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Tom told Vivian to come soon and stay as long as possible.

He was calling her himself, he said, because he feared George might not convey the seriousness of the current circumstances.

“Current circumstances” being a phrase he fell back on repeatedly during their phone conversation.

If George had called—she hadn’t, confirmed Vivian—he wanted to stress that she may not have given Vivian the full picture.

“Of the current circumstances,” she finished.

“Right,” said Tom.

“She’s worse,” Vivian told Patterson that night. “Tom thinks this is it. He thinks I should come soon.”

“Then you should,” said Patterson.

She was about to ask him to come with her, when he reached across the table and took her hand. “It makes you think, Viv. I mean, she’s not old.”

“No,” said Vivian. “She’s only fifty-two.”

“We’re not getting any younger, either, are we?”

They’d been together for years, Don said.

And he didn’t want to be with anyone else.

He hoped she felt that way about him too.

So how about it? Why not tie the knot? Make it official?

“It would make me so happy,” he said, finishing up, “if you would be my wife.” Then he held out a velvet box with a ring that was just right: elegant, not flashy, a single emerald flanked by two tiny diamonds.

She loved it. She loved him. Her heart seized up and her breath went shallow and Don sounded far away when he spoke her name again.

She dropped her head to her knees and tried to breathe. She heard him slip the box back in his pocket, felt the steady warmth of his hand on her back, thought in time with her rapidly beating heart: I do not deserve this. I do not deserve this.

“Will you at least give it some thought?” asked Don, once she managed to raise her head again without everything turning orange.

“I will. I really will. I’m so sorry,” said Vivian as he massaged the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know why I get like this.” A lie—she knew exactly why she got like that.

And Don must never, ever know. Or maybe he ought to know.

Either option seemed unbearable. If she didn’t tell, well, that was the same as lying about who she was, deceiving a good man, tricking him into loving her.

If she did tell, odds were he’d no longer love her at all.

He’d try, she knew. He’d say it didn’t matter, but something would change between them.

Distrust and shame would sidle up right next to them and never leave, always underfoot and in the way.

And who would live like that for any longer than they had to?

“I’ll think about it the whole time I’m in Enid,” she promised.

“I hope you’re not planning on moving in,” said George. “Because I won’t have it.”

“Georgeanne Ector!” Even after all these years, Vivian forgot the Rutledge. “I am a very busy woman with many, many commitments,” she said in her best imitation of Helen. “I can barely spare a week.”

George laughed, then groaned.

“Really, George. I can stay however long you like. I’m commitment-free for the time being.” She winced as she said it, thinking of Don.

“Lucky you. I have doctors’ appointments from now till kingdom come,” George said brightly, as if having a slew of doctors’ appointments was a great source of amusement.

In times of crisis—when a relationship ended, when money ran low, when she couldn’t stand to live inside her own skin another day, Vivian had scraped together enough money for fuel and flown to George.

Because with George, she felt like a person again.

Like what she did mattered, like everything would work out.

It wasn’t exactly clear to her how George made her feel these things.

She didn’t do it by saying, It’ll be okay , or Let’s calm down , but by some subtle, undetectable mechanism.

This talent must have made her an excellent mother.

A far better mother than Vivian herself ever would have been.

At this point, Vivian could claim to be the better pilot, if only because she logged the hours for it.

But from any objective standpoint, she thought, George had won everywhere else.

She had the well-appointed house. She had her country club friends.

It might be unconventional, but she had a marriage.

She was a successful businesswoman who’d parlayed her luck, her Ector inheritance, into multiples more.

She had her own plane—a better one than Vivian’s.

And she’d raised the girls to be smart and funny and, Vivian had thought until Ivy ran away, happy.

And through it all, she’d worked her special magic, making everyone feel better. Vivian could see her working it even now, turning the macabre into the amusing, getting Vivian to buck up.

They spent a couple of days reminiscing.

Then George asked her to take them up in the Cessna.

“I can’t fly it myself anymore, but I’d like one more ride.

” Once they reached altitude, high above the red-and-green patchwork below, Vivian said, “Clear skies and no one in sight, if you want to take the controls for a bit.”

“I never know when the pain will come, or how strong it will be. I’d better not, Viv. But I’m happy just to be up here.”

Vivian had pretended not to notice when her friend’s eyes closed, when she turned inward, battling for composure.

Vivian’s throat tightened. She fiddled unnecessarily with the controls and then glided into a lazy chandelle.

“How about a flat spin?” asked George, working her magic once again.

“You sure?”

“You have to ask?”

She could see for miles, and they weren’t carrying any cargo.

“Ready?” She took them up, up, up and forced them into the spin.

She hoped George’s eyes were open, that she was spellbound by the spinning world and sky, that hanging face down wasn’t hurting her.

Vivian, counting the rotations, couldn’t afford a glance at her friend, couldn’t get lost in the mesmerizing view.

But she needn’t have worried. George let out a joyous whoop and said, “That’s seven!

” Vivian allowed one more rotation before pulling out of the spin and looking at her passenger.

George closed her eyes. Vivian took that as permission to head for home.

For the rest of the week, she complied with anything George asked. Everything except her final demand.

“I want to tell them,” said George. “The girls. Tom. They all deserve to know.”

“George, no.”

“It’s the right thing to do. And we should have done it years ago. Maybe if we had ...”

“No,” insisted Vivian. Not just because she disagreed, but because she needed to keep George from finishing that sentence, from saying that if they had told the girls years before, Ivy never would have run so far. That she wouldn’t have run at all. “Please, George. Don’t do this. They’ll hate me.”

“I’m pretty sure Ivy already suspects. I think that’s why she left. Ruth probably knows too. Whether she wants to admit it to herself or not.”

Vivian felt the world pitch beneath her. “George. Please. We promised each other.”

“But we were wrong. Besides, I’m not going to be here anymore. It’s your turn now.”

Vivian’s cheeks were wet with tears. “I don’t think it works that way,” she sobbed. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”

“They’re going to need you.”

“Then don’t set them up to hate me. I’ll do everything I can for them, I swear. Please don’t tell them.”