Kimberly Stuart Read Online Free PDF

in both hands and focused my mind on unloading all my building angst onto our saccharine pilot and his solitary flight attendant, Beverly. Perhaps in an effort to counterbalance her cohort in the cockpit, Beverly was aviation’s version of a truck stop waitress.
    â€œYou done?” she said, nodding to my empty wine glass. Beverly appeared to have plucked all of the eyebrows God gave her only to draw them back in with an orange eyebrow pencil.
    I smiled. “Yes, thank you.” I handed her my glass. “Tell me, Beverly. Are you based in Maplewood?”
    Beverly’s pretend brows shot into an impressive crop of bangs. “I most certainly am not. I live in Chicago. Have since I was a kid and don’t plan on moving any time soon.” She swiveled a half turn to collect an empty ginger ale can from the traveler across the row. Before moving on, she dropped her head and shoulders nearly into my lap and said in a stage whisper, “And if I were to move, you can bet your bippy it wouldn’t be to Iowa .” She snorted.
    The woman across the aisle from me cleared her throat and shot a look at Beverly’s retreating rump.
    To be fair, by that point in the flight I had tried Beverly’s patience just a wee bit. It was an exhaust issue. We were flying on a plane that should have been retired sometime after the Great War. I’d been forced into this, as Heartland Air was the only carrier flying into Maplewood. The. Only. One. I’d flown JFK to Chicago and then been routed to an obscure part of O’Hare known only to select airport employees and Iowans. The flight was to last less than an hour, but I spent the first thirty minutes having to use my portable air purifier to free my lungs of the stench.
    â€œWhatcha got there, ma’am?” Beverly had asked when she saw me pull it out of my carry-on.
    â€œAir purifier,” I gasped, pushing the knob up to the highest setting. The fumes were overtaking the cabin and I could not understand how the other passengers could sit idly by, content to page through the latest issue of SkyShop in search of a new inflatable mattress.
    Beverly narrowed her eyes, a band of green eye shadow clearly visible on each lid. “They let that thing through security?”
    I nodded and closed my eyes. Think purity. Think O 2 . Do not asphyxiate on a plane headed for Middle-earth.
    Beverly shook her head slowly. “I’m pretty sure the FAA would prohibit something like that. One false move and, were you so inclined, you could turn that puppy into a weapon.”
    I let out a long exhale. I lived through September 11 while Bev was watching clips on the Today show, and she wanted to lecture me about security risks? “I assure you, I took my air purifier through all the x-rays. I was even frisked in Chicago. I’m safe.” I took another drag of pure air.
    Beverly straightened and put her hand on her hip. “Well. I suppose as long as you keep it to yourself.” She made two fingers into a V and pointed to her eyeballs. “But I’m keeping my eye on you.”
    The stench lifted halfway through the flight, though Beverly remained vigilant each time she passed my seat. Six years into the era of homeland security and Eagle Eye Bev was one of our more visible successes.
    The plane banked to the left, giving me my first aerial view of Maplewood. Not an encouraging sight. The town held a little potential to be charming in a desperate, Mitford sort of way. I could make out a church spire and a bell tower, which appeared to be part of Moravia’s campus. Clusters of residential areas circled the campus. From my vantage point, I saw a total of six traffic lights. Be assured that I counted.
    The outskirts of town held even less promise. Enormous machines, probably having to do with harvesting flax or something in that vein, spotted wide-open lots. Shades of gray dominated the color palette, with no break in the scheme for miles