Chapter 5

So, I raised the hose and put my thumb down against the hose end to pressurize the water stream to soak her. She puffed her chest out, squirmed, and shrieked from the chill of the spray. She twirled around in the shower to get all her body wet. Two teenage boys that were skateboarding the promenade across the street rolled slowly to a stop, and their jaws dropped. I wondered how their behavior would change if they knew the woman they ogled was the fearsome Widowmaker. I was embarrassed. Mostly for me.

“Mmmm… that’s nice! Thanks for that,” she said. “You wanna get wet too?”

I shook my head vehemently. She shrugged.

Then she continued wiping down the car.

Before long, the car glistened. Its chrome bumpers shimmered in the sunlight. The burnt orange shone like a tequila sunrise as it had before.

“Alright, let’s hit the road!” Nephele said. I threw her a towel. She dried off and put her jeans and blouse on, climbed into the passenger seat, and popped on her aviator shades.

“Wait, there’s still one thing we got to do,” I said.

I already pictured the route to take — Sunset Highway, the winding road west along the coast, which hugged the coastal mountain range and crossed dunes and hidden coves and had these beautiful bends around which came stunning vistas. On a perfect day such as today, there was only one way to enjoy this epic drive — top-down. I furled back the soft-top, hopped into the driver seat, and started the engine. It roared to life on the first turn this time, like it was as eager to get on the road as I was.

I put my hands on the steering wheel. The leather felt good in my hand. Still, a feeling of guilt irked me. So, I spoke a small affirmation in my head:

“Ok, you’re doing it to build rapport. Just as you were instructed to.”

Then, I put the car into first gear and pressed down on the gas, and the engine revved with a heavenly, throaty roar. We made a short stop at the gas station to fuel up, then we were out on the open road.

The car’s vibration and the fast salt wind whipped my hair. At first, I was awkward with the gears. It’s been over two years since I’ve driven a car, after all. But I got the hang of it quickly and made my way through the gears as smoothly as ever.

The road was carved precariously into the mountainside high above the crashing waves, and they were narrow, but there was no other traffic except the occasional military vehicle, so I wasn’t afraid to punch it.

Every turn, I approached like a race car driver, braking to kiss the apex, and then accelerating quickly out of the turn, punching the clutch and pushing the gear lever through the gears rapidly. Nephele enjoyed the ride immensely, screaming and laughing at every turn. Unsurprisingly, she was an adrenaline junky.

Before leaving the mountain roads for the gentler stretches through the sand dunes in the bay, I pulled over and offered to switch places with her. She shook her head.

“I can’t drive stick,” she said.

“I’m sorry, did you just say that the great Widowmaker, the most feared pilot the skies had ever seen, can’t even drive stick?”

She shrugged and smiled innocently.

“Never had the chance to learn. I don’t even have a license to tell you the truth.”

Baffled and even offended that the best fighter pilot that’s ever lived did not know how to drive a stick, I could only respond in one way:

“It’s ok. I’m really enjoying the ride.”

“Wasn’t a suggestion,” I said. I unbuckled and got out of the driver’s seat, opened the passenger side door, and pushed her into the driver’s seat.

She managed to stall the car a few times but soon got the hang of it. She was a quick study, so I let her drive the rest of the mountains. Within half an hour, the road turned gentle and came into a wide crescent bay with flat sandy beaches stretched out towards the setting sun. The sky and the clouds turned to a cream soda colored with touches of pink and strawberry red, and the beach, normally white as talcum powder in the daylight, turned golden.

As Nephele gained confidence in her shifting, she drove faster. I sunk into my seat and savored the rush of the wind that caused my hair to flutter out behind me and cooled my neck. I stretched my arm out like a wing to feel the wind push against it. A feeling of freedom. The first time in a long time that I had.

To our right, the curling waves raced against us. To our left, the golden hills sprang with blurred apricot orchards and lavender fields.

At the end of the bay, we came to a lighthouse, where I asked her to stop. The lighthouse sat on a tall dune and looked out at the crescent-shaped bay. Nephele pulled into the empty parking lot below the tower.

My ears buzzed from the constant wind and the thrumming engine, but those frenetic sounds disappeared, replaced by the calmer sounds of the whooshing lighthouse motor, which turned the rotating lamp on top, the car engine pinging, and the muffled crashing of the waves behind the tall sand dunes. Without speaking a word to each other, just understanding a mutual intention, we climbed out of the car and climbed to the top of the nearest dune.

“This lighthouse is one of our visual aids,” Nephele said when we reached the top. “It helps us find the approach to the airport.”

“It’s a popular spot,” I replied. “At least it was before the war.”

My body still vibrated from the ride. It was a good feeling, but as much as I could go on and on, as far as the road could go, I was happy for the change in pace.

We had an unimpeded view of the expansive bay from the top of the dune. The tide was low, so the shoreline was distant in the shallow bay, and the white rollers crashed slowly and with a quiet rumbling, like gentle thunder.

A distant rain squall loomed. A warm breeze came off the water and smelled sweet. When the wind came off the ocean that way, it was a sign that the rain squall was coming towards the coast. They would be here sooner or later. I put the thought aside, guessing we’d be on the road long before then.

Nephele caught up to me at the top of the dune, and we walked in silence together alongside a zig-zagging wooden fence that was put there to prevent the dune from shifting. Nephele hopped up onto the fence, and when she did, I blurted,

“Careful! You’ll hurt yourself.”

Nephele laughed. “Don’t worry, mom. I got this.”

I blushed at her quip. I laughed, too, realizing that this was far from the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. Far from the dangers I had put myself through in the past two years. In that context, my reaction was ridiculous.

“Sorry. I don’t know why that came out.”

She shrugged and said,

“You have maternal instincts. That’s very sweet of you.”

She tip-toed across the top of the fence, her arms stretched out for balance. Her face was furrowed and, with her tongue in her cheek, showed total concentration as she slowly crossed it.

“So, Noah… He seems like a nice kid. Is he your son?”

“Of course, he’s not my son. How old do you even think I am?”

She shot me a sly smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. You don’t have to be that old to have a…teenage son.”

“Right. You just keep on digging that hole, missy.”

“Ok. Well, you seem to care a lot about him. What’s his relation to you?”

“His parents were good friends. They were neighbors. I took him under my wings when they died in the war. He’s still got an uncle here, but –“

I bit my tongue before saying anything about Regan. It wasn’t that I was going to say something unkind, but that I would mention him at all. Nothing about him should be revealed. Nephele could never know he existed.

“Well, Noah’s taken a liking to me. And he likes hanging out at the bar. I don’t mind the extra help either. Even if he can be a bratty little teenager at times.”

“You know, he’s taken a liking to you, too,” I admitted.

“Naturally,” she replied. “You know, I can be pretty likable.”

“I like him too,” she said.

I gave her a smile. It was a nice thing to hear. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say that about Noah. I don’t think he’s ever heard it. Not from any of the Black Roses. Not even Regan. Especially not Regan.

She continued walking along the top of the fence, hopping cat-like from one diagonal to the other as I walked beside her. When we reached the final fencepost, she stepped onto it triumphantly and stayed there to gaze out on the ocean and breathe the ocean air. On the horizon, she spotted a pair of jets heading towards Alexandria. She pointed to them.

“That’s Tiny, and… someone else. Can’t quite remember who.”

Then, as if it were an important clarification, she quickly added,

“It’s a routine check ride. A training mission.”

“Oh, ok,” I answered.

A silence fell between us as we watched the pair descend past the mountains on the other side of the bay. Then she said,

“I can take you up there if you want. We have a two-seater.”

I gave her a funny look.

“I don’t know why you would think that appropriate.”

“Why wouldn’t it be appropriate?”

“Because we’re…” I was about to say “enemies,” but realized to say that now would be silly. Naïve even. Nephele, of course, would not think that way. None of them felt that way. In their minds, they were the liberators, not occupiers.

“Hey, like it or not, Faye, you’re one of us now.”

“Right. Then give me a plane and let me go bomb a city.”

Nephele grimaced but otherwise did not respond to the jab.

“Anyways, what do you mean I’m one of you?”

“The squadron’s not just the pilots. In fact, we’re only a small part of it. We’re only the pointy end of the spear. There’s a lot to the squadron. The people that take care of the ships. The weapons. And the morale. That’s you.”

“If I’m in charge of the squadron’s morale, you all are certainly resting your laurels on the wrong gal.”

“I know you don’t like us.” Nephele put her hands on her hips. “I know you don’t like me.”

“I don’t have to like you,” I responded.

“I know. But I’d like you to.”

That made me explode with anger. I scoffed. Pointed a finger threateningly at her. I went off:

“Why do you think I’d ever fucking like you? You or any Donavian? You invaded my country under bullshit pretenses and killed countless innocent people. You installed a puppet government that does nothing but cater to your fascist whims! You’ve made this country a living hell for a lot of people.”

She scowled. Pointed a finger right back at me.

“First of all, we didn’t start this war. You did.”

“Second. We are NOT fascists! That’s just bullshit your bullshit propaganda feeds you. Color me surprised to hear that coming from you. You have no idea what my people have gone through. And you don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know me.”

“Oh, please,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“You think we want to be here?”

“I think you enjoy the war. I think you enjoy being called the Widowmaker.”

“I fucking hate that name!” She shouted.

I huffed. Then stared blankly towards the horizon, and though my mind swirled with the sort of things I’ve always fantasized lecturing a Donavian about, I realized nothing fruitful could come from it, so I calmed myself before I could say anything more to jeopardize the rapport I had already built.

“Well, I suppose none of that matters, anyway,” I finally said.

“Yeah… Yeah, it doesn’t. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I’m sure you don’t like being called the Widowmaker. So, I’ll stop.”

“But it won’t stop you from thinking of me as such.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.”

She stuck out her hand. An offer of truce. I reached up to take it, but she lost her balance before I could. She began waving her arms in wild and comical windmills.

She spun in a clumsy effort to catch her balance and fell off the fence backward. I lunged forward and caught her in my arms but lost footing in the sand. We tumbled together down the side of the dune until we were stopped by a clump of beachgrass, and I was on top of her.

Her body was warm. Her heartbeat was strong. And so was her breathing. My face was only inches from hers, so I could feel her breathing on me.

“Shit, sorry about that,” she breathed. Her eyes darted left and right across my face until they caught my eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you to be careful?” I muttered.

A smile grew on her face. So, a smile grew on mine in turn. We stayed gazing into each other’s eyes for a long moment of silence. Then, an unthinkable act: she craned her neck up and kissed me.

I let her hold that kiss. I let her keep her lips against my lips. Her lips were soft. Tender. Warm against my lips. The smell of a faint perfume came off her neck. A fragrance I had not noticed before. Fresh cut roses. Who knew that the Widowmaker could smell so nice? I sighed deeply. Then I felt her tongue, and that soft, wet feeling jolted me back to reality.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I yelled and wiped my mouth with my forearm. A look of pain and confusion on her face.