Page 72 of Soaring Sweethearts

Cheeks aflame, Constance took a scalding sip of her coffee instead of responding.

“By the way,” Millie said, leaning in. “Are you taking my advice about precautions? If you want to wait three months, you’ll have to play it safe.”

Constance nodded. “He uses—” She mouthed, condoms, unable to bring herself to say it out loud in a public place.

“Glad to hear it. It’s good to know he’s taking care of you properly.” Millie glanced down at the delicate, diamond-encrusted watch Ernie bought her for their three-month anniversary. He’d brought Constance along to help him pick it out. At the time, she’d teased him about how he couldn’t wait until their one-year to shower Millie with gifts, but now that she was with Jack, she knew that sometimes love couldn’t wait. “I should get back to the airfield. I have to head out to Boston soon if I want to land before it gets dark.”

“I’ll get my sandwich wrapped up.” Constance gulped down the last of her coffee while Millie flagged down the waitress. They paid their bill and headed out to the car for the short drive back to Heller.

As they drove, Millie asked, “So now that you’ve turned over this adventurous new leaf, will you let me teach you to fly? We could have so much fun together!”

“I’ll think about it.” That was the most she could promise. The few times she’d gone up in a plane, she’d thoroughly enjoyed it. But was she truly brave enough to fly one?

“One of these days, I’m going to convince you. Or maybe Jack will. After all, he’s opening a flight school. Maybe you could be his first student. I promise I won’t be offended if you decide to learn from him, as long as you come flying with me and the girls once you learn.”

“I solemnly swear that if I ever get my pilot’s license, I will go flying with you and the girls.”

They pulled into the dirt parking lot and headed inside. Constance took her seat at her desk, wondering how she was going to survive the next few days. Millie had been an excellent distraction, but she was about to leave too. She had three-and-a-half more days to go before Jack would be home, and she’d be counting every hour of it. “See you around, Skates!”

“See you around, my friend!” Millie ambled off toward the locker room with a wave.

Constance settled in for a long, slow afternoon. There was a pattern to her days. The most activity was first thing in the morning as flights took off, and just before lunch as the first flights landed. And then there were sporadic calls from four until she left at five-thirty as various planes landed at their final destinations. The long stretch between lunch and four was usually quiet as could be, unless Mr. Dickson had a letter to dictate or some filing that needed to be done.

She watched the clock, finding it harder and harder to keep her eyes open as the minutes turned into hours. At one-thirty, she even resorted to drinking the horrible sludge they passed off as coffee in the break room. She’d tried to convince Mr. Dickson to buy something better, but he’d insisted that their budget only allowed for the cheapest available option. It tasted like burnt eggs and gasoline, but it helped her prop her eyes open.

Nonetheless, the ringing of the phone awoke her from a light doze a short while later. Hopefully, Mr. Dickson hadn’t caught her snoozing on the job, she thought as she picked up the phone.

“Heller Airfield. This is Constance Pritchard speaking.” She stifled a yawn.

“Miss Pritchard, this is Mr. Massey from Bellefonte. Did Jack Thompson take off on time this morning?”

“Yes, he took off at nine-thirty sharp.” She knew because she’d come out to wave goodbye as he took off. Why was he asking about Jack? Was something wrong? Suddenly, she was wide awake. “Why do you ask?”

“We were expecting him here at Bellefonte two hours ago, and he still hasn’t landed. It’s awfully foggy out here, but he knows the route well enough that he should be here by now. Has he called in about making an emergency landing?”

She glanced at the clock. Two-seventeen. He should have landed around noon. Swallowing down her panic, she fought to keep her voice even as she said, “No.”

“We haven’t heard anything either. If he had to make a forced landing, it might take him a while to get to a phone. I don’t think there’s any cause for alarm yet, but please let us know if he calls in. Will ya?”

“Yes, Mr. Massey. And can you do the same? I want to keep Mr. Dickson informed.” Mr. Dickson was her last worry if Jack was in trouble, but she had to do her job.

“Sure thing, Miss Pritchard. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” She put down the receiver, struggling to calm her pounding heart. Horrific images flashed through her mind, each worse than the last—Jack falling through the sky, Jack crashing into a mountain, Jack engulfed in flame. It was the war all over again. She’d imagined losing him so many times that she should have been prepared, but she wasn’t. Her chest tightened, and it was hard to draw in breath.

Mr. Massey was right. Pilots made emergency landings all the time. He was probably tromping through a wheat field that very moment, trying to find a farmhouse with a phone. He’d been fine when this happened last week. She’d panicked over nothing. He’d come home to her, just like he promised.

Except that now she was in so much deeper. She’d given him everything—body, heart, and soul. She’d let herself imagine a life together, count on it, even. Jack was hers at long last. Fate wouldn’t be as cruel as to take him away now. It couldn’t be.

She forced herself to breathe. He’d always landed safe before. There was no reason to think this time was any different. So why couldn’t she shut down the vivid horrors cycling through her mind?

Jack is safe. Jack is coming home. We’re going to get married and live a long and happy life together.

Minutes ticked by and then an hour. The phone rang again, and she picked it up before the second ring. “Heller Airfield. Constance Pritchard speaking.”

“It’s Mr. Massey again. Thompson still hasn’t arrived. Can you let Mr. Dickson know? We’re starting to worry. He should have checked in by now, even if he had to make an emergency landing.”

Yes, he should have. He’d promised her after last week that he wouldn’t leave her hanging, that he would always call. “Thank you, Mr. Massey. I’ll let Mr. Dickson know.”