A Quarrel Called: Stewards Of The Plane Book 1 by Shannon Wendtland Page A

time. Luckily I had bought a sports drink on the way over and had that with me – blue
and salty. Better than nothing.
    The beats played on and I took a look around the room. My
music seemed to be falling on deaf ears, but I was sure that was at least due
to the fact that it was early and the lights were so bright. I took a pause
during one of my longer tracks and wandered around the small apartment living
room, turning off the overhead lights on the ceiling fan and turning on a lamp
in the corner instead. Then I wandered over to the hallway and turned that
light off, but turned on the one in the bathroom and let the bathroom door open
a crack. There was no help for the kitchen – there were people playing drinking
games at the table and it was pretty crowded, but at least the main space of
the place had a more mellow mood. I turned to head back to my corner when I
spotted Lily by the door.
    “Mood lighting. Nice touch.”
    “How long have you been here?” I asked, motioning her back
to my table. I snuck behind and put my hand on my mouse to make sure the next
track was lined up and ready.
    “Just long enough to see you strategically turning off
lights. That’s a good sign that you know how to read a crowd. We’ll see if they
respond. I’m going to get a beer. Want one?” Her gaze was level and her teeth
flashed in a slim grin.
    I debated. I didn’t want a beer, on the other hand. I wanted
that gig she offered and I didn’t want to turn her off since I thought maybe
she’d be interested in hanging out. But I didn’t know her well enough to sell
myself out yet, so I just shook my head. “ Nah, had a
late dinner and there’s no room. Maybe later when the party
gets going.” Was that too lame?
    She cocked her head, shrugged and waded off to get her red
plastic cup filled with cheap domestic.

 

24. MELODY
    Gramps and I sat outside in the backyard, starry sky above
and a small fire in the terracotta chiminea. His wheelchair was angled so that
he could see the chiminea on his right and the fireflies in the herb garden on
his left. There weren’t as many this year as there usually were, and I idly
wondered why.
    “Melodious girl,” he said, his voice crackling from fatigue,
“Will you help me with my shoes and my socks? I can’t seem to reach the laces.”
    “Sure, Gramps. Are your feet hot?”
    He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I
want to feel the energy of the earth beneath my feet.”
    He pretended to be ticklish while I pulled the brown oxfords
off of his feet and gingerly peeled back his socks. He flexed his old toes, the
crackling of his joints interspersed with a sigh of contentment. Then he put
his feet down, one at a time, in the rich green grass and leaned his head back
as if he were enjoying some exotic foot treatment at a spa.
    “I miss this, being connected to the earth. But it’s hard
for my old bones to get out of the chair and garden like I used to.”
    “I know Gramps. I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to
say.
    He chuckled. “My girl, don’t be sorry. I’ve led a very
interesting and fulfilling life.” His gaze wandered across the yard and paused
on the clubhouse. “I do miss your brother, though.”
    I felt a pang of regret. I almost told Gramps about
Matthew’s ghost, but when I opened my mouth to say something about it, I
couldn’t get anything out. And there was this sort of pressure against my lips
– I may have imagined it – but it was like someone was trying to keep me quiet.
The sensation was odd enough that I had stopped listening to Gramps’s rambling
until he said my name again.
    “I’m sorry, Gramps. My attention wandered for a second. What
did you say?”
    “I asked you whether you remember what it feels like to go
barefoot in the grass. You used to do it all the time when you were small. You
never wanted to wear shoes, not even in the winter.”
    That made me smile. I did remember that. I would go barefoot
everywhere that Mom