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

to her chest.
    You look so peaceful, he said, stroking her head.
    How was the flight?
    It was okay.
    She turned on the bedside light.
    Jesus, Jim—what happened to your eyes?
    Same old; I’m fine.
    Don’t give me that crap.
    She got up on her knees, put hands either side of his face, looked into him.
    It looks like someone’s gone at your eyeballs with a knife! she said. She sat back on her legs. You’ve been pulling heavy g’s. What happened?
    Just a tight spot, hon, nothing to worry about.
    Are you okay?
    Got a little beat up. Guess my eyes got themselves a little bloodshot. I’ll live. I’m stiff right through though, so I’m gonna take a hot bath.
    Grace sat on the edge of the bed in the half-light. Harrison removed his shirt and walked out to the bathroom.
    Bud Anderson shot a bunch of ducks this morning, he said, said we could have one if we want. Hon?
    Sure, she said.
    Great; I’ll bring it home tonight. Maybe make a stew or something?
    Grace didn’t answer. In the bedroom, she rubbed her face, her neck, and pulled on her pants.
    Any chance you could fix me up a cheese sandwich or something quick? I got to be back at base for a debrief at three.
    Planning on eating it in the bath? she said.
    Can I?
    She appeared at the bathroom door. He was in the tub, soaking. The old pipes banged behind the wall.
    My mother always said there was no place for food in the bathroom, she said.
    Your mother said a lot of stuff.
    You should have heard what she said about you.
    We used to talk a lot about fishing, he said. Woman loved to fish.
    Grace looked down at her husband, half-submerged, skin brown and smooth and wrinkled from the beating it took from the desert sun day after day. His ears were pink from the hot water. All she could think was how vulnerable he seemed; this mass of flesh and hair she loved so deeply, floating naked in the bath. There was a small cut on his face, above his left eye, near the hairline. He moved in the bath, exposing his shoulder. It was yellow.
    Your shoulder, she said.
    Dinged it pretty bad, he said. Hurts like hell.
    She knelt beside the tub and ran her fingers across the bruising. She kissed it.
    Head’s pretty sore too, he said.
    She pushed her lips to his forehead.
    And here, he said, pointing at his lips.
    She leaned in and kissed him.
    I’ll make your sandwich, she said, but you’re eating it downstairs.
     
    Later that afternoon, when Harrison had gone back to work, she put Milo in the car and drove to Rosamond, twenty miles west of the base, and pulled up outside the First Baptist Church. It was a small building with alabaster walls and a domed bell tower. A single Joshua tree stood outside next to the veranda, its crooked arms reaching skyward like a penitent sinner. The engine idled. She drummed her hands on the wheel.
    C’mon, she said, and turned off the engine.
    She tied Milo to the corner of the veranda.
    I’ll be back in a minute, she said.
     
    Inside was gloomy and cool. A lone figure sat hunched at a wooden table in the northeast corner, sunlight falling on a smooth head of Brylcreem from a small window cut high in the wall above him. He looked up when he heard the door close, hair gleaming white in the gloom.
    Grace, he said as she approached him, this is a pleasant surprise. He rose and walked over to greet her.
    Good afternoon, Reverend Irving, she said. I hope you don’t mind me—
    Not at all, not at all, he said, please, come in.
    I was just passing by and I thought I’d stop in, see how Virginia Allen was doing.
    You’re very kind, he said. She’s bearing up. Her fever peaked over Christmas; the doctor says that’s the worst of it. She needs to rest now, rest and eat. We miss her on a Sunday.
    You’ll tell her I stopped by? She’s such a sweet old lady.
    Of course, she’ll be delighted. Thank you.
    I’d better get going, she said. Milo’s outside.
    It’s good of you to stop in. Milo’s your son?
    My dog, she said. Milo’s my dog. Tied up, out