“How old do you think this airplane is?” He surveyed the aging plane.
She looked around. “I’d say it’s older than us. Maybe we should demand to see the maintenance log.”
Slowly his head turned to her. “Right, because filing a complaint with the FAA posthumously is a great idea.”
“Who could have guessed that turbulence would make you snarky?” Lyric turned her head to face front.
The plane dropped about five feet, and more than a couple people on board let loose with startled screams. More than a little disturbed himself now, he reached for Lyric’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Lay a few more statistics on me,” he told her when she looked at him, surprised. “I can take it.”
“Canadian geese are responsible for forty-three percent of aircraft disasters involving birds.” She patted his hand with her free one. “True fact.”
His eyes jerked up to meet hers, and he felt her body relax—just a little—under his touch.
The plane dropped again, and the windows rattled against the storm. This time several passengers turned in their seats to stare at her. She didn’t notice, but Heath did, and he glared at all of them. To hell with their peace of mind. Lyric needed to forget her troubles, and if tormenting him with nightmarish statistics did it for her, he was more than happy to play along.
In a louder voice, she said, “Since we’re flying on American Airlines—one of the top thirty airlines in the world—our chances of dying on a flight are one in twenty-nine point four million.” She pa
used for a moment, thinking. “Surely American Airlines is one of the top thirty airlines.”
“Surely it is.” Heath smiled. “But maybe we should demand to check the maintenance log.”
“You think?” She returned his smile as the plane shook. “It might be the straw that breaks Tre’s back.”
“More and more reason to do it.”
Lightning crackled in the distance, and the plane vibrated with the aftershock. Lyric glanced out the window. “Now, lightning could be a problem. It doesn’t even have to hit the plane to cause equipment malfunction. In fact—”
She broke off as Tre, in total defiance of the captain’s order for flight attendants to be seated, stomped down the aisle with a roll of duct tape in one hand and a champagne bottle in the other. “Wonder Woman, you have a choice. I can either smack you in the head with this bottle or duct tape your mouth, but one way or the other, you will stop talking. Most of the folks in front of you are ready to jump out of this plane.”
“What?” She looked around at all of the angry faces. “What did I do?”
“Is that a rhetorical question? What haven’t you done since you entered my life eight and a half hours ago?” He waggled the champagne and duct tape. “Now, clobber to the head or tape to the mouth?”
“I’ll be quiet.” She held up her hands. “I promise.”
Tre gave her one last warning glare before turning on his shiny loafers and stalking back up the aisle.
“Don’t worry about him.”
“I was just trying to make you feel better.” She was back to picking at her dress.
If she needed to think Heath had a problem, he’d let her.
“I know. They just don’t know you like I do.” He patted her hand. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just turbulence—”
“I’m not talking about the turbulence.”
* * *
Chapter 6
* * *
Lyric knew he wasn’t, but focusing on the tangible had always been easier for her to do than focusing on the emotional. Especially when she didn’t want to think about the rest, let alone talk about it. Not until she’d spoken to her mother and found out exactly what she was walking into. And maybe not even then.