Night Flight by Lindsay McKenna Page A

flipped on the switch, the sudden light hurting his eyes.
    “Jesus…” Curt choked, hurrying to the bed. Becky lay in her bathrobe, unmoving. Beside her on the dresser was a bottle of half-consumed whiskey. Anxiously, Curt leaned over his wife and gripped her by the shoulders.
    “Becky? Becky? Wake up!” Frantically, Merrill realized she had either passed out or had fainted. Sitting down, he brought his limp wife into his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. Placing his hand near her small, fine nostrils, he waited. There! He could feel the moisture of her breath.
    “Sparrow?” Oh, God, why was she doing this to him? He gently shook her and started to rub her cheek. “Wake up!”
    With a moan, Becky raised her hand, and then it fell limply back to her side. Barely lifting her lashes, she saw Curt’s frozen features. “H-honey?”
    Relief cascaded through him. He held her tightly against him. “Jesus Christ, Becky, you scared the hell out of me….” Curt buried his face in her hair. She felt so small and helpless in his arms. He kissed her hair, damp brow and cheek, which was now flushed with returning color. Looking into her half-closed eyes, he realized she was drunker than hell. Swallowing his anger, grateful that she had only passed out from the liquor, Curt simply held and rocked her.
    “What a scare,” he muttered. “I came home and Patty had all your pots and pans on the kitchen floor. I didn’t know where you were….” Shakily, he threaded her uncombed hair through his fingers. The strands were so incredibly fine, almost gossamer, once again reminding him of her frailness.
    “Why—I don’t even recall Patty coming home. Oh, dear…”
    “Sshhh, it’s okay,” Curt murmured, kissing her.
    Struggling, Becky sat up. Her head ached intolerably, and she rested it between her hands. “Ohh, dear…”
    Afraid to lose contact with her for fear she would disappear like fog before sunlight, Curt kept his hand on her small shoulder and rubbed it absently. “Don’t try and talk, Sparrow. You’ve got to have an awful hangover. Let me fix you a bath, and you can start sweating it out. I’ll make you some coffee later.”
    “Y-yes, that would be nice,” she whispered faintly, keeping her eyes closed because every time she opened them, the room started spinning. “Patty?”
    Merrill lifted his head and looked toward the entrance to the bedroom. For the first time, he saw the condition of the door. It was hanging by one hinge, the wood splintered and broken near the doorknob. “She’s out in the kitchen.”
    Sliding her hand to his, Becky gripped it. “I—I don’t want her to see me like this, Curt. P-please keep her out of here until I can get cleaned up.”
    That was why Becky had locked the door. Curt compressed his lips, but said nothing. “Okay, Sparrow. Just sit there until I get your bathwater ready. I’ll take care of Patty.”
    Miserably, Becky whispered, “Okay…” The small, functioning part of her mind felt nothing but relief over his reaction. Curt was home. He was safe. Knowing he had a flight scheduled for late this afternoon, she’d started drinking early this morning. Whiskey was the only thing that dulled her pain and worry over the fact that he might crash and be killed. Before, when she drank, she was careful not to let Curt know about it. Today, her fear had been overwhelming, and she had consumed far too much. Becky barely raised her head and watched Curt move to the bathroom attached to the master bedroom. She shivered, a chill racking her. The presence of the flight suit he wore made her nauseous. If only…no, he’d never do that. Later, after she got sober, she’d talk to Curt. She had to.
    Patty watched television, her tiny chin resting in her small hands. Merrill had changed into civilian attire—a pair of dark green slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt. He’d opened a couple cans of pork and beans, thrown in some hot dogs and heated them in the