“Excuse me, guys, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
"Shit," Baldy said, laughing genially. "Don't be. We're the ones who sat down right next to you and started running our mouths. We probably sound like a bunch of chicks gossiping."
"No," I assured him, trying to sound calm so I could keep these guys feeling okay about talking to me. "You’re not bothering me. I was just wondering who you two are talking about, if you don't mind my asking. I'm wondering if I know the guy."
“You might,” Beardy replied. “He was flying all of the time up until recently.”
“Who?” I asked.
"Guy named Fred Stevens,” Baldy said. “He's been a pilot for a long time. It's fucking sad, you know?"
“And he got fired?” I asked.
Beardy nodded. "He did. He got suspended a little while back, and there was some talk that he might clean himself up, get his act together again, and get back to work. But I guess it went the other way. He was drinking a lot, you know? He was drinking pretty much all of the time."
"It got pretty fucking bad," Baldy chimed in, shaking his head glumly. "Bad enough that this can't really be a surprise to anyone. He's always liked to party, but lately, he's been hitting the bottle all the time. It only got worse after he got suspended. I flew with the guy a couple of times, and I knew what he was doing."
“Did you?” I asked, becoming genuinely annoyed for the first time since the conversation had begun. “You knew he was drinking while he was flying?”
“Sure, but that’s not the rarest thing in the world. A lot of guys do it. He just started doing it more than he could get away with. I k
new that, too. I noticed it a couple of months before the suspension came. I was hoping he would just take care of it on his own before anything happened.”
“Yeah,” Beardy said mournfully, shaking his head. “I was kind of hoping the same thing. From what I heard, somebody turned him in before he got the chance. Looks like the rest of us better start watching our asses.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, hoping I sounded more casually interested than I felt.
“Come on. We’ve all been there, right? It’s not like we haven’t all knocked a couple back before a flight. It’s just part of it.”
“Is it?” I asked.
“Comes with the territory,” Baldy said. “Only now, we’re all going to have to watch our asses, right? If there’s some guy going around turning people in for every little infraction, we’re all going to have to watch ourselves.”
“It’s not really a little infraction, though, is it?” I asked, the blood starting to pulse in my temples so hard that I could hardly see straight. “Getting drunk before, or on a flight, could kill people. It could kill a lot of people.”
“Did you ever fly with the guy?” Baldy said. “Because it kind of sounds like you know him.”
"I wouldn't say that I know him, but I flew with him once. He was the lead pilot, and he got so drunk on the plane that he almost knocked himself out when we hit some turbulence. It wasn't just a little bit of drinking. He was out of control. My guess is that if I saw it, somebody else did, too."
“Shit,” Baldy said. “Maybe he was a little worse than I thought. You’re probably right. The guy was dangerous. Still, it’s a rough fucking break.”
I listened to the two of them for a little longer before making some bullshit excuse to get up and go. The plan to hang out in the Lounge until I came to a decision about Jess was gone. All I could think about was Fred. I was glad that he wasn't able to go out there and hurt people anymore, but now, I was also wrestling with the news that he'd been let go permanently.
Maybe I should have been sorry for my role in things, but I wasn't. Not at all. On the contrary, now I was pissed off. Fred had all the time in the world to go and get some help, and he'd done nothing. That was the kind of person I would never in my life understand.
Chapter 15: Jess
“God, this is so boring,” Emma groaned.
“Your dinner?” Sophie asked.
“Yeah, my dinner.”
“You’re telling me the dinner is boring?” Sophie asked, her eyes wide. “Who even says something like that?”
Sophie looked at me in disbelief, and I had to duck my head and put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. I knew enough about ten-year-old girls to know that Emma wouldn't appreciate being laughed at. Still, it was a struggle I thought myself likely to lose for a couple of minutes.
It wasn't just Emma’s pronouncement that her bowl of spaghetti was too boring to eat, although that would have been enough. As she spoke, my daughter sat across from me, her chin resting in the palms of her hands forlornly. Her face was a perfect picture of childhood discontent, something all kids experienced as the end of summer approached. I knew this from my own childhood, but it would have been pointless to explain it to Emma. Children rarely enjoyed being told that what they were going through wasn't unique.