Necessity Read Online Free PDF Page A

a nine- or ten-year-old boy with masses of brown hair and a big jaw like Reid’s.
    Wind slams the door open and he lunges into the room with a wadded towel in one hand and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in the other. He kicks the door shut behind him. All his motions are big and rangy: he moves like a large predator with total confidence in his own physical authority. He sets the coffee on the desk and proffers the towel. “Here you go.”
    â€œThank you.” She makes her voice softer than before. “It was stupid for both of us to have to get wet. I’m sorry—I didn’t think.”
    â€œI’ve been wetter than this and survived it, I guess.”
    She scrubs her hair with the towel. “Is that your son?” She indicates the snapshot.
    â€œGot to be. Looks like me, doesn’t he. That was taken nearly ten years ago, when he made that sign. He’s a sophomore at Stanford. Studying East European languages. Damn fool kid wants to go into the diplomatic corps. I can’t talk to him any more.”
    But you’re fond of him, she thinks. That’s good. You’ll know what it means to worry about your child.
    She says, “When he gets a couple of years older he’ll realize you’re not as stupid as he thinks you are.” She wraps the dank towel around her neck; there’s no point trying to fix clothes or make-up—everything is ruined.
    She reaches for the coffee, pries the lid off and tastes it. “This stuff’s terrible.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhy do you drink it?”
    â€œI get it from the machine next door,” he says. “It’s better than the stuff I make.”
    â€œThen I hope I never have to taste yours. About these flying lessons now—I thought maybe you could give me some books to study, and don’t you people use those phony airplanes inside a hangar where you simulate actual flying for the students?”
    â€œLink Trainers? That kind of thing? I’m not that rich. Maybe you aren’t either. They use those to train professional pilots. If you intend to take up commercial flying for a living, maybe you ought to go apply to Pan Am or United Airlines.”
    â€œI just want to learn how to fly a small plane.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    It takes her aback. She didn’t anticipate that one; she hasn’t prepared an answer to it.
    When she hesitates, Charlie Reid says, “A few women take it up because they’re lying out in the back yard by the swimming pool with nothing to do in the afternoon and they see a bunch of light planes buzzing around and it looks like a lot of fun. Glamour and freedom and something to do in the afternoons. And then there are the ones—the divorcees—that figure maybe it’s a way to meet a man. You one of those?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell then.” He waits.
    She says, “I’ve been up in small planes. As a passenger. I like it. I like the feeling. I can’t explain it any better than that.”
    â€œWell, it’s your money,” he says. “You don’t get the sample ride today but I can start you in on basic principles and paperwork.”
    â€œGood. Let’s get the red tape out of the way and then maybe you can give me some homework. I’ll be away for a week or so. When I get back I’d like to start taking lessons three or four days a week.”
    â€œThat’s kind of pushing it.”
    â€œI’m in a hurry,” she replies.

12 On Thursday she leaves at dawn and drives to Las Vegas.
    There are several mail-forwarding services in town. On Fremont Street she picks one at random and signs up for six months, paying cash in advance. The man at the counter does not ask for identification.
    In the coffee shop of one of the downtown casinos she orders iced tea. It is a drink she’s never liked very much but it seems to be the thing to do in the Sunbelt and it fits in with her intentions to change