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“Yeah, how about that? Um, you can go by yourself. I’m not getting on that thing,” I say, waving my hand in the direction of the still-patient pilot. Red dust swirls around in the light breeze, and it’d be a beautiful day for a helicopter ride if I was into it.
“I won’t get on without you. Please. It’d make a great story for the magazine.”
“You know just how to twist the knife, huh?”
“I’ll keep you safe. You can sit right next to me.”
That doesn’t help my nerves. I spent last night thinking about the kiss on the trail yesterday afternoon. Maddox and I went our separate ways after we got back from hiking. I went to shower and read in a local bookshop. I have no idea where he went, but he came back whistling with a smile on his face.
He’s awfully happy for a man. Most of the men I’ve dated have grumpy dispositions. Maddox probably whistles while he works on the fishing boat, and he moves through the world with a content, relaxed stature and look on his face. It’s a breath of fresh air since I have a fierce resting bitch face.
We met before bed last night and did the routine of layering in sweats and tucking ourselves into our sleeping bags. I was hoping for another goodnight kiss, and I should have tilted my head up to indicate I wanted a one, but he tucked me into the notch just above his armpit, kissed the crown of my head, and went to sleep. I followed soon after, the hiking and desert sun of the day hitting me as soon as the sun went down.
“Please. Don’t make me get on my knees, Calvert.”
The thought of him on his knees in front of me lowers my defenses, and I let him nudge my shoulder toward the helicopter. He gets me going a few steps and then puts his hand on my lower back to guide me to the copter of death.
I’m helpless with his hand on my back, and I scoot into the open helicopter, eyeing the other side for an escape route. I could just move to the other side of the helicopter, jump out of that side, and run until I reached Alice Springs.
I don’t get the chance. Maddox slides in next to me and immediately buckles my seat belt, his hand scraping the side of my breast as he pulls the overhead straps over my shoulders. He gives me a kiss on my cheek before buckling himself in and pulling his aviators down over his eyes with a smile.
“I hate flying,” I say.
“This isn’t like flying,” he yells over the propellers. He hands me a helmet and helps me buckle the strap under my chin. I instantly hear everything Maddox and the pilot say through my headset, and the unexpected sound startles me at first. “This is better than flying.” The sound comes through my headset like he’s talking next to my ear, and I had no idea Bluetooth helmets could be so sexy.
I look straight ahead and hold my breath as the helicopter lifts off the ground. It feels like the time Cora and I rode a camel at a local petting zoo. It’s a lumbering movement, nothing like an airplane, and I grip Maddox’s legs without worrying if I appear desperate to touch him. I can’t think about such piddly things when I’m on the verge of death.
He chuckles like he takes a helicopter to work every day and slips an arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his chest. “Relax, Calvert. I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I close my eyes as the helicopter climbs higher. “I want off this ride.”
“No getting off now,” he says. His chest moves as he chuckles. “Well, no getting off the helicopter, that is.”
Oh. My. God.
We level out after a couple of minutes of rising, and my stomach levels with the aircraft. Airport and pilot chatter come through the headset, and I hesitantly open one eye and look around Maddox.
My eyes jolt open as I look at the view. “Do you want to lean over me so you can see better?” he asks.
I nod, and he unbuckles the top seatbelt hook off my shoulder, keeping my lap belt over my thighs. I bend over his lap a little, and his hand comes to my back to rub circles over my tense muscles, instantly relaxing me.
This is fine. Sure, I could drop to my death, but it’s also beautiful. The helicopter’s shadow floats below us over the red soil, and the sun is high in the sky. Below us, groups of red kangaroos move like a herd of buffalo at the sound of the helicopter interrupting their meals.
“Not too bad for a death trap, huh?”
“It’s growing on me.”
And it is. I don’t want to throw up, and his arms are comfortable around me.
The helicopter shifts right, and Maddox instinctually wraps his arms around me. As I look out the right side of the aircraft, Uluru comes into view. “Are we going over it?”
“Not sure if going over it or just around the perimeter. I think we should probably just do the perimeter to be respectful,” Maddox says, and the pilot nods along. People do that a lot around Maddox. They nod and do whatever he says. Helicopter pilots. Travel companions. Why does everyone bend over backwards and give him immediate respect? Is it the handsome face and calm demeanor?
We approach Uluru, and I inhale. The sheer miracle that this exists, rising out of the ground so suddenly without explanation, makes me understand why the indigenous people thought it was holy. It’s a wonder. A marvel.
“It’s amazing, huh?” Maddox asks.
I don’t take pictures. I don’t think I’m supposed to, but I take a mental picture and file it away in my brain for later. Much later. No matter what happens, I’m going to remember this view. I’m going to remember getting over my fear of helicopters and my own mortality. And I’m going to remember the way Maddox’s hand touches my leg, his thumb gently stroking my bare skin just below the hem of my shorts, for the rest of my life.
