Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
If he took Frankie…
I can’t let myself grasp the gravity of what that means.
Not here.
Not yet.
Soon, this place will turn into a shitshow, swarming with cops, detectives, and reporters. I need to get as many answers as I can before that happens.
Determination sets in, hardening like the ice beneath my feet.
“You said you did his shopping for twenty-five years?” I slide over a stool and motion for him to sit. “Do you have those shopping lists in writing?”
“I have financial records of every item bought and every penny spent.” He lowers onto the seat. “He gave me an unlimited bank account for that.”
A bank account can be traced. I share a look with Sirena.
“Start from the beginning.” I pace before him, heart racing. “Tell me everything.”
I crouch beneath the shadow of the bush plane, my fingers stained black with oil and grime, checking the hydraulic lines for leaks, abrasions, or anything that might indicate a weakening system. I’ve inspected the landing gear more than I can count, but it bears repeating.
Weeks have passed since Kody and Frankie returned with the pemmican. Perhaps a month or longer. In that time, my intimacy with this machine has ascended to another level.
I’ve dissected its anatomy like a surgeon, familiarizing myself with every nut, joint, and seal.
Using a checklist I compiled from the flight manual, I mark off the equipment as I go so I don’t miss a single component. If I encounter something not in the manual, I take it apart, figure it out, and reassemble it.
There isn’t a wire, bolt, or piece of this bird that I haven’t touched and learned its purpose.
Every hour beneath these wings solidifies my dream to be a pilot and aviation mechanic, running my own private airport.
But my obsession with this particular plane has nothing to do with my future plans. When I take it off the ground, I’m responsible for the safety of my family. One mistake up there, and I could lose them forever.
I cannot, will not, let that happen.
They’re usually in here with me, learning and asking questions. Frankie loves to sit in the cockpit and write in her scrapbook while Kody and I thoroughly inspect every bolt, gasket, and spark plug.
She journals daily, documenting every detail of our lives—the good and bad parts, the struggles and victories, our abominable pasts and our dreams for the future. And the sex. She writes about that, too.
I haven’t read any of it. I don’t need to relive most of what happened to us, but I understand why she’s keeping written records.
When we leave this place, we have a story to tell. Not just ours but that of the victims who died here. The gritty details are all there in the pages of her scrapbook.
When we leave…
That’s the question.
Each day, the sun climbs a bit higher and lingers a bit longer. Little by little, the snow retreats, revealing patches of earth that haven’t seen the light of day in months.
This morning, I spotted a few tiny buds breaking through the frost-hardened ground. And the air carries the faint, almost forgotten scent of thawing earth.
Winter is slowly releasing its hold on us.
By my estimation, we have another month before the blizzard risk drops enough to get the plane out.
I’ve powered it up, idled the engine, driven it forward and backward in the confines of the garage. But I haven’t taken it off the ground.
The thought races my heart with anticipation.
I’ve imagined it so many times. The plan is clear in my mind. As soon as the snow melts, I’ll roll it onto the tundra and test every theory I’ve learned. After a few practice takeoffs and landings, I’ll load up Kody and Frankie and hit the skies.
Buzzing with the rush of excitement, I tighten a bolt on the landing gear and climb into the cargo hold to finish installing the third seat.
The distant trill of female laughter drifts through the slightly ajar door. It’s a welcome interruption, a comfort to know she’s nearby.
I secure the passenger seat to the mounting points in the cabin floor and give it a hard shake, testing the installation.
Denver removed the rear seating to accommodate more cargo space. Thankfully, he kept the chairs, and I found this one still in working condition.
As I shorten the straps on the seat harness, picturing Frankie’s petite frame, her laughter peaks again, cutting through my concentration. The sound is mesmerizing, warming my chest and pulling at my lips.
The plane can wait.
I hop out and wipe my hands on a rag, curiosity guiding me to the door.
Peeking outside, I find her kneeling in the snow. Bent over a plot of barren earth, she makes a small hole and sprinkles seeds in it.
The very idea of growing anything in this terrain feels like a defiance of nature. That’s why we have the greenhouse.