Later, as they walked back toward the airfield, the temperature dropped.
Mia ran ahead.
Vivian wore her brown coat over one arm.
Ethan said:
“She likes you.”
“That seems premature.”
“She has poor judgment.”
Vivian smiled.
Then:
“She looks like your wife?”
He looked toward Mia.
“Eyes.”
“Everything else is me.”
“Personality?”
“Entirely punishment from God.”
Vivian laughed.
After a moment:
“What was her name?”
Ethan’s face softened.
“Laura.”
“She loved flying?”
“More than me.”
“You fly?”
“Helicopters.”
“Fixed-wing enough not to embarrass myself.”
“Laura was better.”
Vivian looked toward Rescue Six under hangar lights.
“Did she die flying?”
“No.”
“Cancer.”
“Fast?”
“Eleven months.”
Vivian said nothing.
Ethan appreciated that.
After a while he continued:
“Mia was three when we found out.”
“Laura flew until six months before she died.”
“She kept saying cancer already took enough.”
“Was Rescue Six hers?”
“Never officially.”
“But she rebuilt half of it.”
“Raised money for the rescue program.”
“Fought the county.”
“Trained medics.”
“After she died…”
He looked toward the aircraft.
“I couldn’t let them scrap it.”
Vivian asked:
“Does it still belong in service?”
Ethan did not become defensive.
“It meets inspection.”
“Limited missions.”
“Backup only.”
“We don’t pretend age doesn’t matter.”
“That would insult what it did.”
Vivian liked that answer.
They reached the hangar.
Mia turned.
“Dad, can Ms. Cross see inside?”
Ethan looked toward Vivian.
She hesitated.
The thought of climbing into Rescue Six tightened something in her chest.
Not fear exactly.
Memory.
Ethan noticed.
“You don’t have to.”
Vivian looked toward the cabin.
“I want to.”
He opened the door.
The smell reached her first.
Old upholstery.
Metal.
A faint trace of aviation fuel.
Suddenly she was eleven.
Cold.
Wet.
Crying.
Her mother screaming her name.
A woman saying:
“Look at me, sweetheart. Not the water. Look at me.”
Vivian gripped the door frame.
Ethan immediately stepped closer.
“Vivian.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
She shut her eyes.
Breathed.
Mia had gone quiet.
Vivian opened her eyes.
“I remember her.”
Ethan’s expression changed.
“Laura?”
“Your wife.”
“You remember her?”
“Not her face.”
“Her voice.”
Vivian looked inside.
“She told me to look at her.”
Ethan swallowed.