Trauma Plan (31 page)

“I know.” Kate’s voice had diminished to a near whisper. Not good.

“So . . .” Riley paced across her living room, mind whirling. “What do you think she meant by leaving me that phone message? I wish I’d gotten it before it was too late to call.”

“I think she meant just what she said, Riley. That she’d met with the hiring committee. And your proposal, along with Jack’s letter, was presented with the applications from other qualified RNs currently employed in emergency departments.”

Qualified.
Riley squeezed her eyes shut.
Oh, please, God . . .

“And,” Kate continued as gently as if she were explaining a painful procedure to a frightened child, “she wants to discuss their concerns.”

“Which might be . . . ?”

“Riley, please. You don’t want me to second-guess this.”

“I do.” Riley clenched her numb fingers, fighting a rush of feelings. “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t. Though I would have thought you’d call me after your meeting with Joanna.”

“I thought about it. I did. But she said input from the charge nurses was only one factor in their consideration. They’ll need that medical clearance from your doctors.”

“I’m expecting it this week.”

Kate sighed. “I didn’t think Joanna would contact you until tomorrow, and I didn’t want you to be worrying all night.”

Riley groaned. “So much for that.” She sat on the couch, got back up, paced toward the fireplace. She winced at the photo with the TYGRR-mobile, then told herself to stop stalling and ask. “What did you say to her?”

The silence was long enough that Riley thought she’d lost the cell connection. “Kate?”

“What do you mean?”

Riley swallowed. “I mean, when you talked to the director about my return to the ER as a staff nurse.”

“Riley . . .”

“What did you say?” Riley held her breath and imagined Kate’s direct gaze, knowing that she was honest. Loving her for that, but dreading . . .

“I said I wouldn’t be comfortable with you in a staff nurse position. I’m sorry—
so
sorry—but I don’t think you’re ready, Riley.”

* * *

Jack had almost dozed off in front of the TV when he realized he’d left his BlackBerry in the Hummer. He headed for the door, backtracked to the kitchen to get a flashlight—he still hadn’t replaced the porch light—and went to the garage. The phone was right where he’d left it on the console. It showed a missed call . . . from Riley? He climbed into the driver’s seat and retrieved the message. His brows pinched together at the sound of her voice: thick, ragged, like she’d been crying.

“It’s Riley . . . and, um . . . about eleven, I guess. Don’t call me back tonight; I’m going to try to get some sleep. But—” she cleared her throat—“if that invitation is still open . . . you know, for jumping from that plane, I might be interested. I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Jack played the message again, checked the current time on his watch. One thirty. Too late, but she’d sounded so . . . He hit the Call button. Heard it ring a half-dozen times.

“Jack?” She sounded groggy, half-asleep.

“I got your message. Are you okay?”

“Um . . . sure. I’m sorry I called so late. I just . . . I don’t know—I wanted to talk. And thought of you.”

Of me.
“We can talk now. Or I could come over there, or . . .” She’d given him the security gate code. He’d take off right now. Be there in—

“No.” She sighed. “Thanks, but no. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Skydiving? Did you mean that?”

Riley gave a half laugh. “Yes. Your ‘spit in the face of fear’ thing. Something about it suddenly sounded . . . good. Scary but good. Can I let you know tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. I don’t jump until noon.”

Jack said good night and sat there for a while, wondering if he’d imagined that Riley had been crying. Wondering what could have changed her mind about skydiving. Even the balcony at the River Walk restaurant had made her nervous.

He shook his head at what Bandy had said about Riley turning down his jump invitation before.
“Fine young lady—and smart, too.”
What would Bandy say if he knew they had a mutual date with gravity? That Riley wasn’t as smart as she looked? Or would he simply gloat about his suggestion that Jack find time for someone like her in his life? Not that he was doing that, of course. But . . .

He pushed the phone into his pocket and slid out of the Hummer, smiling. He wasn’t taking it for more than face value, but he really liked what Riley had said. That when she’d wanted to talk . . .
“I thought of you.”
That felt good.

Now if he could just stop imagining her in a skydiving jumpsuit and get a few hours of sleep.

24

“Blue skies, Travis!”

“Blue skies!” Jack gave a thumbs-up to the man waving in the distance—a bearded sixty-year-old veterinarian from Bandera outfitted in a vintage leather aviator’s helmet and an orange jumpsuit that made him look like an escaped prisoner. Jack squinted against the sun, scanning the San Marcos drop zone: three planes at the ready, skydivers heading out at their twenty-minute call. There was a familiar rainbow of jumpsuits and faces this morning: Parachute Club members, the husband and wife videographer team, a recently retired pharmacist, and that female K9 officer from Hondo who was well into her accelerated free-fall program. Standing near the wind sock, holding cameras and binoculars, was the usual clutch of curious onlookers and skydive groupies. The sky, under perfect conditions, was dotted with a dozen rectangular ram-air parachutes in fuchsia, purple, electric green, chili-pepper red . . . drifting, gliding, maneuvering like the wings of huge Pixar movie creatures. Five thousand feet above the ground. Jack’s pulse kicked up a notch, eager to join them.
And because . . . Riley’s here.

He stepped into the converted metal hangar, blinking as his eyes adjusted, and heard the buzz of excited voices accompanied by seemingly endless strains of Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’.” Then spotted the small group of first timers, wide-eyed with excitement and nerves after their preflight training. One of them was Riley. He still couldn’t believe it. And from the look on her face, neither could she.
Why did she change her mind?

“All signed up?” he asked, noticing that she’d changed into the navy-blue jumpsuit and swept her long hair into a loose knot at the back of her head. She looked even more beautiful than he’d imagined, making him regret not having an instructor’s certificate. Being hooked together for a tandem jump would be . . .

“Liability waivers, medical waivers . . .” She took a breath. “Signed my life away. If I so much as slip on a banana peel on the tarmac outside the plane and break my neck . . .” She grimaced. “Poor choice of words.”

The Petty song began yet again.

“She’s a good girl, loves her mama.

Loves Jesus and America too . . .”

“Hey.” Jack reached for Riley’s hand—and found it damp. Despite last night’s phone call saying she needed to talk, she had said little this morning. She’d simply called him at nine and said,
“Let’s do it.”
On the drive to San Marcos she gave no indication of why she’d changed her mind. He suspected something had happened but didn’t press her. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked now.

“And I’m free, free fallin’ . . .”

“Ready. I’ve got it all down.” Riley took a halting breath and licked her lips. “The plane is a Super Otter. We climb to 13,500 feet. I’m snapped to Margo, my back to her chest and stomach. I sit between her legs, wait for my turn.” She glanced upward like a nervous student reciting in front of the class. “At the door of the plane, I cross my arms across my chest, holding my harness. The plane’s speed is around 90 miles per hour, and the terminal velocity of the human body falling is 120 miles per—”

“I meant—” Jack stepped closer—“are you sure you really want to do this?” He drew her hand against the chest of his jumpsuit as he studied her face. “You don’t have to.”

“I know that.” Riley lifted her chin. “I’m doing it because I want to.” She slid her hand away, narrowed her eyes. “You’re not trying to talk me out of it, are you?”

“Not me.” Jack laughed. “I saw that photo of you in the pecan tree, rebel girl.”

“Keep that in mind.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, missing the feel of her hand. He glanced up at the PA system. “We should get our twenty-minute call soon.” He pretended not to notice the anxiety that flickered across her face. “Got your goggles, Chaplain?”

She nodded, swallowing. “I think I’ll run to the ladies’ room for a minute.”

“Sure.” She’d done that right before her training, too. Fortunately, Jack had reminded her to eat a light breakfast. “I’ll be right here.”

He watched her hurry away, trim flight suit
swish-swish
ing as she moved, and was glad—whatever her reason for coming—that Riley was with him today. He’d always thought of skydiving as a solitary pleasure. In fact, he’d guarded that aspect of it. But last night, after they’d talked and while he was trying to get to sleep, he’d had this completely corny thought. A memory of that old Christopher Reeve movie. The scene where Superman takes Lois Lane flying for the first time.

“I wanna write her name in the sky,”
the Petty song continued without mercy.

Jack shook his head, then heard the twenty-minute page just as Riley headed back toward him. She was smiling, despite a hint of pallor.

“That’s us?” she asked.

“You and me,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go fly.”

Blue skies, Blue Eyes.

* * *

What on earth was she doing? No. Not
on
earth . . . thirteen thousand feet
above
the earth.

Riley had a sudden, horrible realization that this was exactly what all those vile grackle birds were staring at: fools jumping from planes. And now she was one of them.

The laughter and conversation of the other skydivers blended with the roar of the plane engines as Riley clutched the seat in front of her, not sure if the trembling in her legs was from the motion or pure fear. She stared through her goggles at the flimsy Plexiglas covering the open door of the twin-engine plane, watching as a skydiver squatted close by, awaiting her turn. The woman looked confident, excited. A police officer from Hondo, she’d engaged Jack in lively jargon-smattered conversation as the plane climbed to altitude. Easy for her, since she likely still had saliva.

Whoa.
The plane tipped for a turn, giving Riley a dizzying view from the windows and making the butterflies in her stomach threaten escape through her lips. She perched forward on the seat that she was sharing awkwardly with her instructor—sitting between the woman’s legs—trying not to squash her. Riley concentrated on the view. Blue sky, miles of brown dotted with miniature trees and Lego-size buildings.

“Welcome to my office,” Margo said from behind Riley’s left ear. “How are you doing?”

“Great,” Riley fibbed, resisting the urge to ask if they should retest the snaps holding their bodies together. They’d done it, Riley literally hanging from Margo’s chest, before they’d boarded the plane. “You’ll tell me when?”

“Yes,” Margo assured her, “and we’ll sort of wobble toward the door like we’re crabs glued together.” Her face moved from Riley’s shoulder. “Ah, Jack. Have some words for our girl?”

Margo shifted to make room for him to move up beside them. Riley did her best to smile. And Jack . . . looked like he belonged up here. Goggles resting casually atop his leather helmet, zippered gray jumpsuit with the Eagle Skydiving patch, parachute harness . . . those amazing toffee-colored eyes. He smiled back at her and the butterflies in her stomach shifted to accommodate several more.

“Ready to spit in the face of fear?” he asked, raising his voice above the drone of the engine.

“You bet—stay upwind, Doctor.”

“Good girl.”

The pilot called the altitude, and the Plexiglas door was opened for the policewoman.

“I’ll jump immediately after you,” Jack said, managing to move closer despite the jostle of the plane. “If you think of it, look for me.”

“Okay,” she managed, the butterflies merciless. “I’ll . . . try.”

“You’ll do great.” Jack held her gaze for a long moment. “I don’t have any doubts.”

Doubts.
Tears stung her eyes without warning. “Thanks.”

Somehow—in spite of the cramped situation it afforded poor Margo—Jack managed to lean forward and brush his lips against Riley’s forehead. “Blue skies,” he whispered before lumbering backward into his seat.

There was a loud whoop and Riley stared, eyes wide, as the policewoman disappeared through the doorway of the plane.