Genuine Lies

L.A. She thought that Eve would be amused to hear her impressions of Kenneth over dinner that evening.
    And with any luck, she thought while the plane bumped down the runway for takeoff, this would be her last flight until the one that took her home.
    Home, she thought, clinging to the armrests as the plane took to the air. There was part of her that yearned for the solitude of her own house, the routine of it, the simple fact of it. And yet, what would it be like to go back alone? To leave love now that she’d found it. What would happen to her relationship with Paul with him on one coast and her on another? How could there be a relationship?
    The self-sufficient, independent Julia, single mother, professional woman, needed, and how she needed, someone else. Without Paul she would continue to raise Brandon, she would continue to write, she would continue to function.
    Closing her eyes, she tried to picture herself going back, picking up where she had left off, moving quietly, solitarily, through the rest of her life.
    And couldn’t.
    With a sigh she rested her head on the window glass. What the hell was she going to do? They’d discussed love, but not permanance.
    She wanted Paul, she wanted a family for Brandon, and she wanted security. And she was afraid to risk the last for the possibility of the others.
    She dozed, the wine and her own thoughts coaxing her to sleep. The first jolt awakened her, had her cursing herself for the instant streak of panic. Before she could order herself to relax, the plane veered sharply to the left. She tasted blood in her mouth from her bitten tongue, but worse, much worse, was the coppery flavor of fear.
    “Stay in your seat, Miss Summers. We’re losing pressure.”
    “Losing …” She forced back the first bubble of hysteria. The strain in the pilot’s voice was enough to tell her screaming wouldn’t help. “What does that mean?”
    “We’ve got a little problem. We’re only ten miles from the airport. Just stay calm and strapped in.”
    “I’m not going anywhere,” Julia managed to say, and did them both a favor by putting her head between her knees. It helped the dizziness, almost helped the panic. When she forced herself to open her eyes again, she watched a sheet of paper slide out from under the seat as the plane dipped into a dive.
OUT, OUT, BRIEF CANDLE.
    “Oh, Jesus.” She snatched at the paper, crumbling it in her hand. “Brandon. Oh, God, Brandon.”
    She wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t. Brandon needed her. She willed the nausea back. The single overhead bin popped open, spilling out pillows and blankets. Over the prayers that spun inside her head all she could hear was the roar of the spitting engine and the pilot shouting into the radio. They were coming in, and coming in fast.
    Julia righted herself and grabbed her notebook out of her briefcase. She felt the shudder as they dropped through a thin layer of clouds. Her time was running out. She scribbled a quick note to Paul, asking him to look after Brandon, telling him how grateful she was to have found him.
    She swore richly when her hand began to shake too hard to hold the pencil. Then there was silence. It took her a moment to register it, and another longer moment to understand what it meant.
    “Oh, my God.”
    “Fuel’s gone,” the pilot said between his teeth. “Engines are dead. We’ve got ourselves a good tail wind. I’m going to glide this baby right on in. They’re ready for us.”
    “Okay. What’s your name? Your first name.”
    “It’s Jack.”
    “Okay, Jack.” She took a deep breath. She’d alwaysbelieved will and determination could accomplish almost anything. “I’m Julia. Let’s get this thing on the ground.”
    “Okay, Julia. Now put your head between your knees, grip your hands behind your head. And say every fucking prayer you know.”
    Julia took one long last breath. “I already am.”

“Better guard the ball.” Paul panted as he feinted over Brandon’s shoulder. The boy grunted and pivoted away, dribbling the ball with small hands and deadly concentration.
    They were both sweating—he more than the boy. Age, he thought as he dodged Brandon’s bony elbow, was a bitch. He had the kid on height and reach. So he was holding back. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to—
    Brandon ducked under Paul’s arm and hit a lay-up dead on. Eyes narrowed, Paul rested his hands on his hips while he caught his breath.
    “Tie score!” Brandon shouted, doing a