His Flight Plan (5 page)

“Nope.” Looping her arms through his, she gave him a tug, then headed toward the exit of the center. It was quiet, with all the kids out with the staff on a field trip to the Asheboro Zoo that afternoon. The only other people there were her two cleaning employees. “I love you and Mother, but I don’t need your matchmaking skills. Really, this isn’t a good time for me to be dating. This place takes up all of my focus.”

Now standing right outside the center, he faced her and took hold of her shoulders as he looked down at her. “You really are your father’s daughter. Don’t work too hard, angel, and end up missing the best parts of life while you’re young.”

“I won’t.” She accepted the kiss he gave her on the forehead, then waved him off as he headed toward his luxury black vehicle that his driver still had idling outside the door in her fire lane. Proof her father’s time was limited.

After she watched her father drive off, she stayed outside for a moment. The center was toward the end of the city; a lot of traffic didn’t flow that way, which Kiera loved about the location. The bus still stopped a block away, but the only thing around them was a small strip mall connected to a low-budget grocery store across the street from the center. One of the office spaces was a satellite police station, so if she had any trouble the authorities were close by.

If someone came to the center, they generally were looking for the center, as there was nothing else to lure them that way.

Hearing the sound of something hitting the ground, she turned from left to right. She didn’t see anything. However, the sound happened again. There was an empty field behind the center. It used to be filled with foreclosed houses when she first began to renovate, but within the first year of the center being open the city had bought the property and torn down the homes. People murmured and speculated that there was supposed to be a movie theater or an upscale strip mall with apartments over them coming in the future.

She and the children were crossing their fingers for the theater. The closest one was twenty miles away.

As she walked around the side of the building that faced the deserted field, the sight before her made her pause in her tracks. She spotted someone with a can held out as they sprayed the wall. Wanda, her activities leader had her cousin, one of Kiera’s exes, paint murals on both side walls. The design was something to give the building color and also inspire pride for the youth that attended. Now someone was defaming it.

“Hey!” She rushed toward them.

The person in the hoodie, pulled up over his head in unseasonably warm early spring weather, turned and faced her. He dropped the can and scurried back.

Recognizing the kid, she called out to him. “Jaquan? What are doing?”

The fourteen-year-old boy held his ground, but at least had the nerve to look somewhat ashamed as he kept his gaze averted toward the field.

She knew he wasn’t on the trip to the zoo because his father never signed permission slips for Jaquan to go anywhere. So the boy always got left out of any activity that was away from the center.

Glancing at the wall where he’d spray-painted across the large image of smiling kids’ faces FUK YOU in black and blue paint.

“You know how hard the kids had to raise funds selling candy bars and peanut butter brittle to get the money together for the paint supplies. Why would you do this?”

“It’s just a stupid picture. It don’t help nobody.” His mouth was pinched, his eyes dark with anger and disillusionment.

“Yes, it does. If offers a sense of dignity to the children who come here.”

“Not me.” He kicked at one of the three cans littering the ground.

Placing her hands on her hips, she stared at him. Jaquan wasn’t a troublemaker, but he was always around when trouble was going down in the center. He’d never outright broke the rules before this, but still, he was someone she always debated whether or not to ban from the center—her last resort.

“Well, in this case I’m not looking for your opinion. I’m looking for elbow grease. Go inside and find Ms. Rochelle and ask her for a bucket of warm water, soap, and a sponge.”

“For what?” He reared back, sneering at her. “I ain’t going to clean up the center. Especially if I ain’t gettin’ paid for it.” He folded his arms over his narrow chest and that’s when she noticed the cast on his left hand.

She believed Jaquan was being abused at home, but she never had any proof and the kid always had some dubious story about injuries.

Shaking her head, she explained, “You’re not going to clean inside, but you’re going to clean the damage you’ve created. And next time you want to ruin something think about spelling the words right.” She turned to lead the way inside.

“I’m not doing it!”

Halting, she faced him again. “Well, you have two choices.”

“What?”

“Clean the spray paint off the wall or get suspended from the center.”

He stared at her.

Meeting his gaze, she waited him out.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to be at this place anyway.” He kicked another can, propelling it passed her. It missed her by two feet. Jaquan stomped away toward the vacant field.

Sighing, she bent down with a heavy heart and picked up the cans.
I can’t help all the kids.

It was her mantra she repeated over the years at times like this. Jaquan wasn’t the first child she’d had to suspend and he wouldn’t be the last. However, it still broke her heart to do it. She would send a letter to his address and notify his parents.

The joy she’d felt moments ago when her father left was now dampened by the loss of a child she had hoped to make a difference in his life.

* * * *

 “So what do you all think?”

Drake glanced at Tasha Rucker, his cousin and their lawyer, as she finished scanning through the final pages of the contract. His brother Vance sat on the other side of Tasha and they both waited. Not allowing Peter Zink, the attorney representing the current owner of the small airstrip, to rush them.

“It looks good, gentlemen.” Tasha gave them both a thumbs-up.

“Yes,” Mr. Zink cheered, most likely from the commission he would receive from the sale of the commuter airport.

Tasha passed Drake the pen so he could sign the paper after Vance. Adding his signature beneath his brother’s, Drake’s chest expanded with pride at what he and his brother had accomplished.

“Vance and Drake, thanks for letting an old man retire.” Gil Conroy rose from across the table, where he had been with seating beside Mr. Zink.

His brother stood and shook the prior owner’s hand.

Pushing the stack of papers back toward Tasha, Drake followed his brother. “Gil, we appreciate you working with us these last six months. We know you had other offers, more lucrative offers.” Drake cast his gaze to Mr. Zink for a moment, because the lawyer had wanted Gil to go with a big company or major airline chain instead of two brothers with a dream and coming in at vastly lower price cap. “Thanks again.”

After completing the handshake with Drake, Gil patted Mr. Zink on the shoulder. “Peter and I go way back. I may have had to remind him about the bottom where we both started. He tends to forget that from time to time over the years his wallet has gotten too big to fit in his pocket.” Gil chuckled.

Everyone else around the table joined him in a laugh at the corporate lawyer’s expense. Mr. Zink took the ribbing good-naturedly and smiled. Standing, Mr. Zink led the way around the long table and shook hands with Tasha first, then Vance and Drake.

“You all keep this place afloat like Gil did and I’ll make sure to keep business coming your way. I represent a lot of people on business associated with the arenas.” Zink waved his finger between him and Vance.

“That’s what we plan on, Gil. So you tell your clients don’t even think about making flight arrangements anywhere else. Stick with us,” Vance declared.

“Come on out to the front. I believe Mitch has some champagne chilling for us all to celebrate.” Gil opened the door and headed from the single office at the airstrip directly into the hangar, one of ten hangars out there.

The hangar was empty this time, but when they came six months ago to access the commuter airport there had been a jet parked there. It belonged to the CEO of the fuel management corporation who took care of the private airstrip. The business mogul was currently out of town, the reason they would meet with him tomorrow at his office.

“After your years putting back together commercial planes you’re going to love this.” Mitch, the lead engineer, handed him a glass of champagne. The man wasn’t as old as Gil’s eighty years but appeared close to it.

The others were in a group chatting and drinking.

“I’m hoping so.” Drake leaned against the hangar door and stared out down the short runway. Dusk was beginning to fall. “I’m ready to be my own boss and work with my brother.”

“I hear that. Thanks for keeping my men on.”

Drake glanced to the side at the veteran mechanic. “No, I’m grateful. You encouraged them to stay on. I will do right by them.” He gave his word.

“After meeting with you and fixing the plane alongside you when you and your brother first came down, I knew you could handle this.” Mitch stared at the liquid as he twisted his glass by the stem as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to consume it or not.

“A beer would have hit the spot,” Drake shot out to him.

Mitch tossed his head back and let loose a barking laugh. “Hell yes.” Looking at Drake, Mitch lowered his voice. “I would have bought brew instead, but Zink would have shit two bricks and a puppy. He can’t seem to drink anything but high-dollar swill.”

Drake downed half his champagne. “I can tolerate the fancy stuff when I have to, but I’ll always be a beer man myself.”

After clinking his glass against the rim of Drake’s, Mitch took a sip, then winced as if it was chilled castor oil someone had forced him to consume.

Shaking his head and smiling, Drake turned and walked back over to his brother and cousin.

“Gil invited us out to dinner,” Vance informed him.

“I want to get out and see the city, then crash. I’ll pass this time.” Drake set his half-filled glass on the short table.

“Want me to cruise along with you?” Vance offered.

“No. You and Tasha enjoy dinner. I’ll see you two at breakfast at the hotel in the morning.” He slapped his brother on the back, then kissed his cousin on the cheek. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen.” Drake gave a single wave to the men gathered around.

After receiving the round of good-byes, Drake walked to the parking area beside the main hanger and got in his car. His brother had flown them into the small strip that morning. Tasha, ever efficient, had flown into Charlotte-Douglas the day before and arranged the rental company to deliver cars to the private airport for him and Vance.

Driving out onto the two-lane road that led to the airport, his and Vance’s airport, Drake headed in the direction of the highway. He had a navigation system in the vehicle, but just wanted to drive. If this was going to be his new home in a month or so he wanted to get a feel of the area.

Maybe while he drove he could settle on a decision that had been running through his mind all day. Hell, for two months now.

He wasn’t a rash person, and that was the only thing keeping him from doing what his gut was leading him to do. If he waited too long, he may miss the opportunity.

“I want a damn word with you.”

Kiera locked the door to the center and turned toward the angry voice. She sighed as she spotted Mr. Brown, marching toward her as he dragged his son by the arm.

Glancing from Jaquan who kept his head down as he tripped along beside his father’s hasty steps, she met the short, fat, black man’s gaze. “Hello, Mr. Brown. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me why in the hell you told my son he can’t come back here.” He jabbed a thick, blunt finger in the air about three inches from the center of her chest.

She couldn’t back up, because the closed double glass doors were like a wall behind her. She wasn’t afraid of him; the man wasn’t the first irate parent she’d had to deal with. Rotating her shoulders back and straightening her spine, she asked, “I believed you received the certified letter sent to you a few weeks back.”

It had been a month since Jaquan’s incident, proof of how little Mr. Brown cared.

“Don’t care about no damn paper.” He didn’t deny he’d gotten the signature-required notification. “I want to know who you think you are suspending my boy.” He shook his left hand that held his son’s arm and jerked the boy around with his gesture.

The desire to snatch the boy from the disgruntled man burned up her spine. She exhaled. “Jaquan decided to tag the wall of the center a month ago and then refused to clean it up. So, by the rules in the handbook we gave you on the day you initially signed your son up—”

“You think I give a fuck about your book?” He released Jaquan but took a menacing step toward her, spittle flying out in the air. “My boy is a neighborhood kid just like the rest of these snot nose punks that come here.”

“Yes, he is.” She stepped to the side, trying to keep out of the spray and get her back from against the doors. Clutching her keys tight in her hand, she made sure the two longest keys were sticking out between her knuckles. “However, we have rules for a reason. Now, as the letter stated, you or his mother have a right to set up a meeting where we can discuss under what measures Jaquan can come back.”

“We are meeting now and discussing it! And you’re going to agree to let my boy back in.” He shifted his stance to the direction she was now standing and folded his arms over his barreled chest. “He’ll keep his ass straight.”

Jaquan was now standing directly under the light over the doors, his face illuminated beneath his hoodie.

“Oh, Lord.” She stepped toward the boy seeing the dark bruising around his left eye. It was practically swollen shut. “Did you do this to your son, Mr. Brown?”

“That ain’t none of your damn business.” He smacked her hand away from Jaquan’s face.

The youth shuffled back into the shadows.