Flying Read online

  “Do you want one?”

  “Will you go with me? Circle one,” he said. “Yes, no, maybe.”

  “Yes,” Stella said. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Wrapped in a blanket, her feet on Matthew’s lap, Stella dozed to the sound of the movie on the television. Matthew had plied her with a few glasses of wine while he drank his whiskey, and the heat from the fireplace, the earlier great sex and the general stress of the morning had wiped her out. When her phone pinged from her purse on the chair all the way across the room, she blinked but snuggled deeper into the warmth and ignored it. Except, of course, that her phone wouldn’t stop chiming until she answered it.

  “I’ll get it for you,” Matthew said when she sighed and grumbled. And he did too, gently setting her feet aside and bringing her the entire bag.

  Stella thumbed her phone to bring up the text from Tristan. It was a picture of him, grinning ear-to-ear, standing next to a car she didn’t recognize. Jeff stood next to him, hand on Tristan’s shoulder. He had the same grin. No text, just a picture.

  Furrowing her brow, she studied the picture, then replied, What?

  Dad bought me a car.

  Fuck.

  “Oh, he did not,” Stella said aloud. “What the hell?”

  Matthew gave her a curious look. She showed him the photo. He looked confused.

  “My ex-husband bought our sixteen-year-old son a Mustang. He just barely got his license, but Jeff bought him a thirty-thousand-dollar car. What the hell?” Stella repeated.

  “I wish my dad would’ve bought me a car when I turned sixteen.”

  Stella got off the couch. She needed to move. Shift, pace. Run. Her heartbeat had slowly started thumping faster and faster since the text came through, and she pressed a hand to her chest in a useless attempt at slowing it.

  * * *

  Brake lights. Red, flashing. The wipers cut the color, back and forth, and Stella wants to tell Jeff to slow down, but instead she laughs because it’s all so funny. The boys from the backseat start to argue and bicker, and she twists in her seat to tell them to stop, but somehow that’s funny too. She’s drunk. How long has it been since she’s been drunk, or even more than tipsy? Long years, many years, since before Gage was born, for sure. Long time.

  “Stop it,” she says, or tries to say, but giggles break the words and she can’t explain why everything is so light and bright and merry. “It’s Christmas.”

  Tristan lets out a wail and bats at his brother, demanding to hold the toy Gage picked from the pile Brad and Janet had placed under the tree. Each kid picked one. Tristan got a truck, but Gage got a cool action figure, and Tristan wants it. He kicks at the back of Stella’s seat and grabs with pudgy fists for the plastic guy, but Gage holds it out of his reach.

  “Stop,” Stella repeats, but Tristan doesn’t.

  She unbuckles her belt to turn around and reach into the backseat, both to pick up the truck Tristan threw to the floor and also to get her hands between them to separate them. She’s halfway into the backseat when Jeff lets out a hoarse shout.

  When the horn blares.

  When the red brake lights stop flashing and turn a solid, steady red in front of them.

  * * *

  “Hey, babe, you okay?” Matthew’s hand on her shoulder steadied her, but not enough.

  Stella shook her head. “Jeff and I never talked about getting him a car. And a Mustang. He’s sixteen. He’s reckless. He’s not in control, he barely has his license....”

  Matthew pulled her close, saying nothing. Just holding her. It wasn’t enough of a comfort, but she let him do it even though she wanted to keep pacing.

  His hand stroked her hair. “He’ll be fine.”

  Stella tried to relax against him, but it didn’t work. “I need to call Jeff.”

  “No,” Matthew said. “Not if you’re going to lay into him.”

  Angrily, she pulled away from him. “What?”

  “You want to call him up and bitch him out? Look, I don’t know your ex, but how well do you think that’s going to go over? What do you think he’s going to do, sell the car? And your kid... He’s over-the-moon about it. Are you going to take it away from him? What do you think he’ll think about that?”

  Blinking rapidly to force away the tears, Stella took a step back, jerking her arm free of his grip when he tried to hold her. “I hardly think I need to take relationship advice from you.”

  “You sure don’t mind handing it out, though, do you?”

  Stung, she crossed her arms over her chest but said nothing. Whatever words she had wouldn’t be kind. That he had a point only made her angrier.

  Matthew, also silent, sat back on the couch and picked up the remote to switch through the channels, and after a few seconds, Stella joined him. But not with her feet on his lap, not snuggling. She made a place for herself as far from him as she could get while still being on the couch. She sent a text to Jeff.

  We never talked about this.

  A moment later, I got a bonus.

  He’s too young for a car. And a Mustang?

  No answer, which only infuriated her more. She did not, however, text her son. It wasn’t his fault his father overcompensated by spending too much money, and though the thought of him racing his way through dark streets sent her heart pounding into her throat again, she couldn’t bring herself to take away what she knew had to be his exhilaration.

  Matthew got up from the couch and went to the bar to pour himself a fresh drink. “You want something?”

  “No, thanks.” Stella didn’t look up.

  Minutes passed, neither of them speaking. Matthew ran through all the channels. Then again. Stella ignored him and the TV, instead scrolling through her phone and catching up on all her social media. When she opened her Connex app and saw the video from Tristan halfway down the page, she let out a muttered curse.

  It was tame, as far as videos went. Clearly shot from his cell, it was of him behind the wheel of the Mustang, then a cut to the road stretching out in front of him and the music playing loud. Laughter. A blurred shot of Steven in the seat next to him.

  Oh, hell no.

  Stella typed in the website for Pegasus Airlines, searching for flights. There was a flight to Harrisburg leaving in a few hours. She could be home by 11:00 p.m. She typed in her customer number and booked the flight. Then she stood.

  “I have to get home.”

  Matthew looked up, ice clinking in his glass. He swallowed the rest of the liquid and set the glass on the coffee table, then sat back against the couch. “Now?”

  “Flight leaves in a couple hours, so pretty shortly. Yeah.” Stella lifted her chin to stare at him.

  He stared back. Then, very carefully, he looked back at the TV. “Okay.”

  “I’ll go get ready. Don’t worry,” Stella added in an overly sweet voice. “I’ll take a cab.”

  Fighting tears, she took her stuff from the bathroom and packed her suitcase. With shaking hands, she splashed her face with water, refusing to think about Tristan driving that Mustang too fast. Or worse yet, inattentively, shooting a video as he drove.

  Refusing to imagine the crunch of metal and glass, the blare of a horn. The smell of exhaust and gas and blood. The taste of tears.

  She had time to hang out here, but with things the way they were with Matthew, she didn’t want to. Pulling her bag behind her, thumbing the number of the cab company into her phone, she placed the call as she went into the living room. The cab would be there in fifteen minutes.

  “Shit,” Matthew said, sitting up straight. “You’re really going?”

  Stella frowned. “Um, yeah? I told you I was. Look, my son is out joyriding in his new car, no evidence of any parental supervision, and posting videos of it