Chapter 16

Bill’s turn:

Sometimes I absolutely HATE the alarm clock. It goes off. At least I’m not alone. I groan. Moans and whimpers escape from Deena and Haley. I’ve got Haley in front of me, fragrant brown hair touching my nose. I breathe deeply. I feel Deena cup herself up behind me. Nirvana is formed right here in this dimly lit bedroom as stray sunlight filters in.

I think I’m awake, although this would be the makings of a fantastic dream. It is, actually, although wiggly females on both sides of me wake to shower me with caresses and kisses.

If it was Saturday, it’s likely that mayhem would be afoot. Not this morning, though. We’re dawn patrol, transporting ourselves and Hanna Bertrand to Dallas. Hanna and Haley are scheduled for a week’s training at an aviation training facility, developing and honing skills of the Pilatus PC-12 like the one we’re flying there and back.

Interesting conversation:

Me: Yeah, Alan, we’re planning on cranking up the 185 (our aging piston-powered Cessna workhorse) for the trip.

Alan: Uh, Cindy indicates she expected you to take the Pilatus...

Me: Four people. Lots of plane for that trip.

Alan: Coupla hours in the Cessna. An hour in the Pilatus. Cindy says...

Me: Ain’t gonna argue with Cindy.

Alan: It seldom works, but she does enjoy a tussle every now and then. Said to call and tell you if you didn’t call me. I suspect that she and Hanna and Haley already know.

So bags are already loaded on the plane. We’re in the office drinking coffee when the Bertrands pull up. The two of them sit for a cup with us.

“I haven’t let Hanna out of my sight in years,” Greg said. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without ‘er.”

“You will do well,” Hanna soothed. “I will call to check on you.”

“I wish I had another pilot,” he sighed. “Vacation would be nice...”

Lightbulb went off, then dimmed. Cindy. But Cindy with a broken leg. Missed it by just a little bit.

“If Cindy hadn’t broken her leg...” I sighed.

“Yeah,” Greg said. “What’s ‘is name ... Wally ... told me the ‘Cindy the Ag Pilot’ story. I’d just about try ‘er, just to see the looks on peoples’ faces, starting with my field crews.”

“Dunno,” I said. “Think about it. Cute Redhead. Grizzly ol’ Cajun ... Not much of a choice in MY book...”

“Yeah,” Greg laughed. “Had a couple of farmers ask if Hanna was gonna do their fields.”

“I could do that,” Hanna said. “Perhaps when I come back...”

“Giving up your career in education?” Deena questioned.

“It becomes very difficult to make myself stay in the classroom,” Hanna sighed. “Children become more difficult, and parents do not help much.”

“I can believe that,” Haley supported. “I was IN those classrooms.”

Deena, on the other hand...

Deena’s turn:

I couldn’t gracefully refuse. Mom found out that Haley was going to Dallas for a week and taking Dad with her.

“He’s going to be working, she’s going to be in classes, that leaves you...”

“Dad’s going to drop me at the library, Mom.”

When I said it, it sounded weak to me.

“What about at night?”

“We’ll have dinner with us and Hanna...”

“And you and your dad and Haley all in one room at the hotel?”

I guess I could’ve played the ‘suite’ card. Didn’t. So...

“Harv’s been aching to get off with a bunch of lawyers and such on an island golf retreat. I can send him off, then it’s you and I with a week together...”

I couldn’t talk my way out of this one. Mom’s been pretty good recently about NOT trying to get me home with her again. Of course, I’ve been making myself available for visits and weekends compatible with her schedule. So here I am.

That’s why on Sunday afternoon when Dad and Haley were doing final packing for a week in Dallas, I was packing for a week with Mom.

That’s why, when they were doing the final planning for the jaunt to Dallas, Haley as pilot in command, Hanna as copilot, I gave Dad a kiss, Haley a similar kiss, all very daughter-like, don’t you know, and hugged Hanna and Greg and bounced out to meet Mom here.

Mom wasn’t fully decked out, but she NEVER leaves the house without making herself, in her words, ‘presentable’. That, for Mom, is makeup, hair in place, and clothing that walks a careful line around ‘casual’ without crossing over into anything that might be construed as sloppy.

“That’s the plane they’re taking to Dallas?” she asked as I slid into her BMW’s passenger seat.

“Yep. Pretty thing, isn’t she? We named ‘er ‘Hanna’. Hanna Bertrand is going to the training with Haley.”

“That’s scary all by itself. Haley’s older...”

“Close to two years, Mom...”

“Okay. Eighteen. And that plane...”

“Is probably worth about four million dollars. We got it used.”

“And she flies it.”

“I’ve co-piloted it. Next year I can get my private license. Then YOU get to come fly with me.”

“I...”

“Mom, it’s a tangible thing. You. Me. Doing something that none of your friends’ kids can do.” I paused, thinking. “Well, maybe they COULD do it, but that’s not the choices they make.”

“Like going to college for engineering...”

I smiled. “That, too.”

The conversation fell to small talk as we made our way across town to the upscale neighborhood where she and her ‘successful attorney’ husband had a home of a configuration suitable for their status. This one is new, not the one we were living in when I made the move to live with Dad and Haley. This house added another thousand or so square feet, making quite a statement for a couple who were thinking of parlaying a successful career in law into some politics. Ambitious, was ol’ Harv, and Mom would suit him well at all those social functions.

My bedroom at this house was just a tiny bit short of palatial. And sterile. That bed had never seen anybody but me, and I was already missing my dad and my Haley. Gonna be a long week.

“Harv left already?” I asked, for verification.

“Drove to Houston with Rob Stanley.”

“The state representative?”

“Yes,” mom said with a hint of pride. “Rob’s term-limited out of his seat after this session and Harv’s talking about running for the vacancy.”

“Ohhhh...” That’s the ‘politics’ angle. Good ol’ Harv. Onward and upward, with Mom right along with him.

“They’re meeting some other people who might help him out.”

“That’s interesting,” I soothed.

So, Sunday evening. Meal at a neat restaurant downtown, one of those you go to when you wanna be ‘seen’ or when you want to show people that you’re trendy and fashionable and still have your foodie cred.

We – me, Haley, and Dad – have been there. Food’s, well, meh...

Mom spotted another pair of ladies of similar attire, one around her age, the other maybe ten years older. She introduced me.

“Thank you, Mom,” I said. “It’s been years since I met either of these ladies.”

“Deena’s in college now,” Mom said proudly.

Miss McPherson, the older one, replied, “I didn’t think she was college age yet.”

I let Mom field that one. She’s a bit wary of indications of her age.

“She’s on a special early entry program.”

“I graduate in December. Electrical engineering,” I inserted. Didn’t want them to think I was medieval lit or something.

“My word,” Miss McPherson said. “My Tania’s graduating in the spring. Mass communications major.”

“Oh, that’s great!” I feigned. Small talk. Pro forma. I mentally smirked. I knew that a few ‘mass comm’ majors were serious, but most fell into that “Any degree is good enough” category.

We finished our meal without me letting my tongue loose in conversation as the four of us sat at the table, just the right distance from the front door so as to be seen by anybody who entered, but, you know, not TOO close, so as to maintain our respectability.

We bid graceful adieu, and Mom and I went back home.

After a bit of time at the house, I begged off, citing need for shower and a little alone time. ‘Alone’ meant that I got on my iPad and tagged Dad and Haley, rightly figuring that their schedule wouldn’t be too far from mine.

“Y’all owe me,” I tittered.

Haley’s smirk filled the screen. “Poor little Deena,” she purred.

“Dad, chastise her!”

“You betcha, baby doll,” Dad said. “But you know the problem with that is that she LIKES it...”

The next morning we hit the road early on one of Mom’s favorite things – a shopping trip to Houston. I protested that I didn’t need anything, got Mom’s reply – “You don’t shop when you NEED things, you shop because you WANT things.”

This is going to be a loooong week.

I could’ve stood it, you know. Shopping. That got me a couple of Mom-approved ensembles, neither of which was suitable for the cockpit of a Stearman.

Made it all the way to Wednesday when, “This evening we need to go visit Stephanie Basler. She and I are on a committee together.”

“And what will I be doing?”

“Steph has two children. Her daughter Abby is a year older than you. Ethan’s a year older than her. He’s, like, Mister Football.”

So I’m running a file in my head of what I might have in common with these two.

Could’ve saved half of it. Abby was off with friends, leaving Ethan there. Rather striking, was Ethan. Sandy blonde hair, kinda long. Blue eyes. Obviously quite healthy, as befitting a star athlete.

Introductions, during which an assessment is made. He smiled. I took that to mean I passed muster.

“Wanna go in the den while our moms talk? Got a game console or somethin’.” Smile. Perhaps I was supposed to melt.

I’ve played a few games. Perhaps I won’t be a total loss. “Sure.”

Faceless enemy were dying by the dozens when I heard, “We’ll be back in an hour or so,” from Mizz Steph.

“Got it, Mom,” Ethan yelled as he swooped past me on the screen, bombing the crap out of an enemy stronghold. We hit the stopping point on that level and Ethan paused the game, turned, looked at me.

“So, where you go to high school?”

“I’m not in high school.”

“Middle school? You looked older.”

“College, actually.”

“You don’t look THAT old.”

“Early entry,” I said. “Might graduate next December.”

“How old ARE you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Wow! And a college girl.” And his face morphed into a leer.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “College girl.”

“Boyfriends?”

“One.”

“Oh. Solid thing, or...”

“Solid.”

“You kinda wanna...” His fingers brushed my shoulder.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon ... just a little hookup...”

“No.” The look on his face told me that he’s not used to ‘no’ from girls.

He sort of pushed me backwards onto the sofa, putting himself on top of me, mostly, his left hand cupping my right breast.

I like that move when it’s Dad or Haley, but the goodies are MY property, hence their property.

I would’ve protested if he wasn’t forcing a kiss on me. Reflexively I opened my lips for a good kiss, then clamped them shut, pushed “Nooooo” out.

Struggled. Trapped. He was tugging his pants down, keeping me forced back into the rear sofa cushions with his broad torso while he used his hands.

I guess his pants were far enough down. He started on mine. I’m fixing to get raped and I am NOT on board with the idea. What to do...

“Ethannnnn,” I whined. “not so roughhhhh...”

“Okay, baby ... It gets better...” He eased up, freeing my trapped arms.

I moved a hand downward, being as fakingly seductive as I could manage under the circumstances.