The Last Pilot: A Novel (34 page)

Pancho gave him Saturdays off. He usually slept late, ran errands, read in his room. His window looked out over the front of the house. The room was small, with barely enough room for a single bed, which he’d wedged horizontally against the window to give him more space. Next to it was a small bedside table with a lamp, pack of Lucky Strikes, matches, two paperbacks and a stick of Beemans. On the far side of the room, behind the door, was a thin wardrobe and an old chair.

He’d spent the morning with Pancho in Lancaster, meeting an accountant he’d finally persuaded her to hire. Harrison didn’t like town much. It was busier than it used to be, and he was afraid he’d run into Grace.

They got back to Pancho’s at noon. He found some bread, a little cheese, some potatoes and beans in the kitchen and took them up to his room with a glass of water. He sat on his bed and ate. When he was done, he drank a little water and put the glass down on the bedside table and the empty plate on the floor. Then he lit a cigarette and looked out the window. The bed creaked beneath him. He finished the cigarette and picked up the paperback he was reading,
The Deep Blue Good-By.
A few minutes later, Pancho rapped on his door.

Visitor, she said.

He sat up. Reverend Irving poked his head in.

Hello, Jim, he said. Hope I’m not disturbing?

Not at all! Harrison said, laying the book pages-down on his bed. Please, come in, have a seat. Excuse the mess.

Oh, said Irving, pulling up the chair, looks fine to me.

It’s good to see you, Reverend, Harrison said. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?

I’m fine, I’m fine, thank you, though. I just wanted to see how you were doing.

Appreciate that, Reverend.

Call me John.

Appreciate that, John.

So how are you?

I’m okay, he said, I’m okay.

Pancho told me everything. You’ve been through a lot.

Would you like a smoke, John? Harrison said.

Ah, thanks.

Harrison offered him the pack, and some matches.

Thank you, Irving said.

Harrison lit one too. The men sat in silence for a moment.

Anytime you want to talk, about anything, Irving said, just give me a call, or swing by the church.

That’s very kind of you, John, thank you. I’m doin okay, though, really. Getting there.

Oh, and our service on Sundays is at eight. Come along, anytime; we could use a man like you.

Not sure I’m good for much anymore, Harrison said.

I think God would disagree, Irving said.

That so, Harrison said. Must have missed the memo.

You know, Irving said, looking at his hands. I’ve been seeing a fair bit of Grace this last year or so.

You mind if I have another? Harrison said, glancing at the Lucky Strikes.

Not at all, Irving said.

Harrison picked up the pack and tapped it on the bedside table and jerked his hand so a cigarette poked out of the torn corner. He raised the pack and put the cigarette between his teeth. Then he picked up the matches and struck one and held the flame against the tip of the cigarette and took the first few drags and looked at Irving and said, how is she?

She’s doing well, Jim; she’s good. She’s been part of church life now for a couple of years. It’s such a blessing. She’s been doing amazing work with the children.

She’s joined your church?

She gave her life to Christ and He’s been doing wonderful things.

Is she happy? he said.

She is.

I’m glad to hear that.

Yes.

You together?

Oh, no, Jim; that’s not what I meant. I’m not involved with her in that way.

Okay, he said. Does she—forget it.

Go on.

Nah. Don’t worry about it.

Sure?

Yeah. Thanks for stopping by.

It’s good to see you doing so well, Jim, Irving said, rising from the chair. No need to get up; I’ll see myself out.

Harrison nodded. His throat was dry.

Take care, John, he said, reaching for a stick of Beemans. He wasn’t looking, and his hand knocked over the glass which fell to the floor and smashed.

Shit! Harrison said. Sorry—

It’s fine! Irving said, brushing glass from his shoes. Honestly. No harm done.

He looked up at Harrison and said, it wasn’t your fault.

Harrison’s conscience reverberated. He was momentarily stunned.

What did you just say? Harrison said.

Irving moved his chair back beside the wardrobe and said, no harm done, really; it’s fine.

No, Harrison said, after that.

Oh, Irving said, thinking. It’s not your fault.

Harrison stared at him, then began to cry.

A few months later, Walker augered in doing a public relations stunt for General Electric. His F-104 Starfighter collided midair with an XB-70 Valkyrie bomber; an evil, delta-winged beast with a horrendous wake vortex off its wingtips. Not long after the funeral, Grace ran into Jim at the hardware store. They shared an awkward hello and embraced briefly.

Nails, she said. I need nails.

Well, you’ve come to the right place, he said.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

How have you been? she said. You look healthy.

Good, he said. Thanks. Apart from—

Yeah, she said. Me too. I’m seeing Grace and the kids tomorrow, actually. I still—I can’t—I mean, when something hangs over you for so long …

Yeah, he said. Yeah.

Thought I might’ve seen you at the funeral.

I was there.

Oh.

Harrison didn’t say anything. He looked away.

Did you go to the other one? she said.

He shook his head. Been to enough of those over the years, he said.

Too many, she said.

Goddamn corporate bullshit … he should’ve never been up there. He’s NASA’s chief test pilot, f’chrissakes! All for some goddamn
photograph
.

You’ve got every right to be angry, she said.

Harrison didn’t say anything. He was now staring at the floor.

When I found out you were back, Grace said, I wanted to stop by—Pancho … She didn’t think it’d be a good idea.

Oh, he said. I didn’t know that.

Yeah, she said. She was pretty insistent.

She can be that way.

Yeah, she said. Grace and Joe filled me in from time to time.

Same, he said.

She gave a little smile and pulled a finger across the edge of each eye, now wet.

Shit, she said. Sorry.

It’s okay, he said.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get upset if I ran into you.

I’m sorry, he said.

No, it’s okay, she said. It’s not you, I’m just getting emotional.

It’s okay, he said.

He touched her arm. Between them was a terrible ache.

Goddamn it, she said, trying to stem the flow with her fingers. Then she fell into him and he put his arms around her and he held her tight. They stayed like that for a minute, maybe more; he wasn’t sure.

I’m sorry, he said.

I’m sorry too, she said.

They parted. She dried her eyes with her palms. A bell rang as someone entered the shop.

Have you seen Chuck? she said. Air Force brought him back to Edwards.

Yeah, seen him a coupla times. Been huntin once or twice too.

She nodded.

Glennis and I have stayed pretty close, she said.

I’m glad, he said. You should come over sometime. Really. I’ll talk to Pancho.

Good luck with
that
, she said, giving a little laugh. But thanks, I’d like that.

Okay, he said.

God, it feels like years, she said.

It is, he said. Or was.

Yeah, she said.

Yeah, he said.

Okay, she said. Well. I’m gonna get my nails, which I think are over there somewhere, but it was good to see you, Jim. I’m glad we ran into each other.

Me too, he said. Say hi to Glennis for me.

I will, she said. See you.

See you, he said.

Grace rose early the next morning, fixed herself eggs and coffee and drove to Rosamond. Her arms ached from shoving the heavy transmission around. It was an old Chevy pickup, three-speed, Mexican-red; thirty bucks from Mac, month before he died. It was a wreck. He’d worked it hard. She’d learned how to fix it up herself. Working outside, with her hands, felt good.

It was almost ten. Rosamond was busy. It had changed so much since the early days, when she and Jim had first moved to Muroc. She could remember driving down Main Street at noon and not seeing a single person. She pulled up outside Howard’s General Store. She was due at Grace Walker’s for coffee and wanted to pick up some candy for the kids. She cut the engine and the truck shuddered into silence. She stared up at the empty sky. Joe was gone. She’d never seen Jim angry before. She found herself wondering what his room at Pancho’s was like. It had been good to see him. She wanted a cigarette. She stepped out into the fresh air, bought candy and a bottle of Coke, which she drank on the sidewalk in the sun. Then she returned the bottle and drove to the Walkers’.

She stayed for lunch. The children played upstairs. The women sat in the kitchen and talked.

Do you want another coffee? I could sure use one.

How are you sleeping?

Not great. But the kids are, which is something. I’ve got something for you, if I can still find it in all this mess.

She walked over to the counter and began sifting through a pile of papers.

Got it, she said, and sat back down. Here. She slid a photograph across the table. I want you to have this.

Grace picked up the photograph. It was Joe and Jim, standing on the lakebed in their pressure suits, grinning; sky arcing away behind them.

A few weeks later Harrison picked Grace up from church on Sunday and drove them out to the mountains to fish.

Look at you, she said, winding down her window.

Yeah, he said. Finally. Pancho made me do a bunch of tests.

Bet that was fun.

He chuckled.

Think you’ll fly again soon?

I dunno, he said. I feel better, but I still get distracted sometimes.

Do you want to get back into flight test? she said.

That’s a young man’s game, he said. Should have got out years ago. You want one?

He offered her a cigarette.

I quit.

You did, huh?

Yeah.

Really?

John helped me.

Irving?

Uh-huh.

You should come sometime, she said.

To John and Gracie’s no-smoking club?

To church. Do you good.

She laughed.

What? he said.

Nothing, she said.

Was sorry to hear about Milo, he said.

Ah, he was an old boy.

A good old boy, he said.

The best, she said. Her arm rested on the blunt lip of the open window and the hot wind blew her hair in all directions. The road turned to track and the car churned yellow dust around them.

Can I ask you something? he said, looking over at her.

Sure, she said.

He pulled the car over and idled the engine.

Hey, she said. Why are we stopping?

It’s important, he said.

I’m all ears.

It’s serious.

I’m serious.

You don’t sound it.

I promise, she said. Look.

She lay back in her seat and shut her eyes.

See? she said. You have my undivided attention. My mind is empty. Like an empty box. My mind is an empty box.

I could have told you that, he said.

She snapped open her eyes.

Who’s messing around now? she said.

He looked at her.

All right, come on, she said, or we’ll never make it up there by nightfall.

Okay, he said. Irving—John—came to see me. Not long after I got back.

Okay, she said. Sounds like the kinda thing he’d do.

We talked, he said. It was good. When he got up to leave, I accidentally knocked over a glass; smashed it all over the floor, so I apologized and he said, he told me,
it wasn’t your fault.

Okay, she said.

When he said it, when he said that to me—I don’t know; something
happened
, I don’t know what. He looked up at me, said
It wasn’t your fault
and it felt like I’d been hit round the head with a brick. It was like my whole being shook. It was the strangest damn thing. I felt odd for the rest of the day. And a while later, with Doctor Brubaker … I don’t know. I started to feel better. Do you—do you think it was God?