Start reading this book:
CHAPTER ONE
Miranda
From the time I was a little girl, I’d dreamt of flying; but not straight into a lifetime of voluntold overtime, soul-stirring turbulence, and my brother’s passive-aggressive Post-it notes.
I lifted the latest missive, written on a red square, from the desk Dominick had set up in his office for me as I helped him implement the improvements he’d fought so hard for; nearly left the company for, when his plan wasn’t initially approved. As the director of the flight school, all of it should have fallen to him, but he hadn’t factored in the amount of coordination it would take to see his vision through.
And with my two nephews being so small, and Dominick being a widowed single father, he needed all the flexibility he could get. Tag teaming between me and him had worked fine before this huge undertaking took over our lives. Mostly, my life.
After reading through the Post-it, I balled it up and threw it in the trash. Then I laid my head on the desk and cried.
“Hey, what is going on? What’s wrong?” Dominick came into the office and rushed to my side.
If I’d known my brother was coming back so soon, I would have held on to my tears a little longer. He worried about me—my whole family did—because I hadn’t shared with them what happened to me when I flew commercially, and probably never would. They figured it was something major to get me to quit after only two years.
It was.
And I hadn’t been in the cockpit of an airplane since.
I sniffled and sat up, wiping tears from my face. “I don’t know, Dominick. It’s just all so overwhelming.”
“What? The rental?”
I blew out a shuddering breath and shook my head. For someone so intelligent, my big brother could be incredibly dense sometimes. “No, this place.” I gestured around with flailing arms going every which way. “Jesus, Dom, you and your little instructions.” Heavy emphasis on instructions. I needed him to feel every bit of sarcasm I infused into the word.
“My note? I was only checking on the paint order for the hangar. I couldn’t tell the color from the outside of the cans. You said the painters start Monday morning, right?”
“Don’t play me, brother.” I fished the note from the trash can and spread out the creases. “It says, and I quote, ‘Just checking—did we definitely go with the color we talked about, or was there a creative decision somewhere along the way?’ Pfftt.”
He widened his eyes and blinked really quickly. “What’s wrong with that?”
Because his beloved wife had died just a little over a year before, we as a family had let him make it. But I’d had enough on my plate for two full-time employees for three months, and my field of fucks was going to seed. “What’s wrong is that these little petulant musings of yours are getting on my last nerve. Just tell me the color doesn’t look correct to you. Then I would pull out the written specs we decided on…” I stared at him pointedly as I turned my tablet around to face him with a scanned copy of the specs with his signature. “And that you signed off on, then we could both be about our days.”
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, but I still don’t understand what you’re all upset about. I basically said that in my note.”
I balled the Post-it up again, stood, and drop-kicked it across the room. “No more notes, Dominick. Just text me next time. Or send me an email. I actually dread coming in here now because I know there will be a piece of your passive-aggressive nature lying on my desk in the not-so-subtle color of red.”
What probably fueled my rage more than anything was that I longed for the days of filling in for Dominick when he needed to be somewhere else, usually with his sons, and spending most of my time helping my best friend manage the rental. Though nowadays, Jaden spent a lot of time over here as a student pilot. I wasn’t getting enough face-to-face time with him anymore, and my mood reflected it. He didn’t know my past secret either, but his ready smile kept me balanced, whether or not he realized it.
None of this was my brother’s fault, exactly. And I shouldn’t have taken it out on him.
He fell into his chair, expression stunned.
I walked over, perched on his desk, and leaned in, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you.” Then the tears flowed again, and I let them. I’d long ago accepted my plight as being a crier, especially when I got angry.
Dominick hugged me back, rubbing circles into my back. “It’s okay.”
I was far from a child, but he’d had plenty of experience comforting rage-fueled theatrics over at his house.
I sat back and blinked him into a watery focus. “I’m obviously frustrated, and that’s not your fault. But I am serious about the notes. There’s too much going on, and I need you to be direct with me. Otherwise, you’re wasting both our time. Okay?”
He worked his neck back and forth and sort of swished his hand around, but then exhaled a loud sigh. “Yeah, okay. I get it. But why are you so frustrated? Because of me?”
Growing up on the Hawthorne family compound surrounded by our family’s aviation legacy, it would’ve been easy to fall into the rhythm and flow of the successful conglomerate that had been built up from the original crop-dusting business our Tuskegee Airmen ancestors started. But it seemed Dominick and Margaret were the only siblings who truly embraced the day-to-day.
If it were up to Margaret, she would be running the entire thing once Daddy retired later on this year. But even after fighting for it, and losing a heartbreaking vote from the board, she’d realized it wasn’t really what she wanted. Unlike me, she’d thrived flying commercially and had much success. There were hurtles of course, but none like the ones I had to endure.
Dominick was happy with his piece of the pie, especially now that he’d gotten what he wanted, and we were well on our way with the upgrades to the flight school.
Even my sister, Meredith, had finally settled into her life plan, which still included the airplane repair shop, along with hopes of putting out a bestselling book gleaned from her successful airplane mechanic blog. Besides writing, getting her hands dirty inside heavy machines really did it for her.
My younger brother, on the other hand, had shot a middle finger to the entire place, and went off to conquer the oil and gas world. We saw Donovan for Sunday dinners, but he checked out if any shop talk started, despite holding a requisite seat on the board.
I wasn’t just frustrated. I was restless.
Smiling at my brother, I patted his shoulder and stood. “No, not because of you. I really want to wrap up this improvement plan so I can get on with my life. I spend more time over here than I ever wanted.” I raised my eyebrows and let them quickly drop. “No offense.”
He smiled back, warm and understanding. “None taken.”
My phone beeped and I jumped, nearly hitting my hip on the corner of the desk, my two-strand twists flying about my head. “Jeesh, I gotta get back to the rental because Jaden has class.” I gathered my tablet and purse from the makeshift desk. “See you Sunday.”
“See you Sunday, Miranda.”
I rushed across the grass to the neighboring rental and burst through the doors.
But only Janine stood behind the counter. “He already left for school.”
Of course he did. Jaden believed that being fifteen minutes early meant he was on time.
This day just kept getting worse.
End of Excerpt
