“Oh, fuck off, Marques, you’ve got me over a barrel and my wife just offered you and your common-law family shelter from the fucking storm, but that’s not enough, you want me to offer it myself, and I have to mean it?”
Marques took his sunglasses from his pocket, unfolded them, and slipped them back on. “We can be wheels up in four minutes.”
Ann-Sophie turned and walked to the base of the air stairs, bent down to give the little girl a caress on the cheek, then straightened and slipped an arm around Beth’s waist. She leaned over and whispered something to her, giving Thom the distinct impression that they’d spoken before he got there and his wife had assured her everything would be fine. Ann-Sophie then turned them toward the stairs, meaningfully, and with a gentle hand on Beth’s back, invited them to precede her on board the plane.
Thom looked back at Marques. There was nothing left to say.
Marques shrugged, in the generous manner of a winner. “Thanks, boss.” He turned and hurried up the stairs, following his family through the door and turning left, toward the cockpit.
Thom turned back to Lisa, fury in his eyes. She handed him a bound leather folder. “This is everything we discussed, in terms of paperwork. The rest is being downloaded onto the server at Sanctuary as we speak. I’ll head to the office and be reachable in the usual ways until we lose power here, and then on satellite thereafter. All the numbers are in the folder. Vital documents are in the vault and will stay there.”
“You could have warned me,” Thom said.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“You could have handled it.”
“Yes, Thom, I’ll be fine,” she said, showing irritation for the first time he could ever remember. “Don’t worry about me. Thank you for asking. Good luck to you.” She turned and hurried away across the airfield, toward the row of parked cars just to the side of the tiny terminal.
Thom looked around. He was the only one left on the runway except for Brady, who waited in the Suburban, the engine still running. Brady was staring at him.
Thom muttered to himself, under the rising whine of the plane’s turbines. “What, I’m the bad guy?”
But there wasn’t anyone there to reply, and he wouldn’t have been interested in the answer anyway. He turned, hurried up the stairs, and got on his plane. He settled into his usual seat, left aisle, forward-facing, in front of the dining table. He looked around. His kids, Anya and Lukas, were on the couches in the back, throwing cracker packets at each other and shouting “Daddy!,” thrilled to be out of school and apparently going someplace fabulous. Beth （was that her name, Beth?—better make a note of that） and her daughter were behind them in the way-back area, by the bathroom, the little girl curled up in her mother’s lap.
Thom looked at them for a long moment and attempted to reframe his thoughts. Reframing was always possible; it just took a moment sometimes. OK, yes, this situation was eminently reframable. He had not been strong-armed by his own pilot. No, no, not at all. He had, in fact, been given an incredible gift, the benefit of perspective. How remarkable it was that he, just a middle-class midwestern kid, really, was now able to provide for this whole other family in the midst of a global disaster, and in rather spectacular fashion. He’d go chat up Marques’s whatever and her daughter later, invite the kid to come up into the cockpit, and let them know he was glad they were here, despite his initial surprise. He’d explain about the shock of the new and how changes in carefully thought-out plans always took a moment for him to come around to. But, yes, he would assure them, they were welcome here, very welcome. Everything was going to be OK. Thom was proud of himself. He’d done the right thing.
Ann-Sophie, who had stopped in the cockpit to have a quick word with Marques, headed back. To Thom’s simultaneous relief and disappointment, she settled into the seat directly opposite him, her usual seat.
She leaned forward and, in a gesture of peacemaking, put a hand on his knee and gave him a squeeze. “It’s the decent thing to do.”
Thom smiled. “My very thoughts.”
“How’s your sister handling this?” Ann-Sophie asked as she buckled her seat belt and the plane’s door slammed shut.
Thom looked at her blankly.
Shit.
He hadn’t thought of Aubrey all day.
7.
Cayuga Lane
Aubrey took the corner onto Cayuga a little faster than necessary and almost hit a kid on a bike. Scott shouted and braced himself against the dashboard as she locked up the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt, squealing halt. The kid didn’t even look back, just bore down and pedaled harder, banging up onto the sidewalk and heading west, into the setting sun.