Page 48 of Aviator
Kenna appears at my side. “Dean?” Her eyes study my face, and a wave of sadness and understanding crosses her expression. “I’ll finish this.”
She moves me to her abandoned seat and pushes me into it. After scraping the burned pancakes into the trash, she pours more mixture into the pan. “What were you thinking about?”
With anyone else, I would have kept it to myself, but I find myself wanting to share. “Penelope. Just remembering breakfasts and how she’d sit at the table and laugh. She was still mostly a baby when I left, but a baby’s laugh is something you don’t forget.”
“Do you have pictures of them?” she asks.
“Are you sure you want to see them?” At her unamused glance, I chuckle and use the iPad to pull up some of my favorites. Kenna finishes the pancakes and makes us plates, bringing them over to sit next to me. I hand the iPad to her as she sits next to me and starts eating.
She sets the iPad up so we can both see and starts scrolling through the album. The first picture was taken in the hospital. Georgia is radiant in a hospital bed, holding a red, screaming, goo-covered baby. I’m leaning over with a small smile as I snap the selfie.
Kenna laughs. “Klaire was the same way when she was born. I remember asking my parents if I could give her back.”
“Penny may not have had my temper, but she had plenty of attitude, even for a baby.” I don’t taste much of the food, but I scarf it down as Kenna eats and swipes through the pictures.
There are a few newborn portraits of Penny by herself that Georgia insisted on taking at the resort and some of us as a family. I gave her such a hard time because I’m not a picture-taker, really, but now I’m glad she pushed for them. After someone you love passes away, all you have left are the memories, and sometimes even those fade. The pictures help me remember when the pain urges me to forget.
“They’re beautiful, Dean,” she says, leaning on my shoulder when she’s finished her breakfast.
It’s not as hard to look at them now. Maybe time hasn’t healed the wounds, but I’ve learned to accommodate the pain. The loneliness. The regret. It’s not something I think I’ll ever get over. There won’t be a day when I won’t miss them. But maybe I can start to forgive myself. A little. Georgia wouldn’t have wanted me to blame myself.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. “I always thought it would be me, you know? Doing what I did, there’s always a risk I wouldn’t come home. I was careless with my life. Reckless. You can’t be a pilot and not have a bit of a death wish. She used to get on me all the time about being safe now that we had a baby girl, and I would brush her off. I never thought I’d be the one without her, you know?”
“Oh, Dean.” She throws her arms around me, enveloping me with her sunshine once again. Lighting me up from the inside out. “You’re a good man, I promise you. You didn’t abandon them. Trust me, I know what it’s like to be abandoned. You were doing your job.”
I can’t speak, so I don’t try. I just hold her as long as she’ll let me.
Then, when we break apart, she wipes her misty eyes. “Dammit, sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”
I kiss the salt from her cheeks. “You don’t have to apologize. I didn’t mean to ruin the morning.”
She presses her lips to mine and says, “You haven’t. You shouldn’t ever stop yourself from talking about them. They’re important, and they matter.”
I clear my throat and change the subject before I break down. “So, uh, was there anything on your social media?”
She drinks deeply from her coffee mug. “Oh, there was plenty. My socials must have been leaked to the press because I have a million notifications. There are even news people in my email.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Actually, there’s something we should—” She glances down at the tablet as a notification for the security system pops up. “Um, I think there’s someone here.”
I take the iPad from her and pull up the security system’s live video feed of the front porch.
Frank is standing there. Well, standing would be a generous description. From how he’s swaying, I’m surprised he’s still upright. “Shit,” I say under my breath.
“Is it Riley?” she asks hopefully.
“No, someone a lot worse. I’m sorry ahead of time.”
“Sorry for what?” she asks as her brow furrows.
“You wait here. There’s something I’ve got to deal with.”
I quickly tug on my boots and tuck a Glock into my waistband. You can never be too careful with someone like Frank.
When I open the door, the first thing I see is his bloodshot eyes, and I get a bad feeling in the pit of my gut. “What are you doing here?” I say bluntly.
“Is that any way to greet your ol’ man?”
“You’re not my old man, Frank, and I don’t want you here. Do I need to call the cops?”
“You can call ’em if you want. I’m jus’ paying my respects to the son I helped raise after finding out he and his girlfriend nearly died.”
