Cocky Flyboy by Susan Horsnell

MELISSA

After Tim left for the airport, I returned to my suite and started the water running into the tub. After adding a few drops of my favorite lavender oil, I returned to the bedroom and made up my bed, which was no easy feat being one-handed. I was due to return to the hospital in ten days to have a cast applied. The doctor was waiting for the worst of the swelling to subside.

After grabbing my phone and charger, I padded back to the bathroom. The room was warm, and fragrant steam hung in the air. With the tub almost full, I turned off the faucets. Setting my phone on the counter, I plugged in the charger and selected a playlist of my favorite songs. I adored the song by Pink –Who Knew, and the subtle tones filled the air as I stripped off.

After securing a plastic bag over my brace, I lowered myself into the warm water. Sinking down, I rested my head on the end of the tub and my plastic-covered arm on the side. My hair needed to be washed, so I would ask Bridget to do it for me when she was back to work. Until then, I’d have to put up with the thick mop. I couldn’t even tie it up in my usual ponytail, so a good brushing would have to suffice.

Closing my eyes, I enjoyed a long soak as the music shuffled through with me singing along. When the water cooled, I quickly washed, pulled the plug and stepped out onto a soft bathmat. I swiped a fluffy white towel from a rail on the wall and dried off. After applying deodorant and brushing my hair, I padded back to the bedroom and dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a white top. I slipped flip-flops onto my feet; they were easier than trying to pull on sneakers one-handed.

I didn’t bother grabbing my wallet, as I had no money to spend on frivolous, unnecessary things. What little I had would go toward compensating Tim for having me stay at his home. Checking my phone was fully charged, I pushed it into the back pocket of my jeans. It was all I needed; the apartment didn’t require keys.

On my way out, I tidied up the living area, setting cushions back in their place, and straightened up the few items on the coffee table. As I did so, photographs on the mantle caught my eye. I’d noticed them the previous day but hadn’t taken a closer look, not wanting to appear nosy.

Stepping closer, I saw the first photo was Tim with whom I assumed were his siblings. There was a strong resemblance between the three. They were all tall with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. Their arms were around each other with the brothers flanking each side of their sister. Their eyes sparkled as they looked directly at the camera.

The next photo was of the entire family. It was clear the three offspring took after their father in looks. He was also tall with salt and pepper dark hair and the same luscious brown eyes. Their mother was diminutive, dwarfed by the rest of the family. She had glossy blonde hair and huge, expressive blue eyes. They were a beautiful family and my heart ached knowing how they’d been torn apart with the parent’s deaths.

The following image was of Tim’s brother, a woman with brown hair and gray eyes–an unusual combination. They were seated on a blanket of lush grass, a dark-haired toddler on her father’s lap.

The next two pictures were of Tim. God, the man was handsome. One had been taken in civilian clothes in front of his Cessna. In the other, he was in his National Airlines uniform with a large jet aircraft in the background. The man had a serious expression on his face, and I was sure he had no idea how sexually appealing he was.

I sighed. Why couldn’t I have met him years ago? Maybe then I would have been suitable for a man of his status and integrity. I knew what was said about him when it came to women and the number he slept with, but I had no doubt that every encounter was by mutual consent.

After one last scan of the images, I crossed to the elevator, stepped inside, and pushed the button for the ground floor.

The lobby was busy, and I needed to weave my way to the front doors which led onto the street. The doorman smiled as I approached, wished me a good day, and pushed the door wide. After thanking him, I stepped out into the early morning sunshine.

Even though it was reasonably early on a Sunday morning, the streets were busy with both traffic and pedestrians. Sidewalks had passing room only as people hurried about their business. For someone who had been locked up alone for hours, sometimes days on end for eight years, it was all a little overwhelming. When I felt panic beginning to rise, I sucked in a few deep breaths and continued in the direction of Central Park, which was a couple of blocks from the apartment building.

I negotiated the sidewalks, noticing how the bruising and swelling on my face attracted a few curious glances. When café workers, getting ready to open, set out boards advertising the day’s specials, I stepped aside. All around me, the city was coming to life. People were dressed in all manner of garb–from the all black of those embracing the Goth theme to the outrageously fun and colorful of those obviously happy with life.

Even though I was a newcomer to this city, it was easy to recognize the confidence that most New Yorkers seemed to have in themselves.

My mind strayed to Lincoln, and I hoped he would keep his word and leave me alone. I wanted this life I’d begun for myself; I didn’t want to have to run again.

A sign proclaimed I was entering Central Park before I stepped through a set of iron gates. Toddlers were attempting to run after older children who were throwing a ball. I smiled at the sight of their arms pumping as chubby little legs covered the ground. Guardians kept a close eye on both groups of children while casually chatting.

The day was perfect for a stroll. Overhead, baby blue skies held only a few wisps of cloud. The sun shone brightly, adding to the happy feeling of the day. The gardens were impeccably maintained, with plants grouped according to color. Reaching for the cell in my back pocket, I switched on the camera app and started shooting. Some images were close-ups showcasing a single burst of color. Others were panoramic, the myriad of colors resembling an artist’s palette.

I photographed a fountain in the center of a large lake from several angles and even managed to catch the odd fish as it shot past. Ducks were oblivious to my capturing their ‘best’ sides while flocks of birds held their morning meeting in the trees high overhead.

I felt at peace, relaxed, and it wasn’t until my stomach rumbled in protest, demanding it be fed, that I checked the time on my phone and realized I’d spent almost the entire day in the park. It was a little past three and Tim had said he would be home around four. I wanted to be there when he returned.

Leaving the park the same way I’d entered, I hurried the couple of blocks back to the apartment, looking forward to spending the evening with Tim and hearing about his day with the children.

I entered the apartment with enough time to set a fresh pot of coffee on to brew and freshen up after my day.