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Pippa halted her next chip halfway to her mouth. “You still don’t have that last hour?”
“Don’t rub it in,” Abby hissed.
I stared silently into my drink.
“I’m not rubbing it in,” Pippa insisted. “I just don’t get it. You earned your pilot’s license ages ago, and you’ve been up in balloons loads of times since.”
“It’s not the license,” Abby explained. “It’s the insurance company. They only cover commercial pilots with 250 hours flying time.”
I looked at her, surprised. Whenever I talked to Abby, I had a feeling she wasn’t paying attention…much like our mom. But, wow. She’d actually been listening.
“Well, that sucks,” Pippa declared. “I mean, seriously. One hour. Couldn’t your boss just round up and sign off on your logbook?”
I gave her a firm look, but Pippa wasn’t swayed. “Seriously. Let’s hunt him down right now and talk some sense into him.” She started to stand.
“We ordered burgers, remember?” Abby pointed out.
Pippa plopped back down. “Right. After the burgers, then.”
Good old Pippa, always getting riled up by a good cause — then getting sidetracked by something else.
“And if that doesn’t work, we could get your dad to convince him.” She punched one hand into the other, hinting at how thatconvincingmight go.
I shook my head. “Uh, no. My boss is right to do things by the books. Thanks for the sentiment, though.” I took a sip of beer, then added lamely, “Besides, my dad is four states away.”
My sisters cracked up, and Pippa tapped Abby’s arm. “We could callyourdad. He’s as badass as Erin’s.”
Abby scowled. “We don’t need him.”
Her tone slammed a nail through that coffin and locked it away forever.
I winced at the word choice. Locked away… Her dad wasn’t back in jail, was he?
With Abby, it was better not to ask.
“Could you just go up as a paying guest?” Pippa tried. “Would that count?”
“Are you kidding?” Abby hooted. “Do you know how much those flights cost?”
I munched another chip, resigned to my fate. “I’ll get that hour, sooner or later.”
I managed a casual note, but in truth, I was getting more and more desperate. I needed a flight, and not just for insurance. What the ocean did to sailors, what mountains did to climbers, the sky did to me. I needed to feel the wind in my hair, on my skin, in my soul. All around me, in a way only possible from aloft.
“I know you will.” Pippa patted my arm the way she petted Roscoe. “Oh! Our burgers!”
Ah, to be Pippa, always ready to sweep the bad under a carpet of good cheer.
“Here you go, ladies.” The waiter was all smiles, especially for Pippa. “Three burgers.”
She was the youngest, cutest, and bubbliest of us three, and as such, a man-magnet. Abby, on the other hand, could chase a man away with a single, piercing scowl — except the roughest, toughest types drawn like moths to the flames tattooed on her arms.
I was the eldest sister. The most disciplined. The most practical — on the relative scale of a balloon pilot, a glass artist, and a blacksmith/part-time welder.
Sometimes, I felt we had nothing in common except our mother’s half of our genes. Other times, I felt my sisters knew me better than I knew myself.
Pippa mushed down her double cheeseburger and ate, smearing her face with ketchup. Abby snipped at hers in quick, decisive bites. She used to eat as if every meal might be her last — yes, parts of her childhood had been that tough — but her dining style had mellowed slightly since we’d all moved to the ranch permanently. As for me, I turned my plate this way and that, considering the best angle of attack. Then I spread my napkin in my lap and took my first bite.
We ate in silence, staring into the open fireplace in our corner of the bar rather than the football game on the big-screen TV.
