All the Beautiful Girls. Elizabeth J Church

that held it aloft.

      He was taking forever to come home, and Lily wished she’d brought along Jane Eyre or A Girl of the Limberlost. She twiddled her thumbs for a while, and then she tried whistling. It came out slender, ineffectual. She wanted to learn to whistle so loudly that hordes of dogs from all over town would come running to her. She wanted to be able to whistle a tune when Dinah Shore came on the television and sang “Shoo-Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy.”

      “Lily?”

      She hadn’t heard his car. The Aviator pushed open the screen door and came out onto the porch. Lily stood guiltily.

      “What are you doing here? Lily, does your aunt know you’re here?”

      He’d said her name, twice. He did know her. She was so full of emotion that she was having trouble finding her voice.

      “Sit down a minute,” the Aviator said, gently taking her arm and leading her back to the porch swing. “How did you know where to find me?”

      “Uncle Miles showed me.”

      “That’s your bike out front?”

      “Yes.”

      “But, Lily—do they know you’re here? They can’t possibly know you’re here.”

      Lily shook her head.

      “Oh, this is a bad idea,” he said. “You can’t be here. I’m so sorry. You just can’t be here.”

      “But I came to ask you,” she said before he could make her leave unsatisfied. “I have to ask you something.” Lily clenched her fists in the way her mother had always said proved just how stubborn you can be, Scallywag. She was determined not to leave without asking him.

      The Aviator took a deep breath. He was a handsome man with an omnipresent five-o’clock shadow, a nose so straight it looked as if it had been drawn with a ruler, and bruised-looking blue eyes. He sat with a ramrod-straight back, and he was wearing a military green flight suit that zipped up the front. On one sleeve was an embroidered patch picturing an armored fist that clasped an olive branch and three bright red lightning bolts.

      “You may have three questions,” he said at last.

      “Like three wishes with a genie?”

      “Yes. And then you go home.” She could see he was afraid of her questions, but still he said, “Go ahead. Ask me.”

      “My school is having a dance. Fathers bring their daughters.” She opened her hands, wiped her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress. “I get to dress up and everything. And I wanted for you to take me.”

      She’d been so happy when she’d concocted this plan to avoid humiliation. The other girls would be so jealous—even Beverly Ann. Lily would dance with a handsome pilot, handsomer even than the men on The Dinah Shore Show, and the fact that she had no father to take her would be completely overshadowed by the splendor of the Aviator.

      The Aviator’s face went from one expression to another in an instant—as if clouds were first blotting out the sun and then letting it shine full force. She saw him pained and surprised and then frustrated. Maybe even angry, which scared her a little.

      “I wish I could,” he said at last. “But I can’t.”

      “Why not?” Lily stood and faced him.

      The Aviator bit his lip, and for a minute Lily thought they both would cry. She felt violent and crazed disappointment thrashing about in her chest.

      “Please,” she begged.

      The Aviator stood quickly and pulled her into a hug. She pressed her face into the dark solidity of him, felt the zipper of his jumpsuit chafe her cheek.

      “They would never let me,” he said, still holding her.

      “Because they hate you,” she said, raising her face to look up at him.

      “That’s right.”

      “But wasn’t it an accident? Like when I spill the milk? Or when I trip and fall?”

      He put his hand on the top of her head, as if blessing her. “I wish it were that simple,” he said.

      “You didn’t mean to kill them, did you?”

      The Aviator released her. “Come sit back down for a minute. Are you thirsty? Do you want a glass of water?”

      Lily shook her head. What she wanted was answers.

      “Okay. Well …” The Aviator rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. Lily thought she could hear the rasp of his beard’s stubble. “I was driving fast. Too fast. I do that sometimes—go out on the highway and fly along the asphalt, blow off steam. And I didn’t see them—you. There was a dip in the road, and I hit your car. I’d take it all back. I can’t—” His voice broke.

      “If you really were a murdering bastard, you’d be in jail. That’s what I think.”

      “Bastard?” She saw a fleeting smile cross the Aviator’s face. “Lily.” He shook his head.

      She wouldn’t apologize for quoting Uncle Miles. “But you’re not in jail,” she repeated. “So it wasn’t on purpose.”

      “I’m not in jail because it was an accident. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not sorry each and every day.”

      They sat in silence until the Aviator said, “Lily, I’m so sorry I can’t take you to the dance. I would be honored, really and truly. Nothing would make me happier. But I can’t. It just won’t work, for reasons I can’t explain to your satisfaction.”

      “I just wanted. I just wished.”

      “I know,” he said, taking her hand in his. “But I will always do what I can. I am your friend, forever. And let me make you a promise, all right?” Lily looked up at him. “I will find a way to make it up to you. For the dance, I mean,” he said and then released her hand. He made an X across his heart with his index finger. “I promise.”

      “I love the books you send me,” she said and smiled in a way she hoped would convey how much they meant to her. Then Lily took a deep, resigned breath. “Okay,” she said, grudgingly agreeing to his promise. “But don’t wait too long!”

      He smiled and stood. “You’re a pretty good bargainer, you know that? But now you need to get home before it starts to get dark. Promise me you’ll be safe?”

      “Umm hmm,” Lily said and instead of using the steps hopped off the side of the porch to show him how agile she was.

      “You could come through the house,” he told her, but she’d already started to round the corner. The Aviator followed her out front, and Lily felt him watch her climb on her bicycle and ride away.

      Lily pedaled as fast as she could—not to rush back, but just to feel the wind blow her clean. She decided she wouldn’t tell her aunt about the dance. She just wouldn’t go. Lily knew no one would have the nerve to ask why the fatherless girl had chosen not to attend.

      And maybe in the Aviator’s promise she had something even better than a stupid old dance with a bunch of stupid old girls and their stupid old clumsy fathers. Lily believed the Aviator would come through for her. It felt glorious once more to believe in someone.

       4

      

      Aunt Tate said, “HOW COULD YOU?” and roughly flipped Lily over on her bed where she ’d been reading the Aviator’s latest gift, Beautiful Joe. Aunt Tate held Lily by the arm and struck her with the gut-flecked flyswatter. “That was my mother’s pitcher! My mother’s! You!”—whack—“ungrateful”—whack—“child!”