Free Flight by Darren Hynes Page A

away.
    Overhead, a flock of seagulls pass, their squawks half drowned out by the building wind. Candy wrappers that had once lain on the top of the garbage bucket are being whipped around in the gale, scattering around their feet, just above their heads.
    After a moment, Terry says, “You happy?”
    She doesn’t answer, choosing instead to tilt her face towards the sky. Another raindrop lands on her cheek. “Starting to rain again.”
    Terry looks up too. “Lightning Cove in May for ya. We’re lucky it isn’t snowing.”
    They go quiet. Then Terry says, “Did you hear what I just asked?”
    She looks at him, then away. Folds her arms across her chest, letting the question sink in, her eyes on the ground. “I’m as happy as anyone else.” She lifts her face and stares at him. “Why?”
    Terry looks past her shoulder. Shakes his head. Shrugs. “No reason.”
    A speck of rain clips the tip of her nose. Another lands on the back of her hand.
    â€œLet’s go in before it starts to pour.” She gets to her feet.
    Terry’s about to say more, but before he can get any words out, the back door swings open, revealing Heather. She offers them a side profile of her face in order to speak to someone that’s standing behind her. “She’s out here,” she says, stepping aside to let Irene Baker pass.
    Irene seems to have aged ten years since yesterday, Emily thinks. Paler than usual, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, her belly so large she looks like she might fall forward.
    â€œIrene,” she says.
    The woman comes closer, her two hands on the belly of her raincoat, as if it’s the only way to keep the baby from suddenly dropping out.
    â€œDon’t Irene me,” she says.
    â€œWhat’s the matter – ”
    â€œStay out of this, Terry,” Irene says. “This has got nothing to do with you.”
    Heather’s still in the doorway, her fingers bracing its frame.
    â€œMind the cash,” Terry tells her.
    â€œThere’s no one in there,” Heather says.
    â€œGo.”
    She does, rolling her eyes in the process and slamming the door.
    Terry offers the pregnant woman his seat.
    â€œStay where you’re to,” Irene says to him, “this won’t take long.” She takes a few more steps so that she’s within touching distance of Emily. “No layoff’s, huh? ‘Maybe it won’t come to that,’ you said. Filthy liar.”
    â€œThat’s enough,” Terry says.
    Irene turns to him. “It’s fine for you. You got your precious little store. But what about us that depends on the plant, huh? What about us ?” She looks again at Emily. “You knew all along that Myles didn’t stand a chance, didn’t you?”
    Emily doesn’t answer.
    â€œDidn’t you?”
    â€œShe’s got nothing to do with any of that,” Terry says.
    â€œExcept that she lives with the very one whose business it’s supposed to be to look after men like my husband.”
    Emily points to her milk crate. “Won’t you sit down, Irene?”
    â€œJust answer my question?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYes what?”
    â€œYes, I knew. Or had a pretty good idea, at least.”
    Irene’s sknees suddenly buckle. Terry is close enough behind her to catch her before she falls. Emily goes over to help, draping one of Irene’s arms across her shoulders. They lower her gently onto the milk crate.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Emily asks.
    The woman is clutching her stomach, her chin buried into the top of her chest.
    â€œIt’s not coming, is it?” Terry says, his voice a whisper.
    Irene lets out a long breath, then takes a few more. “Not today.” She looks up at them. “I’m so thirsty.”
    â€œI’ll get you some water,” Terry says. He runs to the door, throwing it open, then disappears inside.
    Emily rubs the