Chapter 11: Signed Blank

Alec's POV

I woke at 4:50 with her hair across my arm and the old feeling in my chest.

For four years I had woken at that hour, ready to fly.

This morning I lay still and listened to Marisa breathe.

She slept on her side with her bandaged hands tucked under her chin, and she hadn't unwrapped them once.

I eased out from under her, pulled on jeans and went to make coffee.

My flight bag sat on the kitchen chair where I'd dropped it the morning I quit.

I hadn't opened it in eleven days.

I unzipped it for the same reason I'd gone to the church: because I couldn't stay out of it.

Under my logbook was a folded slip of paper, damp-stained from that night.

The ramp hand at Odette's ranch had pushed it through my window before I shut down the rotor.

*Redirect Authorization. Animal evacuation, priority. Authorized: J. Bradbury.*

I had read it that night and shoved it away, because it explained nothing and I didn't want to be explained to.

I read it again now, standing at my counter in the gray light.

The slip was a printed form.

The date and the aircraft number had been filled in by a printer, in black ink.

The signature at the bottom was in blue pen, slanted and long, with a fat loop on the J.

I'd seen that signature on four years of paychecks.

I took out my phone and opened the photo Marisa had sent me of the divorce page.

The same blue ink.

The same loop.

That wasn't what stopped me.

The signature on my slip had been pressed hard enough to dent the paper.

The black printing on the same slip sat lightly on top.

Somebody had signed this form blank, with a steady hand and plenty of time.

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