Julia
Early Wednesday morning before the sun rose, Van and I arrived at a small private airport outside of Ashland. As Van parked his truck and I waited on the tarmac, I was struck with the insignia painted on the side of the Cessna.
Sherman and Madisonappeared in large letters that from my vantage point, seemed to be at least six feet tall.
Despite the long wool coat covering my slacks and blouse, lined leather gloves, and boots, a chill ran through me. The sensation wasn’t associated with the sub-zero temperature or the wind swirling and blowing loose strands of hair around my face but from something within.
Around me, the small airport hummed with activity as sparse flurries danced in the beams of the tall lights. Workers called out to one another as other planes were tugged by small tractor-like contraptions from their hangars. Moments ago, I saw a person inside the plane with Van’s company’s name. The steps were down, giving me a view into the fuselage. The open door could be interpreted as a greeting and still I hesitated, my boots staying on the concrete as I remained momentarily transfixed by the insignia.
My face tilted, taking in the swirled letters. With each sighting of the name, I longed to learn more, wished that I didn’t care, and at the same time, feared what may come to light.
Van’s footsteps clipped along the tarmac seconds before he reached out, placing his gloved hand in the small of my back. The layers of clothing and outer garments muted the warmth of his touch, its presence only revealed in the pressure he applied.
“Why aren’t you in the plane?” he asked as he led me toward the steps.
Blinking away my focus on the words, I feigned a smile. “I was waiting for you. I don’t know anyone on the crew, and they don’t know me.”
Van pulled me close, his height and breadth protecting me from the cold wind as the shower-fresh scent surrounding him teased my senses.
“Stop worrying about Chicago,” he said before gesturing for me to lead as we ascended the small stairs.
I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t Chicago that was on my mind, but before I could utter the words, we were greeted by an older man in a pilot’s uniform.
“Mr. Sherman,” the man said with a nod of his head. Small lines formed around his eyes as he smiled, and gray peppered his otherwise-dark hair.
“Andrew,” Van began, “this is my fiancée, Julia McGrath. I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of her.” Van’s smile shone down at me. “Julia, this is Andrew, half of our five-star crew.”
I offered Andrew my hand as the meaning of Van’s introduction settled over me.
I am his fiancée.
Why then am I obsessing over the name Madison?
“Ms. McGrath, it’s a pleasure.” Andrew tilted his head toward the cockpit. “Let me introduce my wife, Ruth.”
A petite woman seated in the pilot’s seat turned, smiled, and waved. She too wore a uniform similar to Andrew’s. “Good morning. It won’t be long now.”
“Andrew and Ruth make the perfect crew,” Van explained. “They don’t mind when my travels entail staying in different places. They both worked for commercial airlines before coming to Sherman and Madison, and now they can travel together. We’re lucky to have them.”
I tried not to let my thoughts linger on how easily the name Madison flowed from Van’s lips. It’s simply a name.
Ruth spoke, pulling my attention her way. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. McGrath.” She grinned. “Maybe you could talk Mr. Sherman into someplace more exotic and warmer than Chicago.”
The unease that I’d felt out on the tarmac faded with the friendly conversation. “I’ll work on that,” I said. “Chicago wasn’t my first choice either.”
Van led me to two soft leather seats facing one another on one side of the plane. After laying our satchels on the seats to our side, we both sat down, our knees almost meeting in the middle. Van lowered his volume. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a minimalist when it comes to employees, especially to those who have access to me and now to you. There’s no regular flight attendant.” He shrugged. “Unless we’re flying a larger group, I’m perfectly capable of making my own cup of coffee or unwrapping a sandwich.”
“I’ve noticed and I don’t mind.” A grin curled my lips. “I prefer the privacy.” A thought about Skylar came to mind. I’d almost said that I liked the change, how everything with my ex felt like a grand performance always in need of an audience—a room full of people or employees. It was the visibility that mattered.
I didn’t.
Skylar was my past.
Van didn’t need to hear me talk about him any more than I already had.
Laying my head against the soft seat, I closed my eyes, trying to decide why my mind was in a funk. I could blame it on our early rising but not on the way Van woke me or the way our lovemaking continued under the warm water of our morning shower.
The extended session threatened to make us tardy for our arrival at the airport and then for our morning meeting in Chicago. Van wasn’t the one to blame.