Air Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

into the can. He turns back to me, leaning against the kitchen counter. Pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Crosses his arms.
    Body language saying: here comes something bad.
    He uncrosses his arms. Holds them out toward me, open.
    Okay, maybe it’s something good.
    “I was in the bursar’s office, yesterday. And you know Eleanor always has the television on in there. Sound off, pictures on.” Josh crosses his arms again. And he looks serious. “She says since September 11, you’ve got to monitor for breaking news.”
    I open my mouth to make some sort of pro-television, thank goodness for viewers remark, but something in Josh’s demeanor stops me. “Uh-huh, sure,” I say.
    “And I was in her office when the news of the plane crash in Baltimore came on. What they thought was the plane crash, at least.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “And I almost lost it, Charlie. I almost lost it. That’s why I was so unsettled in that phone message. There was a moment when I thought you might be gone. Forever.”
    “But it wasn’t really—Franklin called you—and my plane wasn’t—”
    “I know, I know.” Josh pulls up the kitchen stool across from me. “I’m not saying it was logical. And it was just, well, I thought of that shooting star we saw on our first date. How big the universe is. How small we are. How out of control.” He takes my hand, examines my palm, turns it over, then back. Looks at me again. “And I thought—Charlie’s gone. And I had just found her.”
    I realize I’m fingering my necklace, a star of pave diamonds Josh gave me in honor of our shooting-starevening almost a year ago. Our first date. After midnight, in the front seat of my Jeep. Neither of us wanting to say goodbye. We both saw a shooting star, and Josh insisted that required a kiss. Our first. I haven’t kissed another man since.
    I realize I thought of Josh, too, last night. And Penny. As I raced through the Baltimore airport to what was supposed to be my live shot, even in my panic for airtime and a big story I’d yearned to call them. To tell them I was okay. I’m the big-time crusading journalist. Independent. Free. It was the first time in years, decades, I’d even thought of letting someone know I was safe.
    “And the thought of losing you,” Josh continues. “It was galvanizing. I adore you, Charlie. I don’t want to live without you. You must know that. You know that, right? And do you feel the same way? You do, don’t you?”
    “I—you—we—” I’m searching for answers to his questions. And I’m wondering, gradually, suddenly, whether there’s a bigger one coming up.
    Josh is patting the pockets of his jeans.
    My heart stops. Races. Stops. Races.
    “It all happened so fast,” he’s saying. “And I wish I had more time.” He pauses. “But I don’t.” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, then takes a pen from Penny’s raffia container. He begins to write, hiding the page from me with a cocked shoulder.
    “What?” I’m confused. My heart’s imagination had envisioned a little robin’s-egg-blue box, tied with white satin ribbon, emerging from one of those pockets. But paper?
    Josh twinkles at me, looking up from under his unfairly long eyelashes. “You’re the genuine article, Miz McNally. The real thing. And I think we ought to haveit in writing.” He folds the paper in half, then half again, then holds it out to me. He’s smiling, but his face has the second unreadable look of the day. “What do you say to this?”
    I don’t like surprises. But I do like Josh. Love Josh. Do I want to marry Josh? I do. I don’t. I do. Seems like I’m going to have to answer that pretty damn soon. If this, um, unfolds as I predict—I’m going to have to answer it right now.
    My foot is still jiggling as I accept the square of paper. Unfold it once. Twice.
    It’s a change of address form from the United States Postal Service. Josh has filled in the blanks. Under “new address,” it now