“Yes,” he said. “She’s the jet lady.”
The girl considered Vivian.
Then pointed toward the helicopter.
“Dad says people who insult Rescue Six don’t get coffee.”
Vivian looked at Ethan.
He looked toward the sky as if asking for patience.
“I have never said that.”
“You said it about Mr. Donnelly.”
“I said he wasn’t getting my coffee.”
“Because he called Rescue Six ugly.”
“That was unrelated.”
The girl looked unconvinced.
Vivian laughed.
A real laugh.
The child smiled.
Then Ethan said:
“Mia.”
“I’m going.”
She disappeared inside.
Vivian looked toward the helicopter.
“Rescue Six?”
Ethan’s face closed slightly.
“Old call sign.”
“Rescue helicopter?”
“Once.”
“And now?”
“Backup.”
“For what?”
“Things that still happen.”
He returned to the service panel.
Conversation over.
Vivian did not move.
Neither did her curiosity.
The airfield manager cleared his throat.
“Ms. Cross, maybe we should go inside.”
Vivian looked toward Ethan.
“Ten minutes.”
“No.”
“Fifteen.”
“No.”
“Twenty?”
He looked at her.
“Do executives think adding minutes changes the word?”
“It often does.”
“Not today.”
Vivian smiled despite herself.
“All right.”
She picked up her bag.
Then paused.
“Why did you say four offers?”
Ethan tightened something inside the helicopter.
“The first one came from North Meridian.”
Vivian nodded.
“That’s our acquisition subsidiary.”
“I know.”
“The second came from Lake Union Capital.”
Vivian stopped.
“We didn’t send Lake Union.”
Ethan looked at her.
“I told you that should bother you.”
The operations manager’s expression changed too.
Vivian reached for her phone.
“What did Lake Union offer?”
“Less money.”
“Different terms?”
“More pressure.”
“What kind of pressure?”
Ethan leaned back from the helicopter.
“Buy the coffee first.”
Vivian stared at him.
Then at the hangar.
“You just said I didn’t qualify.”
He looked toward where Mia disappeared.
“Maybe the committee can reconsider.”
The office inside Briar Ridge Airfield was smaller than Vivian expected.
Not shabby.
Used.
There was a difference.
Old photographs covered one wall.
Airplanes.
Pilots.
Children standing beside training aircraft.
Storm damage.
Ribbon cuttings.
A black-and-white photograph of the original runway when it had been grass.
Another showed a younger Ethan beside a woman in a flight suit.
Vivian noticed that photograph.
Ethan noticed her noticing.
He said nothing.
Mia sat at a desk near the window fighting with the printer.
The machine made a grinding sound.
“It ate another one.”
Ethan walked over.
“Because you keep pulling before it finishes.”
“It’s slow.”
“It’s forty years old.”
“So is your helicopter.”
“Betrayal.”
Mia smiled.