The Last Pilot: A Novel by Benjamin Johncock Read Free Book Online Page A

to keep a lid on it.
    Just the way they figured it, Harrison said.
    Well it’s a crock of shit, Pancho said.
    Matters that we busted that ol sound barrier; doesn’t matter who knows.
    You can’t keep a thing like that secret, she said. Word’ll get out and every hot pilot in the country will know this is the place to aim for. This here’s the new frontier. Everything’s gonna change. So tell Boyd I’ll keep his little secret—hell, I’m keeping enough of his dirty ones anyways—but tonight, we’re celebratin.
    Pancho threw out anyone not involved with the X-1 program and declared the bar gratis. She always had her booze flown up from Mexico, telling everyone it tasted better tax-free. Grace handed out cold cuartito bottles of Pac í fico from a crate on the floor. Harrison and Ridley grabbed Yeager and wrestled him onto the bar. He stood and swayed and they toasted him three times.
     
    It was nearly two. Yeager and Ridley were head-to-head across a table in a shot contest, slowly downing then inverting their glasses in turn. Pancho refereed, calling odds, collecting money. More glasses were empty than full. Harrison cheered and wondered where his wife was. He knocked back his scotch, put down his glass and searched her out.
    He found her outside, sat on the steps of the veranda, drinking a warm beer.
    There you are, Harrison said.
    She looked up at him. Today is a good day, she said.
    It is, he said.
    It hurts, she said.
    I know, he said.
    Here. She tapped at her chest.
    He sat down. She took a drink of her beer.
    Plenty more good days comin, he said.
    She offered him the bottle, he took a swig.
    Why don’t you give Mac a call, see if he’s still got that pup? he said.
    She looked at him. She nodded. She looked down at the dirt.
    When I was a girl, she said, Daddy would take me out riding. Growing up on a ranch, horses were just how we lived; but it was different when he took me out. We’d be gone for the whole morning sometimes; other times longer. We’d ride out together, same horse; a beautiful brown mare he called Lightning—not for her speed, though she was no slouch; she’d been born in a storm. He’d give me the reins from time to time and sometimes we’d stop and fish or catch a jackrabbit to take home with us, but mostly we’d just ride, for the sake of riding. Can’t ride a horse without thinking about him. Warm breeze in your face, dirt kicking up behind. It felt good, just to ride.
    He offered back the bottle; she shook her head. They sat together in silence, smoke curling away in the wind.

 
    MOJAVE DESERT
MUROC, CALIFORNIA
JANUARY 1959
    The blanched beans steamed thin trails that coiled up from a pan in the sink. She watched them twist slowly, the desert flat and wild and wide out the window behind. For a moment, the steam seemed to rise up from the sagebrush itself; a column of smoke. She looked down at the floor, and gripped the edge of the sink.
    Shit, she said. Shit shit shit.
    Grace shut her eyes and stood still, heart lilting in her chest. She left the beans in the sink and walked out of the kitchen.
    Milo! she said. Milo!
    The dog ran to her from the sofa.
    Good boy, she said. Let’s take a walk.
    She dried her hands on the back of her jeans and pulled on her boots.
     
    It was eleven and the mountains shimmered in the distance. The sun scolded the sky steel blue; orange gleams snagged the underside of gaunt clouds high in the thin air. She walked across the hardpan, away from the house. Milo ran ahead, darting between the black Joshua trees. She whistled and he returned to her side, nuzzling her legs. She pushed her fingers into his hair.
    All right, she said. The dog ran off again. She glanced up at the horizon toward the base. The sky was clear. They walked for an hour.
     
    When they got back, she went to bed and slept. She did not dream. When she woke, she was not alone.
    Jim? Is that you?
    You’re awake.
    When did you get in?
    She sat up on her elbows, pulling the eiderdown