Page 50 of Blind Prophet

“That’d be great.”

I can feel her behind my back, watching me as I prepare our Yetis. It’s hard to believe this used to be our routine every morning. I’d like to believe the stilted silence is new, but on that point, I can’t lie to myself. Quiet distance was our norm at the end. She wasn’t happy with me, and I’d been helpless. I hate that word. And the feeling.

“Do you think we could stop by to say hello to your father before I leave? You said he’s home, right?”

“He’ll be working.”

I turn to give her the to-go stainless steel mug and force my most cordial and apologetic expression.

“No retirement for him, huh?” She says it with a smile, a joke.

I could respond with something trite, like there’s no rest for the wicked.

“I had a lawyer draft an agreement.”

It’s almost cute how she drops the contentious word from that sentence, as if by not uttering the word divorce will keep the conversation light.

“I have been maintaining the land I inherited and paying taxes on it. I assume you won’t fight me for it now?”

I give a short nod. I never planned on taking the land she inherited during our marriage. I’d been pissed when I demanded my share, and I suppose the tactic worked. Or, no, it delayed the inevitable. I should’ve put this behind me seven years ago.

“Helicopter’s ready,” I say, and she hesitates.

Does she want to stay longer? We said we would talk, but we haven’t. Not really. “That’s what you wanted, right?” Her gaze drops. My chest expands. “If you?—”

“No, no,” she says with far too much energy. “I need to get back.”

Yes, Luke is asking.

I deflate with the weight of reality. All of this is expected. I shouldn’t be reacting to anticipated events.

The ride to the helipad is quiet. She compliments me on the shower pressure and repeats that she likes the house. She’s probably forgotten, but we had several conversations about the house we would eventually build here. The land is remote, far away from the hordes. Yet should we wish to go skiing, we can either have a driver take us or fly closer to the mountains. The land is largely untouched, natural, and wild. Unlike us.

She asks me about business, but my heart is not in the conversation. I prefer screaming matches to surface conversations with Caroline. Not that we had many scream fests. Silence was our weapon of choice.

In the helicopter, under Caroline’s watchful eye, I perform the perfunctory routine with precision.

“You fly every day?”

“Weekdays.”

“So it’s no longer for pleasure? It’s utilitarian?”

I grit my teeth. It’s amazing, really. She can find anything, anything at all, to turn into a dig. Flying was originally a hobby, yes, but in my world, everything eventually becomes an asset. Like how my satellite company started as a fascination with space and ended up controlling most of the world’s digital infrastructure. But trying to explain the intersection of passion and practicality to Caroline always ended in silence.

“Sometimes a pilot flies me. When I fly, it’s because I enjoy it.”

I’m defensive, but she’s critical. That’s the problem. With Caroline, I can do nothing right.

It’s tempting to tell her the communication feature on our headphones isn’t working, but she’ll see through it.

I speak into the mic, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

The rotors come to life, whipping the air above us.

We lift, and I adjust, evening us out as we climb above the tree line.

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