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"""Claire Bennett slapped her husband’s hand away while half her body hung over two thousand feet of open air.
“DON’T TOUCH ME! YOU OPENED THAT DOOR!”
Daniel recoiled as if she had struck him across the face instead of the wrist.
The helicopter banked hard over the Pacific. Claire’s brown boot scraped along the landing skid, found metal again, and held. Her other leg was trapped against the door frame. Wind tore at her cream coat and whipped her hair across her eyes. Far below, white surf broke against cliffs that looked absurdly small.
Daniel lunged toward her again, then stopped when she flinched.
“Claire, I was trying to save you!”
She could barely hear the rotor over the blood pounding in her ears, but she heard him. Daniel had always had one of those voices that could cut through a room without becoming loud. Now it sounded different. Too urgent. Too careful.
Claire’s eyes moved past him.
Her seat.
The black leather cushion was empty. The seat belt lay across it, both halves intact, the buckle tongue resting neatly against the cushion.
Not broken.
Released.
Her fingers tightened around the inside edge of the door frame.
“Then why was my belt already unlocked?”
Daniel looked at the belt.
For less than a second, nothing moved in his face.
That was what frightened her.
Not shock. Not confusion.
Recognition.
Walter twisted in the pilot’s seat, gray hair visible beneath his aviation headset. He had one hand on the controls and one shoulder turned toward the cabin.
“Hold her there.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not. Stop moving.”
Walter’s rough voice was steady enough to make the words feel heavier than shouting. He looked toward the door mechanism, then at the metal latch beside Claire’s shoulder.
The helicopter shuddered.
Walter stared at the latch.
“Daniel... this latch didn’t break.”
Daniel’s eyes snapped toward him.
Claire’s forearms shook from the strain. She tried to shift her right foot higher on the skid and felt the sole slide an inch.
Nobody spoke.
Walter reached back just far enough to touch the manual release with two fingers.
“Someone opened it from inside the cabin.”
A red warning light began blinking above the instrument panel.
Walter turned forward so quickly his headset cord snapped against his shoulder.
His hands changed position on the controls.
Claire saw that before she saw his face.
Then he looked back.
“And whoever did it just disabled my controls.”
For the first time in twenty-three years of flying for the Bennett family, Walter sounded afraid.
The helicopter dropped.
Claire’s stomach rose into her chest.
Daniel grabbed the door frame instead of grabbing her. His shoulder slammed against the cabin wall. The loose belt buckle struck the leather seat and jumped again as the aircraft vibrated.
“Walter!”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
“I said I know.”
The helicopter rolled slightly left.
Claire looked down once and regretted it immediately. The ocean was brilliant turquoise near the cliffs and almost black farther out, the surface moving in long lines that made the height impossible to judge.
Her abdomen tightened beneath the dark blouse.
Eleven weeks.
That was all.
Eleven weeks and three days, according to the ultrasound she had kept folded inside the zippered pocket of her handbag because she had not yet decided whether she was sentimental enough to frame it.
Her left arm burned.
“Claire.”
Daniel’s voice was closer now.
She looked at him.
“I’m not touching you unless you tell me to.”
The words were almost lost beneath the rotor.
Almost.
His face had gone pale. He was braced on one knee, navy suit jacket twisted beneath one arm. There was a shallow cut across his knuckles from where her ring had caught him when she slapped him.
Claire hated that she noticed the cut.
“Walter,” Daniel called. “Can I pull her in?”
“Not fast. Keep her weight against the frame. Claire, listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“You move when I tell you. Not Daniel. Me.”
“All right.”
Walter lowered the nose.
The cliffs rose.
Not literally. Claire knew that. But her body did not care about the distinction.
“Right hand higher,” Walter said.
She moved it.
“Good. Daniel, get the loose shoulder strap behind her.”
Daniel reached toward the hanging belt anchored beside the door.
Claire jerked.
“Claire.”
“I saw you.”
“I didn’t open the door.”
“You were leaning over me.”
“Because your coat was caught.”
“My belt was open.”
“I know.”
The answer hit her harder than a denial would have.
“You know?”
Daniel closed his mouth.
Walter barked, “Not now.”
The helicopter bucked.
Claire cried out, not loudly, just the involuntary sound of air leaving her lungs.
Daniel grabbed the strap and froze again, waiting.
She stared at him.
Her husband of six years.
The man who knew she hated pulp in orange juice, who slept with one foot outside the blanket, who could remember the name of every waiter at their favorite restaurant but forgot his own cousins’ birthdays. The man who had sat on the bathroom floor with her after the first pregnancy ended and said almost nothing for three hours because there had been nothing useful to say.
“Do it,” she said.
Daniel looped the strap behind her upper back.
He did not touch her skin.
“Now pull,” Walter said.
Daniel leaned backward.
Claire pushed off the skid.
For one horrible moment her boot found nothing.
Then Daniel had the strap in both fists, Claire caught the lower frame with her knee, and Walter tilted the helicopter just enough to bring gravity back in their favor.
Claire came inside hard.
Her hip struck the floor.
Daniel fell backward against the opposite seat.
The door stayed open.
Wind filled the cabin.
Claire crawled away from him on hands and knees.
Daniel did not follow.
Walter shouted, “Secure yourselves.”
May you like
Claire grabbed the belt from the rear-facing seat across the aisle, pulled twice on the buckle before trusting it, then locked herself in. She tugged again.
And again.
