Chapter 12: Left Seat

I was down the ladder before Sawyer had the blanket off.

I called the transplant team while I ran.

"Fever after a transplant is an emergency," the doctor on call said. "We need her here. Tonight. Can you get her to Boston?"

"Yes."

"How fast?"

"Fifty minutes," I said. "Have an ambulance on the ramp."

Sawyer was already pulling the hangar doors open.

He looked over his shoulder at me as I came around the corner.

"Left seat's yours," he said.

"Sawyer."

"You're the captain. I'll go get her."

He took his truck. I did the walk-around by flashlight with my hands shaking, then made them stop.

Kit came in his arms ten minutes later, wrapped in her quilt, with her wool hat on and her face burning.

"Oh good," she said, her teeth chattering. "Field trip."

Sawyer buckled her into the seat behind mine and tucked the quilt around her feet.

Then he climbed into the right seat and put his hands in his lap.

It was a clear night. No fog. Wind out of the west and a sky full of stars.

It still felt like the first night.

Same strip. Same plane. Same sister in the back, fighting to breathe.

Except this time my hands were on the controls.

"Checks," Sawyer said quietly.

I called them. He answered.

Then I pushed the throttle in, and the Hen ran, and lifted, and the island fell away below us in the dark.

Kit tapped my shoulder from behind.

"Darce."

"Yeah?"

"You look cool."

"I'm terrified."

"You look cool terrified," she said, and went quiet against the window.

Sawyer didn't touch the controls once.

He watched the instruments. He read me Boston's weather. He poured coffee from the thermos and held the cup where I could reach it.

Somewhere over the coast he said, "You're good at this."

"I know."

"No, I mean you're really good at this. You fly smoother than I do."

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