40

On the plane to Chicago he’s businesslike: plans, routes, timing. But then impulsively he seizes her hand, kisses her fingertips, gives her an astonishingly shy smile.

Christ, this is no good. What have I got myself into?

The steward comes by, topping up coffee cups, and the captain’s voice blares from what sounds like a torn speaker: “For you passengers on the right side of the plane, we’ve got Lake Tahoe coming up a few miles to the south in just about a minute here.”

She says, “Story of my life. I’m always on the wrong side of the plane to see anything.”

“I’ll fly you over Tahoe any time. After we get back.”

It makes her look away. Broken clouds below the window; the mountains are a deep green, almost black.

He says, “You still haven’t told me why you went and changed your hair. I liked it better before.”

She is thinking: what if I level with him? Why not tell him the truth? The whole truth and nothing but the truth. Charlie’ll listen. He’ll understand.

She turns to look at him. He’s got his nose in his coffee. She studies his face. Her scrutiny draws his attention, then his frown. He says, “What’s the matter, my pretty?”

She shakes her head in reply and looks out the window again.

I’ll tell him, she decides. But after Ellen’s free and safe.

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