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The Daughter-In-Law
By Diana Diamond St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2003 Diana Diamond
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-0369-1
CHAPTER 1
She was frightened. Maybe even terrified. Jonathan could tell from her expression. Staring eyes focused on empty space. Lips pulled into a tight line. The way she rolled her head to crack the joints in her neck.
"First jump?" he asked in a soft voice that was just for her and not intended as a public announcement to the others.
"What?" It took her a few seconds to realize that he had spoken to her.
"Is this your first jump?"
"No ... well, yes. First time without my instructor."
He nodded.
"Is it so obvious?"
"Not obvious. It just seems that you're thinking too much. Like you're trying to make damn sure you haven't forgotten anything."
She flashed a quick, darting smile. One that was pure formality without any trace of joy. "Have I?"
"Have you what?"
"Have I forgotten something?"
Jonathan looked her over carefully. A brand-new helmet without even a scratch, the dark plastic face mask pushed back. A blue nylon jacket fitted with elastics at the wrists, waist, and neck. A parachute on her back with the packer's tag hanging from the rip-cord and a smaller emergency chute across her belly. A wrist altimeter. Skintight black pants tucked into the tops of soft, suede boots. Some outfitter had sold her the high-price package.
"You have your AAD set?"
She nodded confidently "Automatic activation at three thousand feet."
"Then you haven't forgotten anything. You're allowed to relax."
She smiled again, this time more easily and with a hint of genuine pleasure.
Jonathan checked his wrist altimeter. "I'm setting the alarm for thirty-five hundred. By then I should see your main chute deploying."
"Thanks. That's what my instructor does, not that he's ever had to remind me. I tend to let the chute go early."
He smiled. She laughed at the absurdity of her situation. When you jumped out of an airplane you generally didn't forget when it was time to pull the chute, unless you knocked yourself unconscious leaving the plane or flying into another jumper. That was what the AAD — automatic activation device — was for.
"I'll be okay," she said. "Once we get started. It's the standing around that gets to me."
He held out his gloved hand. "Jonathan Donner."
"Nicole Pierce," she answered. She shook his hand with more strength than he had expected. Her eyes smiled for the first time, shining arcs of blue above high cheeks. "I don't know why in hell I do this. I spent the last half hour in the ladies' room upchucking my morning coffee."
"It gets easier," he assured her. "And the thrill never goes away."
"You've been jumping for a while," she said, putting words to the obvious.
"Yeah! Nearly ten years. All over the world."
Her eyes widened. "High altitude?"
"All kinds of altitude. Out of balloons. Jets."
"Then why are you making this dinky jump?"
Jonathan laughed. "There are no dinky jumps. And no matter how many times I go up, I still toss up my coffee while I'm getting dressed. I just don't let it bother me anymore."
She held eye contact, her expression accepting his friendship. "Thanks," she said. "I'm going to be okay."
The pilot sauntered out of the shed, bouncing to the beat he was hearing through his CD headset. He didn't look up at his customers until he was right on top of them. "All set?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer he jumped into the doorway hatch of his De Havilland Twin Otter. His passengers climbed aboard behind him.
There were six making the jump. Nicole was the only woman. Jonathan was jumping with a close friend, Ben Tobin. The other three were oversize Navy SEALs, treating themselves to a postman's holiday. They talked quietly in a language all their own. The SEALs strapped themselves into the sling along the airplane's right side. Ben Tobin was nearest the door on the left side, then Jonathan, and finally Nicole closest to the pilot. The only sounds were the safety harness buckles snapping closed.
The pilot clicked on the intercom. He started a word, paused, and then clicked off. When he returned, he had his script in hand. "We're climbing to ten thousand feet, which shouldn't take more than twelve to fifteen minutes. Then we'll cross downwind over the jump area so you can find your marks, saunter back, and then make a jump run. Okay?"
There were grunts of approval.
"Anyone changes his mind," he added, "can ride back with me at no extra charge." He laughed at his own sense of humor. None of his passengers cracked a smile.
The left propeller began to turn cutting blinking shadows in the morning sunlight that was streaming through the round windows. The pitch of the turbine whine eased up the scale until the roar of ignition drowned it out. Then the right propeller started to swing.
"Anyone ever flown this crate before?" one of the Navy men asked.
Ben nodded. "It's a good jump plane," he said to no one in particular.
"Is he kidding?" the SEALs went on. "Ten thousand feet in twelve minutes? Looks more like it could take twelve weeks."
Jonathan had logged dozens of jumps out of Twin Otters. They were quaint-looking planes with spars supporting the wings and a landing gear that didn't retract. But they climbed quickly and turned on a dime. "It's a big door," he answered the cynic across the aisle, "easy to get out of, and once you jump the plane doesn't make a lot of difference."
Nods from the SEALs. What did it matter if it took a few extra minutes to get to altitude? Once you went out the door no plane was better than any other. They settled into an anxious silence.
"You all right?" Jonathan asked Nicole, leaning close so that it was their private conversation.
She nodded. "As soon as we get out. It's the waiting that scares me."
"Why don't you go ahead of me," he offered. "I'll follow you down."
"I'll be fine," she insisted. But within a second she suggested, "Maybe I will go ahead of you."
Jonathan nodded. Then, just to reassure her, he reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back gratefully, but she didn't look at him. Her eyes seemed fascinated with the toes of her boots.
With both engines growling, the Otter bounced across the grass and out onto the gravel runway. The pilot didn't pause to check anything, but simply pulled the throttles to a melodic howl. The plane rushed ahead and within a few seconds lifted into the air. The SEALs exchanged approving glances. They were impressed.
"He doesn't waste any time," Nicole said, nodding toward the pilot. Her fear was leaving her as the plane climbed. Like she had said, it was the waiting around that made her nervous.
"Where are you from?" Jonathan asked, trying to start a normal conversation.
"New York. I'm a stockbroker. Well, at least I'm going to be a broker. Right now I'm a broker's assistant who gets to talk to customers."
"You're in the market? That would scare me more than jumping out of airplanes."
Nicole nodded. "You know, now that I think of it I get sick getting dressed for work. I guess it's the same dread of putting your life on the line with every move you make."
"Well, when the market crashes and it's time to jump out the window, you'll already know the routine."
She laughed out loud, and then put her hand over her mouth as if she had caught herself laughing in church. The three SEALs were looking at her with disapproval. Skydiving was serious business. Leave it to a woman to trivialize it, they probably thought.
The plane banked into a tight turn and continued climbing into the heading that it had just come from. The pilot was carving his own switchbacks, like climbing a road that turned back and forth up the side of a mountain. The Otter was holding its steep angle and going up fast, promising to beat the twelve-minute estimate.
Jonathan thought she might be attractive, but with the parachutes she was wearing and the straps across her chest and thighs, all he could do was guess. She had a nice smile and very expressive eyes. Her voice sounded a bit like music. The shape of her legs was obvious in the skintight pants and she seemed to be on the slim sideof curvaceous. But he had to fill in the rest from his imagination. Her hair was probably light given the complexion of her cheeks and the color of her eyes, but it was hidden beneath her helmet. Her figure was probably good. Great legs generally went with a well-turned butt, and if all that worked then the rest couldn't be too shabby.
"What do you do?" Nicole suddenly asked, resuming the conversation that Jonathan had started.
"Jump out of airplanes," he answered with a mischievous grin. "Race sailboats, do some scuba diving ..." His tone indicated that the list wasn't all-inclusive.
"And what do you do to support all these adventures?"
He shrugged. "As little as possible. I have a job ... in banking. But that's what really makes me sick."
Now Nicole had the mischievous smile. "You don't look like a banker. At least none of the bankers I've met."
Jonathan preened his shaggy mustache. "You mean this?"
"I suppose so. Aren't bankers supposed to be painfully shaved and completely buttoned-down? I thought displays of personal affectation were considered fiscally irresponsible."
"That's why it makes me sick. But I give it five days a week and then I escape on the weekends."
She looked suspicious. "This is only Tuesday."
"True, but a drive into New Jersey for a quick dive out of an airplane isn't what I mean by escape. This is just like taking a long lunch. Escape is when I really get away. Fly someplace on a Friday and come back on Monday."
"So, let's see" — Nicole calculated on her fingers — "four day weekends and one day for a late lunch. That sounds like a two-day workweek."
"Like I said, as little as possible ..."
The plane banked into another turn, still climbing to altitude. It was laboring more in the thin air, its propellers working harder to get a grip.
"We're at eight thousand now," the pilot's voice reported, "turning downwind over the drop area."
Ben Tobin twisted in his seat and leaned into the door opening. The western New Jersey horse country was familiar to him, as was the distinctive bend in the Delaware River. He elbowed Jonathan and then the two of them pressed toward the doorway. Across the aisle, one of the Navy men turned his face to the window, his nose to the glass. The other two leaned close to Jonathan and Ben so they could see out the door. Nicole was the only one who didn't seem curious.
They climbed slowly out past the jump area. When they finally leveled off they were thirteen minutes from takeoff, just about what the pilot had predicted. The plane began a wide turn to the left, banking so that the open door gave a perfect view of the ground they were turning into.
"Okay," the pilot announced. "I've told them we're ready. Once you see the smoke you can go anytime."
The smoke appeared instantly, a crimson cloud generated by a burning flare at the beginning of the runway they had used for takeoff. It rose straight up for a few hundred feet, and then began to tail off to the east with the prevailing wind. The plane leveled at the end of its turn, and headed straight for the smoke signal.
The three Navy men unbuckled, closed the dark visors over their faces, and gathered at the doorway for an exchange of high fives. Then they dove out into space on a quick count, right on one another's heels. Jonathan and Ben unbuckled and pulled down their face masks. Ben went to the door. Jonathan waited for Nicole to get to her feet and let her step around him. Then he reached out and touched Ben's shoulder. Instantly, Ben was out. Nicole went right behind him without a moment's hesitation, and then Jonathan dove after her.
They were hit with the air blast, a cold slap delivered at better than one hundred miles an hour, and then spun in the turbulent wash of the propeller. Before they could orient themselves, they were already arcing down toward the earth, beginning their acceleration into the breath-stealing speed of free fall. Ben was the first to get his bearings, stretching out his body and then extending his arms like wings. From his head-down position, he pivoted until he was lying parallel to the ground, stretched across the wind that his fall was generating.
Jonathan found his position across the wind and then turned his head to find Nicole. She was just below and a bit to his right and she was in perfect position, a human airfoil generating lift by her extreme angle of attack to the rushing air. He checked his fall next to her and then steered over close enough to touch her. Blonde, he announced to himself confirming his guess. There was a length of blond hair streaming from the back of her helmet.
They maneuvered by controlling the angle of attack, the presentation of their bodies to the wind stream generated by falling. Their bodies moved in the opposite direction of the wind. Lie flat, and the force of the air would slow their descent. Lean right, so that the air bounced off to the left, and they would turn right. Lower their heads and they would accelerate ahead. Raise their heads and they would drift backward. There was also the fabric that filled the space between their extended arms. It made them bigger airfoils and gave them that much more control.
By combining these movements, they could fly anywhere relative to one another. Away, widening their circle, or back together again where they could link up and hold hands. They could dive under one another, or fly circles around each other. They could cavort like swimmers in three dimensions. The only difference was that all the while they were falling at about a hundred and twenty-five miles per hour.
He touched her hand and she grabbed onto him eagerly. Ben glided up to them carefully and took hold of her other hand. It wasn't smooth. The slightest movements of their bodies eased them in different directions, straining at their grips. They held together for a few seconds as they fell several hundred feet, but then exploded apart. Nicole was suddenly fifty feet above the two men who were soaring off in different directions. She watched Jonathan tuck like a platform diver and begin tumbling head over heels. Ben, with his arms extended, was spinning like a windmill. Far below, between her and the red smoke signal, were the Navy SEALs, flying like a formation of ducks. She was soaring above them all.
She could feel the adrenaline filling her with a wild euphoria. In part, it was the release from her natural fear of jumping and the wild abandon of plunging downward toward her own destruction. And there was the frantic intoxication of the moth banging against a lamp to get to the consuming fire. At this instant, flying through space, she was fully in touch with herself, trembling with the joy of simply being alive, and yet mesmerized by her flirtation with death. She was in total control of her own destiny, able to command changes in direction with a simple turn of her hand. She was risking her life in order to live it more completely.
She fell through five thousand feet, riding on the bubble of air that was compressed under her body. Far below, the SEALs had changed their formation and were soaring through the highest traces of the red marker. They would have to open their chutes soon. You could fall one thousand feet in just a few seconds and they were nearing the three thousand foot safety level.
Off to her left, Jonathan had turned back toward her, keeping himself a few hundred feet below. He would watch her chute open before he let out his own, just so that he wouldn't be hopelessly hanging in the air if she needed help. Instructors did the same thing, staying ready to steer themselves to a student in trouble. Ben was coming in from the right at about the same altitude as Jonathan. Both of them seemed to feel that she might need help. But Nicole knew better. She was queen of the universe, flying with abandon that only expertise could justify. She glanced at her wrist altimeter: forty-two hundred feet, the digits blinking down too quickly to count.
She was in the tracking position, head down and arms by her sides, moving toward the smoke marker at more than half the rate that she was falling. Jonathan eased in to within fifty feet, adjusting his body angle to hold position on her. He was pointing at his wrist altimeter, reminding her to watch her height. She checked the flashing digits on her own wrist: four thousand feet. Time to pull the release on the small pilot chute that would drag the big, steerable wing out of her backpack. But Nicole didn't want to end her free fall just yet. She still had plenty of time.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Daughter-In-Law by Diana Diamond. Copyright © 2003 Diana Diamond. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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