On the Loose (42 page)

“It was an unforgettable experience,” I finally say.

“And now you’re back for a visit?”

“Yes.” I leave it at that, clutching my arm rest as we hit a few bumps of turbulence. “And you? What’s bringing you back?”

He lifts his drink and absently swirls it, studies the dark contents. “I want to check on my dad. Spend some time with him.”

“I thought he was in remission.” My mom had told me last year when Charlie’s dad had been diagnosed with liver cancer. The whole In Between community had rallied around the bank president with prayers, well-wishes, and many a foil-covered casserole.

“He is. And things are looking good.” Charlie looks past me and out the window over my shoulder. “My company gave me some time to come home and be with my family, so I took it.”

I want to ask more, but one turn of mercy deserves another, and I let it drop. God knows I don’t want to talk about what’s really dragging me back to In Between, and given the set in Charlie’s jaw, this topic is not a welcome one.

“You dated that Tate guy for a few years,” Charlie says. “What happened to that?”

The plane makes a sharp jerk to the right, and I slap my hand on Charlie’s. I frantically look around, but neither of the flight attendants seem concerned. The person across from us reads a
People
, while the couple a row ahead amiably chats.

“Um. . .”
It’s okay. We just hit an air pocket. Calm down.
“Tate, yeah. He’s now a missionary in Uganda. We’re still friends.” High School Love Number Two and I had simply moved in different directions.

Lightning cracks outside, and I jump as it feels close enough to touch us. Charlie’s fingers slid back and forth over mine. “We’re fine,” he said as the plane dipped, sending my stomach to my feet. “Just a storm.”

And just how many more of those did I have to endure?

I look at my hand captured in his, and I knew Charlie was just being nice. That’s just who he was. But the rhythmic strokes of his fingers calmed my frayed nerves as nothing else had on this voyage home.

The plane began to shake and rattle like the busted glove compartment on my old Toyota. Only I couldn’t turn up the radio, sing my car solos, and drown out the noisy vibrations.

“Why do you think we didn’t work out?” I ask.

Charlie doesn’t startle. Merely lifts a dark brow as he inclines his head closer to mine. “Where did that come from?”

“Was it me?”

“I—”

“Is there something about me that pushes guys away? That asks to be dumped?”

His hand on mine stills just as a flight attendant gives a staticky report. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the seat belt sign. We’re hitting a brief patch of turbulence with this storm, but we’ll be out of it in no time. Food and beverage services will be resumed as soon as we get the all clear.”

“That can’t be good, right?” I sit up as straight as my seatbelt will let me, frantically taking in every detail around me—the location of the flight attendants, the body language of fellow passengers, the reassuring presence of the wings that still seem to be blessedly attached.

Charlie pours more drink into my icy cup. He’s probably regretting sitting by me. He probably wishes I’d drink my diet soda and happily pass out in a carbonated coma, so he could go back to his own seat and read his
Wall Street Journal
or whatever it is a calm, brainiac would read.

I need medication.

“Here, eat some of these.” Charlie reaches into the leather bag at his feet and pulls out a box of M&Ms.

I snatch them out of his grip and down a handful. I chew vigorously, savoring the sugar and chocolate on my tongue. What if this is the last time I taste such heaven?

The plane, deciding the shaking was just its opening act, brings on the full-on quaking, jumping up and down like a Pentecostal with the Holy Ghost. My butt gains some air, and I turn my frightened gaze to Charlie. “What’s happening?”

“Turbulence.” He lifts a shoulder in such a lazy fashion, you’d think he didn’t notice the way his hair bounced on his head from the aeronautical shenanigans. “You were asking me why we didn’t work out.”

“I was?”

His smile is soft, slow. “Why do you think we didn’t make it?”

I tighten my seatbelt, trying not to wonder at the age of it. “Because you had your eye on some blonde Barbie who I could never compete with.”

“That’s not true.”

“That you didn’t have your eye on Chelsea Blake?”

He has the decency to look guilty. “That you couldn’t compare. You were prettier and smarter than her any day.”

Men in shimmy-shaky planes will say anything. “But you dumped me to go after her.”

“I believe it was a mutual break-up.”

“Because I knew what was coming.”

“It was you I took to the senior prom.” He squeezes the hand he’s still holding and gives me a look that zings right to my weary core. “And you and I spent most of the night camping with on a blanket under the stars.”

“At the lake.” He’d built me a fire, made a pallet on the rocky ground, tucked me into the crook of his arm, and pointed out every constellation he could find in that April sky while I rested my head on his chest and listened to the crickets and the cadence of his heart.

Then we graduated. And Charlie Benson, of the lingering kisses and spell-binding astronomy, had moved away.

Rain and wind battle outside my window, and I utter a quick litany of prayers. Prayers that beg for calm skies and fifty more years of life.

“Guys don’t stick around though,” I say, watching a bolt of lightning slash the sky. “Eventually they find someone else, something better.”

He leans close. “Is that what you really think? That you weren’t good enough?”

“It’s hard to argue with history.” I hold up a hand to stop him from interrupting. “I’m not trying to be pitiful. I just want to get to the bottom of it. I’m tired of making mistakes, wasting my time.” Being tossed out, left behind.

The plane takes a leap north then dips back down. My breaths catches in my throat. “I want off this thing,” I say. “I want off this thing right now.”

“Please put your seats in the upright position,” announces the flight attendant. “Return your tray to its proper place.”

The pilot takes his turn next, giving instructions and saying God knows what (probably Last Rites). But I can’t hear a thing for the rising noise around me. An overhead bin to our left flies open and a bag torpedoes into a grandma and her knitting needles. Somewhere up front a baby wails. Nervous chatter gathers like tornado winds.

“What’s the pilot saying?” My heart beats a crazed staccato, and I want to both cry and laugh at the insanity of it all.

“He said to stay calm that we’d be out of this storm soon.” Charlie takes quick stock of the situation around us, then turns his attention back to me. “You were telling me why you broke my heart our senior year.”

“I did not.”

I expect him to smile, to follow up with a joke.

But Charlie says nothing.

He captures my other hand, prying my fingers off the arm rest, then pulls me closer, resting his forehead on mine. “I don’t think you remember the events of those last few months accurately.”

I swallow then lick my trembling lips. “You left.” Just like they all do.

“I cared about you.”

“You had a funny way of showing it.”

“Katie, I—”

His words die as light and fury explode around us.

The flash of lightning.

Screaming.

Fire.

Falling.

Plummeting.

Spinning.

Screaming.

My world goes dark as Charlie throws his body over mine. “We’ve been hit,” he yells in my ear. “Hang on. Just hang on to me.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t drag in enough breath.

Please God, save us.

I utter the plea silently.

Aloud.

“Charlie?”

“I’m right here. I’m not letting you go.”

His arms encircle me and hold my tight. He mumbles words of assurance, broken prayers, and other utterances the terror swallows whole.

“Charlie?” I shove off his hands, his body. “Charlie!” With all my strength I push him away, only to grab his face, his stubbly cheeks in the palms of my hands.

He finally lifts his head, his eyes wide, unfocused.

“I love you, Charlie.” I pull his face to mine, blocking out the shrieks around us and the spin and tilt of death. “Do you hear me? I never stopped loving you.”

“Katie, I—”

Then I press my mouth to his, holding Charlie Benson to me, knowing these lips will soon draw their last breath.

And I don’t want to waste these minutes, seconds.

Then Charlie Benson’s kissing me back. His lips cover mine. His hands cradle my head.

The world spins.

The plane falls.

And I just hold on.

“I’ve got you,” I hear him say again. “I’m not letting you go.”

And after all these years, I believe him.

Just when it’s too late.

Four-time Carol award-winning author Jenny B. Jones writes romance with equal parts wit, sass, and Southern charm. Since she has very little free time, she believes in spending her spare hours in meaningful, intellectual pursuits, such as watching bad TV, Tweeting deep thoughts to the world, and writing her name in the dust on her furniture. She is the author of romantic comedies for women such as RITA finalist
Save the Date,
as well as books for teens, like her
A Charmed Life
series. You can find her at
www.JennyBJones.com
or standing in the Ben and Jerry’s cooler.