Chapter 10: The Loft

The storm came in over the valley that night, and the hangar roof rang with it.

Hank had made up a bunk for me in the loft over the tool room, a plywood platform with a mattress and a window that looked out on the runway.

I lay on it in my flight suit and listened to the rain.

I had not told anyone what Celia said.

I had decided in the car, and again at supper, and again in the dark, that she wanted exactly this.

She wanted me to lie awake wondering about the man downstairs.

I did not believe her.

A board creaked on the ladder.

I sat up.

Bruce's head and shoulders rose through the hatch, with a paper cup in each hand.

"Tea," he said. "Hank says you won't sleep without it."

"Hank has never made me tea in his life."

"Then I'm lying," he said. "Take the cup."

I took it between my wrists.

It was the same plain white cup they had used in the burn unit, with the same cardboard sleeve.

I thought of the nurse and the man in the flight jacket, and the thought slid past me and was gone.

He climbed the last rung and sat on the edge of the platform, a foot from me.

Neither of us drank.

Lightning lit the window, and in the white flash I saw him looking at me.

"Celia told me something about you today," I said.

"I figured."

"I'm not asking you about it."

"I know," he said, very low.

"That's the rule. Nothing about that night. No promises."

"I know the rule."

"Good," I said. "Then I don't want to talk."

I put the cup on the floor.

Then I took his face in my wrapped hands, as carefully as I could, and kissed him.

For a second he did not move.

Then he made a sound in his chest that I felt in my own, and his mouth opened under mine.

He kissed me slowly at first, with his hand sliding behind my neck.

I tasted tea and rain.

I pulled back an inch.

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