “I’m just doing what Dad would have done.”