then.”
“Don’t hide,” Lois told her. “Keep busy. You’ve got church, and the youth center, and the health club. They can keep your mind off things until I get back. And don’t forget, Erin. Lean.”
“Lean?”
“Yes. On Christ, remember? You told me back then that I needed to learn how to lean. I’ve been doing it ever since, but you, friend, need to learn how to practice what you preach.”
“Yeah,” Erin said, already feeling better. “I know you’re right.”
“Well, I’d better go. You’ll be okay, won’t you?”
“Sure,” Erin whispered. “Listen, thanks for being there for me.”
“Don’t thank me,” Lois said. “Thank Ma Bell. I’m gonna be praying for you. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” Erin held the phone to her ear for a moment after Lois had hung up, savoring the feeling of connection to someone who understood. Finally, she hung up, letting the abysmal quiet settle over her.
Unwilling to be defeated by despondency again, she pulled two unfinished canvases out from under her bed. She laid them on the four half-gallon cans of bright paint that sat in the corner waiting to be taken to the Christian youth center, where she worked as a volunteer two days a week. Then she went to the closet for the seven-foot-wide roll of paper leaning against the wall. It wasn’t the day of the week she usually went to the center, but Lois was right. She needed something to do, something that was removed from death and flying and crashing and questions. She needed to hear the kids there laugh as they painted, needed to dodge the globs of paint flying across the room, needed to see their untamed creativity unfold on the wall murals they painted. Maybe then she’d feel useful instead of alone.
She packed the smaller canvases and paint cans into a box, tucked the larger roll under her arm, and started out to her car, forbidding herself to look toward the sky or at the dent on her fender that had altered her fate…
And she forbade herself to think about Addison Lowe.
Chapter Five
B y the time Addison drove home, his anger had settled in the chamber of his heart where other smoldering injustices lay. And there were plenty of them. He was always the bad guy, the one ready to lay blame on someone or some thing that had caused a disaster. Always the villain, and he was getting tired of it.
He gathered his papers off the seat of his car and got out, shuffling them into order while he walked to the condominium the NTSB had rented for him. He reached into his pocket for his keys and pulled them out, jabbing one into the lock. But it wasn’t locked.
Puzzled, Addison pushed open the door. His bewilderment was quickly resolved when he encountered the older man sitting cross-legged on his couch, smoking a cigarette and reading some of Addison’s notes on the recent crash.
“Sid, I didn’t know you were coming,” he said, a trace of irritation in his tight voice, though he tried to conceal it. “You should have called.”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” the older man said, rising to his feet and dusting stray ashes off his gray trousers. “Thought I’d see how things were going.”
Addison dropped his keys on the table, set down his things, and tried to control the tension rising to his head. He’d learned years ago that it was better to voice his feelings to Sid, or the man would run right over him. “Father-in-law or not,” he said, “you don’t have any business walking into my apartment anytime you please.”
“I’m not here as your father-in-law,” Sid said, stroking his gray mustache with the tip of a callused finger. “I’m here as your boss.”
Addison turned back to him, bracing himself for whatever was about to come. The NTSB didn’t send his superiors to check on him unless they weren’t happy with his job. He’d heard it all before, but the lecture never failed to scathe him. “And what am I getting my hand slapped for this time?”
Sid chuckled under his
“Don’t hide,” Lois told her. “Keep busy. You’ve got church, and the youth center, and the health club. They can keep your mind off things until I get back. And don’t forget, Erin. Lean.”
“Lean?”
“Yes. On Christ, remember? You told me back then that I needed to learn how to lean. I’ve been doing it ever since, but you, friend, need to learn how to practice what you preach.”
“Yeah,” Erin said, already feeling better. “I know you’re right.”
“Well, I’d better go. You’ll be okay, won’t you?”
“Sure,” Erin whispered. “Listen, thanks for being there for me.”
“Don’t thank me,” Lois said. “Thank Ma Bell. I’m gonna be praying for you. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” Erin held the phone to her ear for a moment after Lois had hung up, savoring the feeling of connection to someone who understood. Finally, she hung up, letting the abysmal quiet settle over her.
Unwilling to be defeated by despondency again, she pulled two unfinished canvases out from under her bed. She laid them on the four half-gallon cans of bright paint that sat in the corner waiting to be taken to the Christian youth center, where she worked as a volunteer two days a week. Then she went to the closet for the seven-foot-wide roll of paper leaning against the wall. It wasn’t the day of the week she usually went to the center, but Lois was right. She needed something to do, something that was removed from death and flying and crashing and questions. She needed to hear the kids there laugh as they painted, needed to dodge the globs of paint flying across the room, needed to see their untamed creativity unfold on the wall murals they painted. Maybe then she’d feel useful instead of alone.
She packed the smaller canvases and paint cans into a box, tucked the larger roll under her arm, and started out to her car, forbidding herself to look toward the sky or at the dent on her fender that had altered her fate…
And she forbade herself to think about Addison Lowe.
Chapter Five
B y the time Addison drove home, his anger had settled in the chamber of his heart where other smoldering injustices lay. And there were plenty of them. He was always the bad guy, the one ready to lay blame on someone or some thing that had caused a disaster. Always the villain, and he was getting tired of it.
He gathered his papers off the seat of his car and got out, shuffling them into order while he walked to the condominium the NTSB had rented for him. He reached into his pocket for his keys and pulled them out, jabbing one into the lock. But it wasn’t locked.
Puzzled, Addison pushed open the door. His bewilderment was quickly resolved when he encountered the older man sitting cross-legged on his couch, smoking a cigarette and reading some of Addison’s notes on the recent crash.
“Sid, I didn’t know you were coming,” he said, a trace of irritation in his tight voice, though he tried to conceal it. “You should have called.”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” the older man said, rising to his feet and dusting stray ashes off his gray trousers. “Thought I’d see how things were going.”
Addison dropped his keys on the table, set down his things, and tried to control the tension rising to his head. He’d learned years ago that it was better to voice his feelings to Sid, or the man would run right over him. “Father-in-law or not,” he said, “you don’t have any business walking into my apartment anytime you please.”
“I’m not here as your father-in-law,” Sid said, stroking his gray mustache with the tip of a callused finger. “I’m here as your boss.”
Addison turned back to him, bracing himself for whatever was about to come. The NTSB didn’t send his superiors to check on him unless they weren’t happy with his job. He’d heard it all before, but the lecture never failed to scathe him. “And what am I getting my hand slapped for this time?”
Sid chuckled under his
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