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Ruth called in sick the rest of the week, claiming a bad flu.

Each morning, Vivian took her up in the Cessna, and every day the plane and the sky felt more her own.

Vivian’s stories were becoming hers too.

When she learned Don had proposed and Vivian hadn’t seen him since, Ruth accidentally let the nose dip.

“You have to go home!” she said as she quickly brought it back up.

“I will. But I can’t just leave you, Ruth.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not a baby. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Was she? “I’ll be just fine.” Would she? “And you’ll come back soon.” Would she? “I hope.”

“I will. Absolutely. As soon as I can. And once you get your license, you can come to us too.”

The next morning, Ruth donned her white dress and shoes.

She pinned up her hair and did her makeup.

On her way to the hospital, she stopped at the airfield to see Vivian off.

“I’ll be back soon,” said Vivian. Her forehead pinched with worry.

I’m not always such a mess, Ruth wanted to say.

I had a bad season, but it’s over now. Out at the edges of the airfield, the leaves of the pecan trees were just turning.

Ruth felt something turning inside her too.

She trusted herself to hold steady while Vivian was in Oregon.

“What will you do while I’m gone?” asked Vivian, failing to hide her concern behind her artificially bright voice.

Ruth gazed down at her white shoes. They were still a bit damp at the toes from the polish she’d sponged over the scuffs that morning.

She’d tried to look her best. A defense against all the things the other nurses would whisper while she did rounds.

She’s sick all right, but it’s not the flu.

Did you hear she goes home with a different guy every night?

Do you think she’ll argue with the doc again today?

To armor herself against their sympathetic superiority.

“I think I’m going to quit my job,” she said. “No, I don’t think it. I’m really going to do it.”

Vivian’s face broke into a grin that was anything but artificial. “I can’t wait to hear all about that.”

The personnel office waiting room held two rows of candy-colored molded plastic chairs facing a large steel desk.

Behind the desk, guarding a wall of matching steel file cabinets, an attractive young woman sat typing.

“How can I help you today?” she shouted over the clatter of her IBM Selectric.

She hit return with a flourish, spun her chair to face forward.

She had apple-pink cheeks and curls like a cherub, a spark in her eyes that touched something inside Ruth and set it smoldering.

“I’m giving my notice.”

The receptionist turned off the typewriter. Ruth wanted to lean across the desk and sniff her, to see if she smelled like the apples she evoked. “Please take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the hard-candy chairs. “I’m Frieda, by the way.”

“Ruth. Ruth Rutledge.”

Frieda rose from the steel desk and pivoted like a dancer to the cabinets behind her.

She slid open a drawer and riffled through it, pulled out what Ruth could only assume was her file.

“Someone will be right with you, but I’ll get the paperwork started.

May I ask why you’re leaving us? Not moving away, I hope. ”

“No.” It had been a long time since Ruth had considered leaving Enid.

She couldn’t think where she’d go if she left now.

She hadn’t expected to have to give a reason for quitting, wasn’t sure how forthcoming she ought to be.

Frieda flipped open Ruth’s file and began to read.

Ruth’s heart sank. All of her tardiness and unkemptness and general argumentativeness was no doubt recorded there.

Frieda’s eyes, when she raised them at last, held a question. Ruth’s cheeks burned.

“You were in Vietnam? I’d love to hear about that.” She closed the file, glided out from behind the desk, and sat down beside Ruth.

There was no one else around, and Frieda seemed to mean it, so Ruth told her about Cu Chi. About the hospital and hooches, the wounded GIs and the nape victims and Over There. About staying for a second tour of duty. But not about Ivy. Not yet, she thought.

“Sorry,” she said at last. “I’m blabbing away, and you must have work to do.”

“Oh, not at all.” Frieda tucked her chin and said, “I have a confession to make. Someone will not be right with you, and there isn’t any paperwork to get started. All you need to do is sign this form here. So, Ruth—I like that name, by the way—what do you plan to do next?”

“I’m not sure,” said Ruth. Frieda’s fingers brushed hers as Ruth accepted the pen she offered. “But I’m learning to fly.” It felt like bragging to say it out loud. Even more so to say, “I have a plane.”

“Wow! And date here,” said Frieda. “When can I get a ride?” Again, Frieda’s fingers lingered on hers as she took the pen back.

“Oh, I’ve only just started learning.”

“I guess it’s not something you pick up overnight. How long do you think it will take?”

It was embarrassing to admit she had no idea. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask my ...” And even more embarrassing to realize she had no idea what to call Vivian now. “Teacher,” she finished.

“Well, you know where to find me. When you’re ready.”

Elizabeth looked like a smaller, older version of Vivian. That plus her evident nervousness about the plane made Ruth tender toward her. She helped her buckle in, made sure the straps weren’t too tight. Elizabeth kept up a stream of anxious patter as Ruth prepared for takeoff.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” said Elizabeth.

Her husband, Henry, wasn’t coming to Vivian’s wedding.

“Maybe if there’d been enough notice for him to drive.

And what’s the rush after all these years?

As I said, I never thought I’d see the day.

Though, of course—oh, here we go! My, you’re doing very well at this. ”

“Thank you.” Ruth grinned. She’d been flying solo for a year now, but she never tired of impressing a passenger. “Do you fly often, Mrs. Carroll?”

“Aunt Elizabeth, dear. And no, I do not. Once to Miami for a conference with Henry’s work. Nice of them to invite the wives along. But I prefer to keep my feet on the ground, thank you, ma’am.”

“I used to say that too,” said Ruth. “So you never know ...”

“Oh, not me. I could never. I’ll leave that to the men.

Although I just read somewhere that the big airlines are bringing on lady pilots now.

But it’s still mostly men. I always thought Vivian would have married sooner if she’d spent her time doing more ladylike things.

Men don’t like women competing with them. ”

“That’s for sure,” agreed Ruth.

“And she was so pretty. It’s a shame about how tall she is. Oh, dear, you’re tall, too, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“I don’t mean any offense. It’s just a fact that men prefer more petite women, that’s all.

But you got her looks, at least. That’s something.

That’s from Mother. Even when she got older, folks always said how pretty she was.

Even at the end when she was failing. Daddy married up, in more than one way.

He was a bit of a renegade, Daddy was. But I suppose Vivian has told you all about them. ”

Vivian hadn’t. Ruth, suspecting Elizabeth might take offense at Vivian’s reticence on the subject of her parents, made an agreeable sound. Not that she needed to. Elizabeth was already speaking again.

“I guess it’s no surprise she taught you to fly. She loves it so much herself. And that’s what we do, after all.”

Ruth found this confusing. “Wait ... You fly too?”

“Oh, dear Lord, no. I already told you I don’t. I mean that’s what mothers do. Teach their daughters the things they love themselves.

“Take me,” Elizabeth went on. “I love to quilt. And I’m not half-bad at it. I taught Rebecca—that’s your cousin, my second oldest—when she was only eight. And she just finished up a Wedding Star. Just wait until you meet her. Oh, I am sorry none of your cousins could come.”

Elizabeth went on to tell Ruth all about her cousins. Ruth listened avidly. Cousins were a novelty. She’d grown up with none, and now, according to Elizabeth, she had seven. Possibly eight, depending on which ones her uncle Walter claimed on any given day.

Elizabeth fell briefly silent during the landing, then started right up again as Ruth helped her out of the plane and escorted her to the car.

The airfield was jammed with private planes.

Plenty of Vivian’s and Don’s war friends still flew.

Those who didn’t own planes had begged rides from friends.

Vivian and Don had shuttled others in themselves.

Elizabeth had waited until the last possible minute to accept the offer of a flight.

Ruth had agreed to get her so that Vivian could take care of the final wedding details.

At the church, Ruth peeked into the chapel. She scanned the pews until she found Frieda. Her special friend , as Helen liked to say. As in, “Make sure your special friend has a nice dress for the wedding. Not one of those long skirts she likes to swan around in. Think church dress.”

“Frieda’s been to weddings before, Helen. She knows what to wear.”

“Well, she doesn’t know what to wear to dinner at the club, so I felt I ought to say something.”

Her father escorted Helen to a good seat near the front.

Frank Bridlemile had succumbed to a massive myocardial infarction not long after Frieda moved in with Ruth.

Helen had buried Frank on the opposite side of the cemetery from George, mourned for a respectable interval, and then struck up a tasteful flirtation with Tom.

He didn’t seem to mind. What would Ivy and Frank Jr. have made of it? Ruth wondered.