they made was machine guns for the P-51. When the war was over, he bought one of the planes that had his guns in it.”
“I wish my grandfather had a P-51.”
“Stein!” called a pretty blonde woman who had just emerged from an office building. “Time to go!”
“Hold on just a sec.” Connor felt around inside the wing and found a small loose cylinder. He pulled it out and handed it to the boy. “Want an empty cartridge from today’s movie shoot?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Thanks!” Then he turned and ran to his mother, showing her his prize as soon as he reached her.
Connor chuckled as he watched them go. Twenty years ago, he had been exactly the same. He pestered Grandpa Lamont for a ride in the White Knight at least once a week, and when they were in the air, he always begged to shoot the guns. Grandpa had soon learned to keep them unloaded whenever he took his trigger-happy grandson for a ride.
Grandpa had been convinced that Connor would be a fighter pilot and had given him the P-51 when he got his pilot’s license. Grandpa hadn’t exactly said he was disappointed when Connor chose Stanford over the Air Force Academy, but he had made Connor promise that he wouldn’t let the White Knight get rusty.
That hadn’t been a hard promise to keep. Connor loved the old plane and kept it in mint condition. He flew it at least once a month when he was in California and had trained himself to be a competent P-51 mechanic.
As for Grandpa Lamont’s desire that Connor spend his life shooting down America’s enemies, Connor liked to think that he was doing just that—even if he generally didn’t get to use machine guns on them.
12
O KAY , MIGHT AS WELL GET THIS OVER WITH . Allie picked up the phone and hesitated. She eyed the bottle of margarita mix in the liquor cabinet, but decided against it. Better to do this sober.
She took a deep breath and dialed. The phone rang three times. Four. Five. She began to hope that Mom and Sam had gone to bed early.
But no. “Hello, Allie.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Thanks for calling, sweetheart. It’s so nice that you remember to call every July twenty-third.” She paused. “It’s ten years today.”
“I know. Sometimes it feels like a hundred years ago— sometimes it almost feels like it’s still happening. How are you and Sam doing?”
“We’re fine.” She sighed, and Allie could hear the tired smile in her voice. “Samantha and the girls made oatmeal-raisin cookies and we sat around the kitchen table and ate them and looked at pictures of Grandpa.”
“Wow, he would be a grandfather now, wouldn’t he? It’s weird to think of him like that.”
“I know. He’s forever young, isn’t he?” Mom’s voice got rougher and softer. “He’ll always be the man in those pictures.”
“Which pictures were you looking at?”
“The ones from our last trip to the Dells. The girls loved the one of you and Sam on his shoulders. Do you remember that one?”
“Oh, sure.” She and Sam, each wearing bikinis and each standing on one of Dad’s shoulders in the hotel swimming pool. All of them wet and laughing in the sun. Dad was a big man, proud of his size and strength. One of his favorite pool or beach stunts was to balance his two teenage daughters on his shoulders like a circus strongman. Sometimes they even stayed up long enough for Mom to snap a picture. That had been the last time.
Less than forty-eight hours after that picture was taken, he’d been lying next to Allie in a pile of twisted steel and shattered glass, his face too pale and—
Waves of guilt crashed over Allie, driving her down and suffocating her. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. Her eyes were suddenly wet and she fought back sobs. “So, how are you and Sam doing?” she forced out.
Mom paused a second before answering. “We’re fine, dear. How are you?”
She sniffed and took a deep breath. “I’m good. Just started a new job. Lots to do. These guys can build an underwater power plant,
“I wish my grandfather had a P-51.”
“Stein!” called a pretty blonde woman who had just emerged from an office building. “Time to go!”
“Hold on just a sec.” Connor felt around inside the wing and found a small loose cylinder. He pulled it out and handed it to the boy. “Want an empty cartridge from today’s movie shoot?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Thanks!” Then he turned and ran to his mother, showing her his prize as soon as he reached her.
Connor chuckled as he watched them go. Twenty years ago, he had been exactly the same. He pestered Grandpa Lamont for a ride in the White Knight at least once a week, and when they were in the air, he always begged to shoot the guns. Grandpa had soon learned to keep them unloaded whenever he took his trigger-happy grandson for a ride.
Grandpa had been convinced that Connor would be a fighter pilot and had given him the P-51 when he got his pilot’s license. Grandpa hadn’t exactly said he was disappointed when Connor chose Stanford over the Air Force Academy, but he had made Connor promise that he wouldn’t let the White Knight get rusty.
That hadn’t been a hard promise to keep. Connor loved the old plane and kept it in mint condition. He flew it at least once a month when he was in California and had trained himself to be a competent P-51 mechanic.
As for Grandpa Lamont’s desire that Connor spend his life shooting down America’s enemies, Connor liked to think that he was doing just that—even if he generally didn’t get to use machine guns on them.
12
O KAY , MIGHT AS WELL GET THIS OVER WITH . Allie picked up the phone and hesitated. She eyed the bottle of margarita mix in the liquor cabinet, but decided against it. Better to do this sober.
She took a deep breath and dialed. The phone rang three times. Four. Five. She began to hope that Mom and Sam had gone to bed early.
But no. “Hello, Allie.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Thanks for calling, sweetheart. It’s so nice that you remember to call every July twenty-third.” She paused. “It’s ten years today.”
“I know. Sometimes it feels like a hundred years ago— sometimes it almost feels like it’s still happening. How are you and Sam doing?”
“We’re fine.” She sighed, and Allie could hear the tired smile in her voice. “Samantha and the girls made oatmeal-raisin cookies and we sat around the kitchen table and ate them and looked at pictures of Grandpa.”
“Wow, he would be a grandfather now, wouldn’t he? It’s weird to think of him like that.”
“I know. He’s forever young, isn’t he?” Mom’s voice got rougher and softer. “He’ll always be the man in those pictures.”
“Which pictures were you looking at?”
“The ones from our last trip to the Dells. The girls loved the one of you and Sam on his shoulders. Do you remember that one?”
“Oh, sure.” She and Sam, each wearing bikinis and each standing on one of Dad’s shoulders in the hotel swimming pool. All of them wet and laughing in the sun. Dad was a big man, proud of his size and strength. One of his favorite pool or beach stunts was to balance his two teenage daughters on his shoulders like a circus strongman. Sometimes they even stayed up long enough for Mom to snap a picture. That had been the last time.
Less than forty-eight hours after that picture was taken, he’d been lying next to Allie in a pile of twisted steel and shattered glass, his face too pale and—
Waves of guilt crashed over Allie, driving her down and suffocating her. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. Her eyes were suddenly wet and she fought back sobs. “So, how are you and Sam doing?” she forced out.
Mom paused a second before answering. “We’re fine, dear. How are you?”
She sniffed and took a deep breath. “I’m good. Just started a new job. Lots to do. These guys can build an underwater power plant,
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