I had wanted something from him. Even expected a confrontation. To be ignored was a sentence without a period. Like Mr. Hall’s death out of the blue.

Grayson burst out the door again, startling me. The newspaper ripped in my hands. I hoped he hadn’t heard.

But if he had, who cared? He would stomp back across the tarmac to the hangar without looking back, whether I watched him or not.

He surprised me again by sitting in the rocking chair beside mine and handing me a bottle of water from the machine in the break room. I was afraid he’d seen my worn bottle on the counter and was hinting I needed a new one—but through my paranoia about looking poor, at least I could still tell when I was being paranoid. He was paying me back for the bottle I’d given him the day he crashed. Or he was just being nice.

He settled back in his chair and folded his long legs to prop one ankle on the opposite knee, flip-flop hanging from his toes. With his elbows up and his hands behind his head, he looked like the Admiral and the other pilots who sat out here in the afternoons and watched planes take off and land and told dirty stories, stopping in midsentence when I walked by. I wondered whether he was imitating them consciously.

Over the loudspeaker, the Admiral announced his final approach.

Out of habit, Grayson and I gazed past the two-seater and four-seater planes parked on the tarmac, across the grass rippling white in the spring breeze, toward the end of the runway. The Admiral’s plane was visible now, sinking fast over the trailer park.

Grayson said, “So, Leah.”

Carefully I folded the newspaper. There was no way Grayson could know I felt self-conscious about it. I was overreacting. I tucked the pages under my thigh anyway, and I said, “So, Grayson.”

“I know my dad promised he would hire you to fly for him starting this week,” Grayson said. “Nothing’s changed since he died.”

I let my head fall back against my chair and watched him, looking as bored as I could behind my own mirrored aviator shades, while I puzzled through what he was saying. Everything had changed since Mr. Hall had died.

Then it dawned on me what Grayson meant. Shifting forward with my elbows on my knees, I asked, “You’re going to try to run the business? You want me to fly for you?”

“I’m not going to try,” Grayson drawled. “I am going to run the business. And yes. You had a business agreement with Hall Aviation. I expect you to honor it.”

The crack about honor got under my skin. I had no honor? I couldn’t be trusted?

But he didn’t seem spiteful. He met my gaze—I assumed, though I didn’t know for sure, since there were two pairs of aviator sunglasses between us. Slowly rocking in his chair, he watched me watching him. Without seeing his eyes, I couldn’t read a thing in his face. There was nothing to learn from his hard jaw dusted with a few days’ blond stubble, his straight nose, or the straw cowboy hat I’d seldom seen him without. I got the impression he was doing exactly what I was doing, remaining calm like a professional pilot, waiting for me to make a comment so he could size me up and redirect his argument.

For some reason, he really wanted me to fly for him.

I glanced toward the end of the runway, where the Admiral was landing just in time to save me from this uncomfortable conversation. As the white Beechcraft touched down and sped across the asphalt, waves of heat made the plane seem to ripple. I dismissed Grayson with, “I’ve already got a job. Not for this week, but starting in the summer.”

“No,” Grayson said. “You’re supposed to be working for me this week and in the summer.” His voice rose over the engine noise as the Admiral taxied closer.

“Working for your dad,” I corrected him. “I didn’t dream you’d reopen the business. I haven’t heard from you until now. What was I supposed to do, wait around for you just in case?”

“You could have looked up my number and called me,” he shouted above the racket.

“Even if you’d offered me a job, that wouldn’t have meant you’d come through,” I yelled back. “You’ll fly for a week, change your mind, and blow it off to go surfing. Just like you always did.”

The Admiral cut his engine. Just like you always did rang against the brick wall behind us. I cringed at the volume of my own ugly words.

Luckily, I had an escape. Leaving the torn newspaper in my seat as if I didn’t care about it and didn’t plan to steal it at the end of the day and take it home with me, I headed for the Admiral’s plane. I grabbed three heavy sets of chocks from a rack just beyond the porch.

“This time is different,” Grayson called after me.

My left arm could handle one set of chocks, but I’d taken two in my right hand so I wouldn’t have to go back to the rack and face Grayson again. My right arm might pull out of its socket with the weight. I hoped he’d give up on this ridiculous idea and go back to his hangar by the time I secured the Admiral’s plane. I knew Grayson was grieving and I didn’t want to upset him, but there was no way I could afford to give up the summer flying job I’d been promised in exchange for this job he’d made up.

I tried not to groan with relief as I dropped the first set of chocks at the front wheel of the plane and kicked the wooden blocks into place around the tire. The plane’s gyros whined, still winding down, as the Admiral opened his door.

“Nice flight?” I hollered in my friendly airport voice.

“Beautiful.” The Admiral stepped down from the plane and reached toward me for the second chock. “Perfect. Unlimited ceiling. Beautiful day to fly.”

I felt a pang of jealousy that he could fly and I’d been grounded for two months, followed swiftly by the ache of losing Mr. Hall, who loved to say, “Man, what a pretty day to fly.” But I just handed the chock to the Admiral and kept up the polite conversation like I didn’t hurt at all. “Where’d you go?”

“Touch-and-go’s in Darlington, then over in Orangeburg.”

I nodded, put chocks around the third wheel, and hooked a cable to the side of the plane to secure it to the tarmac. When I straightened, the Admiral was staring at Grayson, who still rocked on the porch.

“What’s Grayson doing here?” the Admiral asked me quietly.

“Reopening the banner-towing business, he claims.”

“Really.” The Admiral didn’t use the incredulous tone I expected. His tone sounded more like… admiration. He’d walked a few steps toward the porch before he turned around and called, “Thanks, Leah.”

I gave him a little wave of acknowledgment, then rounded the plane and bent to secure it to the tarmac on the other side. But I listened for what the Admiral said to Grayson, and I watched them from under the curls in my eyes. I expected Grayson would keep rocking in his chair, sullen, and the Admiral would lean over him and say a few soft words of encouragement I wouldn’t be able to hear. But Grayson stood with his hand extended to shake the Admiral’s hand before the Admiral even reached him.

The Admiral grasped Grayson’s hand and simultaneously slapped him on the opposite shoulder. “Good to see you back.”

“Thank you, sir,” Grayson said. He might even have been looking the Admiral in the eye. Like a business owner at the airport, not just the son of one.

The Admiral’s voice dropped lower, his words more private, and I felt almost guilty for overhearing the end of his speech: “… good men.”

“Thank you,” Grayson said again.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” The Admiral disappeared through the glass door into the office. After using the bathroom and buying a pack of M&M’s, which his wife did not allow in the house because of her weight struggles, he would get into his Infiniti parked on the street side of the building and drive home to their condo on the swanky end of Heaven Beach, where they would take an ocean-side stroll together before dinner. It seemed so foreign. I couldn’t imagine being retired. Or having enough money to do what I wanted.