Read Online Flights by Jim Shepard - Free Book Online Page A

bottle hot and soft in his hands, and she said, “Get my legs first. I’m beginning to feel it on my legs.” He dabbed lotion on the top of her thigh.
    The screen door slammed and his father went by. “When you’re finished there help me with the grill,” he said.
    Her skin was hot under the sun and dry, wrinkling to his touch. She was peeling and he eased a flake away from the surface of her leg with his fingernail. The lotion glazed as it spread, moistening it and deepening the brown color. He did both legs and his hands were sticky.
    â€œPut some more up by the suit,” she said, eyes still closed. “I always get burned there.” He put some dabs farther up and heard Ronnie’s car pull in behind hers down the driveway. “Rub it in, Biddy,” she said. “Want it to dry on me?” His middle finger touched the dab, broke the bubble, pressed further to the skin underneath.
    â€œIsn’t this nice,” Ronnie said. “The Queen of Sheba.” Biddy turned, lotion on his fingers. “She’ll have you out here with a fan next.”
    She didn’t open her eyes. “Finish up, Biddy,” she said.
    â€œAren’t you helping Judy?” Ronnie asked.
    â€œI’ve been here for a while,” she said. “Everything’s ready. You’re in the sun.” Ronnie went into the house. “Grab a chair and come on out,” she called. She opened her eyes, hand cupped over them. “That’s enough, Biddy,” she said. “Thanks.”
    He washed his hands twice, the stickiness elusive between his fingers. “What time is Uncle Dom coming?” he asked Ronnie, stacking plates in the kitchen.
    â€œFew hours,” he said. “He’s getting some provolone and prosciutto and that place is a nuthouse today.” He handed a full glass to Biddy. “You going back out? Take this out to her. It might as well be you as me.”
    â€œI’m thinking about cutting my hair, Biddy,” she said. “What do you think?”
    â€œDon’t,” he said. She opened her eyes. “I mean—it’s beautiful.”
    â€œWell, thank you.”
    He fumbled with a sneaker. “Who wants you to change it? Ronnie?” She continued to gaze at him. “For the wedding?”
    â€œNo. I don’t know, just for something different. But you like it, huh?”
    He nodded, glad the embarrassment was over.
    â€œThen I’ll keep it. C’mere.”
    He reddened as he leaned forward and she kissed him, half on the mouth, half on the cheek.
    â€œGo help your father with the grill,” she said softly.
    An hour later they were starting to arrive, the Lirianos, the Pierces, the Sheas, the Terentieffs, the Cartenellis, and more.
    The Air Show was about to begin.
    The yard included a patio, a redwood table and some benches beside the clusters of lawn chairs and lounges, a large maple tree, a small maple tree, a gray cellar door adjacent to the house, a vegetable garden, and a fair number of bare spots. It was a small residential tract just barely suitable for a cramped game of Wiffle ball, bordered by the Frasers’ garage on one side and their own on the other. The garden was small and weedy, and the dog’s urine had browned the grass near the knee-high fence bordering it. A red tomato showed here and there, unpicked.
    The backyard, with the garages and trees allowing some privacy, was where the Sieberts entertained. The front yard was a bare, flawless expanse boasting two dogwoods flanking a sidewalk leading to the front door, and that was all. On those rare occasions he played there Biddy felt as though he were onstage.
    The backyard as well had an unencumbered upward view of the north, over the airport, perfect for the Air Show.
    The Air Show included the U.S. Navy Blue Angels, an R.A.F. Harrier VSTOL (vertical takeoff and landing) jet, a World War II P-51 Mustang, a Bell Huey helicopter, a