underneath it, too, Ps. 22:16-17, and as he frowned, trying to remember, a woman stepped out of the hangar. She had been in the dream, too, tall, tanned, with bobbed blonde hair held back in a blue kerchief that matched her eyes, and the joy he had felt then crashed over him like a wave. He controlled it sharply, knowing she’d only find it unnerving, blurted out the first thing that came to his lips.
“Are you the mechanic?” He blushed as red as the Jenny.
She smiled, amused and friendly and not at all a dream. “And the pilot, too.” She held out her hand. “I’m Al Gilchrist.”
She’d needed someone to ferry a new plane back to Gilchrist’s base in Colorado, and he’d jumped at the chance. She’d had a run of work then, joking he’d brought her good luck, and after it slacked off she’d offered him a job on salary. And a room in her house until he found someplace permanent, but by then she’d also welcomed him to her bed. That was worth remembering, a dream that had brought him something good. He couldn’t convince himself that this latest one would end the same way.
Alma rolled over and propped up on one elbow, her eyes wide open. “Can’t sleep?”
Lewis shrugged. “Just edgy. It feels like a Santa Ana, but we don’t get those here. Like a change in the wind.”
“I know what you mean,” Al said. She turned on her side and drew him in, his head against her shoulder, against the soft warm skin of her upper arm, her hand curling around his back. The music curled up from downstairs, teasing at him, not quite clear enough to hear all the notes but never going away. “Jerry’s got that up awful loud,” Alma said. “I guess he can’t sleep either.”
“I don’t mind,” Lewis said. The music was almost like another touch. It was a strange magic, how radio could reach out across the miles, connecting people who had never seen each other, connecting people listening at the same time, swing and dip, on the wings of sound.
“Ok,” Al said. She bent her face to his brow, lips brushing sleepily across his hair. “I don’t either.”
There was something he’d meant to say, something he’d meant to ask her or maybe tell her about the dream, but it was fading now. He’d tell her about it in the morning, Lewis thought, but the music twined around him like Alma’s arms, drawing him down into silence.
Chapter Two
L ewis rinsed out the shaving brush under cold water, and ran his hand over his newly smooth chin. Some guys could do two days between shaves, but not him. By the middle of the afternoon he’d look like he hadn’t bothered, something that used to be a point of contention in the Air Corps. “Somebody get that Segura to shave,” the CO would say, six hours after he had. Fortunately, most of the time they’d had more things to worry about than the state of his chin. Or maybe that was unfortunately.
He’d managed to get more sleep than he’d expected, and actually felt almost human as he headed down the hall toward the kitchen. He could hear the coffee perking, smelled it and the hot grease in the frying pan. He was kind of hoping it would be Alma at the stove, even if that meant grounds in the coffee and taking over the eggs so nothing burned too badly, but instead it was Jerry, leaning hard on his cane, spatula in the other hand as he stared at the pan: Lewis took a breath and a step, the floorboards creaking underfoot, and Jerry pivoted on the cane and his good leg.
“Oh. Good morning.”
“Morning,” Lewis said. Jerry’s hair was damp, and he had the pinched look that meant he’d been putting up with being handled. Mitch had probably helped him get into the bath before Lewis was awake, which was always kind of a sore subject, even though Jerry and Mitch were old friends.
“Coffee’s ready, I think,” he said.
Lewis nodded, and went to the cabinet to fetch a cup for each of them. He was careful not to touch the blue-banded lusterware that stood in neat
“Are you the mechanic?” He blushed as red as the Jenny.
She smiled, amused and friendly and not at all a dream. “And the pilot, too.” She held out her hand. “I’m Al Gilchrist.”
She’d needed someone to ferry a new plane back to Gilchrist’s base in Colorado, and he’d jumped at the chance. She’d had a run of work then, joking he’d brought her good luck, and after it slacked off she’d offered him a job on salary. And a room in her house until he found someplace permanent, but by then she’d also welcomed him to her bed. That was worth remembering, a dream that had brought him something good. He couldn’t convince himself that this latest one would end the same way.
Alma rolled over and propped up on one elbow, her eyes wide open. “Can’t sleep?”
Lewis shrugged. “Just edgy. It feels like a Santa Ana, but we don’t get those here. Like a change in the wind.”
“I know what you mean,” Al said. She turned on her side and drew him in, his head against her shoulder, against the soft warm skin of her upper arm, her hand curling around his back. The music curled up from downstairs, teasing at him, not quite clear enough to hear all the notes but never going away. “Jerry’s got that up awful loud,” Alma said. “I guess he can’t sleep either.”
“I don’t mind,” Lewis said. The music was almost like another touch. It was a strange magic, how radio could reach out across the miles, connecting people who had never seen each other, connecting people listening at the same time, swing and dip, on the wings of sound.
“Ok,” Al said. She bent her face to his brow, lips brushing sleepily across his hair. “I don’t either.”
There was something he’d meant to say, something he’d meant to ask her or maybe tell her about the dream, but it was fading now. He’d tell her about it in the morning, Lewis thought, but the music twined around him like Alma’s arms, drawing him down into silence.
Chapter Two
L ewis rinsed out the shaving brush under cold water, and ran his hand over his newly smooth chin. Some guys could do two days between shaves, but not him. By the middle of the afternoon he’d look like he hadn’t bothered, something that used to be a point of contention in the Air Corps. “Somebody get that Segura to shave,” the CO would say, six hours after he had. Fortunately, most of the time they’d had more things to worry about than the state of his chin. Or maybe that was unfortunately.
He’d managed to get more sleep than he’d expected, and actually felt almost human as he headed down the hall toward the kitchen. He could hear the coffee perking, smelled it and the hot grease in the frying pan. He was kind of hoping it would be Alma at the stove, even if that meant grounds in the coffee and taking over the eggs so nothing burned too badly, but instead it was Jerry, leaning hard on his cane, spatula in the other hand as he stared at the pan: Lewis took a breath and a step, the floorboards creaking underfoot, and Jerry pivoted on the cane and his good leg.
“Oh. Good morning.”
“Morning,” Lewis said. Jerry’s hair was damp, and he had the pinched look that meant he’d been putting up with being handled. Mitch had probably helped him get into the bath before Lewis was awake, which was always kind of a sore subject, even though Jerry and Mitch were old friends.
“Coffee’s ready, I think,” he said.
Lewis nodded, and went to the cabinet to fetch a cup for each of them. He was careful not to touch the blue-banded lusterware that stood in neat
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