Soaring Home by Christine Johnson

think Mr. Curtiss is anxious?”
    She was assuming he had a greater knowledge of Curtissthan he did. He’d met the boss a few times. It wasn’t as if they were friends.
    “Maybe a little,” he said with a wink, glad to see she followed with a smile, “but I can handle it.”
    She leaned toward him, and a curl drifted across her brow. He resisted the urge to brush it aside.
    “You mean your mechanic can handle it,” she said.
    He laughed. “Touché.”
    For a moment she stilled, deep in thought, and he wondered if he’d somehow offended her. Then, slow as a propeller starting to turn, her eyes widened. He wanted to believe that glow in her face was for him, but he’d only be kidding himself. She had hit on something, something important.
    “I want to do it, what you do,” she breathed, rising to her knees and sweeping her arms to the open sky. “I want to fly. Ever since the Chicago air meet, I knew that one day, no matter what it took, I would fly.”
    He could have looked at her all day, but he had to open his mouth. “But you didn’t.”
    She lowered her gaze to meet his, jaw set with determination. “I will.”
    Jack began peeling the egg. He knew what she meant, that he could be the one to fulfill her dream. This was the danger point. Rushing in was easy. Getting out wasn’t. Especially with a banker father lurking in the background.
    “There are good flight schools around the country,” he said carefully. “Chicago would be closest.”
    She sat back on her heels, deflated. “They’re closed. The war.”
    “They’ll reopen after the war.”
    “I don’t want to wait. Who knows how long the war will last. You’re an instructor. You could teach me.”
    The desperation in her voice made him want to help, but he couldn’t. “I teach recruits.”
    “I know. But what’s one more person? They’ll hardly know I’m there. I’m not meant to be here, in this small town. I want to do something, set a record, go places no woman has ever gone. Someday I will be the first to fly over the North Pole.”
    Jack gagged on the lemonade. “Excuse me?” Her intensity was thrilling, but he had to set her straight. This wasn’t a little jaunt she was talking about. “Do you have any idea how much funding and preparation it takes to make a flight like that? Plus there’s no money in it. Now, be the first to make the transatlantic flight in one hop, and you’ll get yourself fifty thousand dollars. That’s a prize worth going for.”
    She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. “That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”
    He ran his thumb around the rim of his cup. “It’s not possible.”
    “Not now, with the war, but later, after it’s over, you can do it. You can be the first.”
    She was so close he could see tiny drops of perspiration on her upper lip.
    He cleared his throat. “Others have the jump on me, and the planes aren’t capable of that distance yet.” Though true, his excuse did nothing to break the charge between them, so he joked, “I can’t even make New York to Chicago without engine failure.”
    If she thought it funny, she didn’t laugh. She didn’t move an inch. He was uncomfortably aware of the smells of violet and petroleum, not to mention the heat she generated.
    “That’s a test flight with a new plane,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the electric moment. “Take an aeroplane you’ve tested and run for hours, one you know inside and out, and you can do it.”
    “First I need to get this plane running again.” He cleared his throat, but it was too late. She’d noticed its rough edge.
    “Let me fly with you when it’s fixed,” she said, looking at the open field. “I want to know. I need to know what it’s like to fly, even if it’s just for a minute.”
    This was what he knew had been coming, but the faraway gaze, reddened cheeks and desperate hope undid him. Memories rushed back. He and his little sister, twenty years ago, playing in the sunlight. The river