Free Melted and Whipped by Cleo Pietsche Page A

react. “You can’t…”
    “My pilots and crew are on the way,” he says. He opens the door. “Come on. We have to get out within thirty-five minutes.”
    “Thank you,” I mumble. I know I probably sound ungrateful, but for the moment I’m ashamed, and I feel uncomfortable. But this is Stacy. I would never take charity for myself, but for Stacy, for Greg… Getting home as soon as possible is all that matters.
    I heft the backpack over one shoulder, but when I reach Porter, he takes it from me. “You forgot your purse,” he says, nodding at the scratched-up coffee table. “Your phone and keys are in it.”
    He’s right. “Thank you,” I say.
    Something tells me I’m going to be saying those words an awful lot.

Chapter Twelve
    The airport Porter takes us to isn’t one I’ve ever seen before. After presenting some identification to a guard, he drives his car almost right up to the plane, which is smaller than most of the commercial flights I’ve been on but certainly isn’t the smallest.
    Dawn has turned into early morning, a new day full of promise, but as I stare at the gleaming white plane, all I can think of is Greg.
    Greg never wanted Stacy to get pregnant. Before they started dating, he knew about our family history, the rare genetic disorder that makes pregnancy dangerous. He knew how our mother had died. One day, about a year ago, he called me and asked, “Can I ask you a personal question? Feel free to smack me, but don’t tell your sister.”
    “Greg,” I said, laughing. “Since when do you care about personal or not personal?”
    “Do you plan to have kids? Have you changed your mind about that?”
    “Absolutely not,” I said, and I wasn’t laughing anymore. “It’s not worth the risk. And suppose the baby survives but I don’t? What kid needs to grow up with that kind of guilt?”
    “Stacy wants them. I can’t talk her out of it.”
    “Keep your snake in your pants, and she won’t have much say about it,” I suggested. “Anyway, she’s just talking. She doesn’t mean it.”
    He laughed, but I could tell he was worried. Then, three months later, when I was in town for a short visit, Stacy hosted a family dinner to announce that she was four weeks pregnant. She knew it was early, but she wanted to tell everyone in person. After a stunned silence, we all congratulated her, but the tears in Dad’s eyes weren’t of joy. He was scared. We all were.
    And now I know we were right to be.
    Porter gestures for me to climb the plane’s steps. “Be careful,” he says. He probably thinks I’m so out of it that I’ll slip and fall, but I grab the thin metal railing on each side of the steps. Still, we’re probably both relieved when I step into the plane.
    “Good morning.” A woman in her mid-fifties gives me a radiant smile. From the quasi-military way she’s dressed, I’m guessing she’s one of the pilots.
    “Hi,” I say. “I’m so sorry to get you up so early.”
    Porter’s hand presses on my back, like he wants to reassure me.
    “I was already up, feeding the horses,” she says good-naturedly. “And now I can do some shopping in New York. I should thank you.”
    I appreciate her effort to put me at ease, but when I see the cabin, I start to feel sick again. It’s over-the-top luxurious, pristine tan and cream couches and chairs, small but elegant tables fixed next to the seats. It’s gorgeous. Even the shades on the windows are custom fabric and not the hard plastic things I’m used to. I can’t even imagine how much it will cost in fuel to fly it halfway across the continent. All this just to get me to New York. If I weren’t so worried about Stacy, I’d be running out.
    A flight attendant emerges from the back of the plane to take the backpack. “Good morning to you both,” she says.
    “I’ll be right back,” Porter says, steering me to a seat.
    The material is soft, supple, and the chair is so comfortable it’s hard to believe I’m on an