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      “My grandmother loves painting ceramic figurines of First Ladies.”

      “Historically accurate figurines,” Grey said and grinned. “You could have helped her decorate Abigail Fillmore’s bonnet.”

      Stone pretended to weigh the alternatives. “Abigail’s bonnet . . . Singapore girls in formfitting saris. Hmm. Tough one.”

      Earbuds back in.

       Here am I living in it, Here am I in everything.

      His sister, Sadie, had gotten him started on punk, probably thinking he needed something less, well, insipid than what he came up with by following his usual pattern: downloading whatever his friends were listening to. Sadie was like that, one of those people untouched by trend or fashion, comfortable building her own world out of what she liked, from tunes and styles and reads that could be so ancient they were cobwebbed, up through to things so new they barely existed yet. Sometimes it was like she imagined something and conjured it into reality.

      Sadie could be a prickly little witch, but at sixteen she was who she was in a way that Stone could not quite equal. Didn’t bother him, not really. Stone had a defined role to play. He was the heir, the scion, the eldest. There’d been lots of times he envied Sadie’s freedom—man, who wouldn’t?—but he was okay with his destiny. Someone had to do it. Might as well be him.

       Spent so much of my time thinking, Feeling like I’m under attack. Overlooking the reality in front of me, Wandering down so many paths.

      And for his mother, whose ashes had settled into the Atlantic at the midpoint between her native London and her adopted New York.

      He looked out of the window, veering his thoughts away from that last image. Not right now, not right now, not that memory.

      Stone and his father had taken off from Teterboro and now were flying over the Meadowlands. Down below, a game. Football, American style.

      Stone’s life had been split more or less evenly between New York and London, so he could appreciate both sets of sport obsession: football and baseball in the States, soccer and cricket in the UK. Still couldn’t imagine what anyone saw in hockey, because . . .

      Then he remembered.

      Earbuds out.

      “Hey, isn’t Sadie at that game?”

      Grey looked up and smiled, a conspiratorial look. “And I’m sure she’s loving every minute of it.”

      Stone laughed. “Yeah. Nothing Sadie likes better than being outside in the cold and part of some big, cheering crowd.” He shook his head. “I hope the dude is worth it. Is it that Tony guy I met?”

      Grey nodded. “I think highly of his father. Tony himself . . . well, I suppose I could offer Sadie some fatherly advice on that kid.”

      They both burst out laughing. The idea of Sadie listening to advice from anyone. On any topic. Let alone her love life.

      “You’re not that brave,” Stone teased.

      “I’m not that stupid,” Grey countered with a look of mock fear. Then, in a softer tone, turning his eyes away, looking out and down, “She’s got your mother in her.”

      Which just veered Stone back to a place he didn’t want to go. He nodded and didn’t trust his voice to answer. Not even a “Yeah.” Even one syllable could break his voice.

      Earbuds in.

      Shot Baker was done. Someone else was singing, another song Sadie had put on his playlist. Come to think of it, was there anything on it that Sadie hadn’t chosen for him?

      Down below, the dome was a huge, oblong cereal bowl filled with eighty thousand Jets fans. The Jets actually had eighty thousand fans this year, because it was early December and damned if they weren’t still in contention.

      The dome’s cover had been drawn back to let fans take advantage of the clear, weak, low-slung sun of fall. The sleet and the cold wind would come soon enough; a last sunny Sunday, even a chilly one, was not to be wasted.

      A blimp turned lazily above the dome. It looked like some leisurely version of sperm and egg from up here. The image brought a smile to Stone’s lips. He totally had to work that into his next English comp paper. Freak out his teacher with a sudden display of analogy. Or was it simile?

      Earbuds out, reluctantly.

      “Hey, I see her head. That’s her, on the left,” Stone said. “End zone.” Making conversation so Grey wouldn’t think he was upset about the mention of Mom. From this height the tops of heads were a mere suggestion of a dot.

      “No,” Grey said, “She’s closer to midfield.”

      Like he knew right where she was sitting. Playing along, Stone thought. Although, sometimes it seemed to Stone that their father knew Sadie’s every move. They had something, those two.

      Sadie and Grey fought—word battles with all kinds of subtext Stone could hear but not understand. Word ninjas, those two. Fortunately Stone had always gotten along with his sister, because he’d be the first to admit he could not throw down in a verbal battle with her. The girl could put a knife right into your ego.

      Sometimes it made him jealous that Sadie and their father could yell at each other. He and Grey never did.

      The jet banked a sharp left. Like the pilot had read Grey’s mind and wanted to give the boss a chance to peer down and make out the top of his daughter’s head. Or like—

      The turn was too sharp.

      Way too sharp, hard and sudden. The right wing was arcing downward.

      Stone was pulled against the bulkhead by gravity. The pad fell from his father’s lap. Grey’s fairly decent dad mug scooted across the table and toppled over to roll down the aisle.

      “What the hell?” Grey demanded.

      There was an intercom in Grey’s armrest. He punched the button. “Kelly. What’s the matter?” Kelly, the pilot. She’d flown the jet for six years. Like a member of the family.

      No answer.

      “Strap in,” Grey told Stone. He stood up, but the g-forces threw him off-balance so that he had to sort of twist around his seat. He fell against a bulkhead and then pushed himself back up and lurched toward the cockpit door, moving like a drunk in a strong wind.

      Now the jet was tilting not just to the right but downward. A definite dive. Like way too steep. Through the window Stone saw the field below already closer, and tilted crazily. Big men on a green rectangle seeming somehow to run uphill. He saw the Jumbotron screens showing a replay.

      “Kelly!” Grey had reached the cockpit door, barely holding himself up. “Are you okay in there? What’s happening?”

      Grey rattled the little door handle. The door did not open.

      That’s when Grey looked back at his son. Their eyes met.

      Weird СКАЧАТЬ