Hope, Levy, Marc [good summer reads TXT] 📗

Barnett lived up to her potential, he had always told her.

Melly drew in a quick breath and stepped out under the spotlights as the applause rained down on her.

Settling herself on her stool, she waited for silence to fall, and her fingers began their liquid dance.

When her final notes rang out, a pensive silence trailed after them, until the captivated audience exploded into more applause.

The pianist stood to bow, and Rapoport joined her onstage with a bouquet of roses she placed on the piano before taking another bow, her heart pounding. The joy was overwhelming. The spectators in the fifth row continued their standing ovation. The papers would be a delight to read tomorrow, she knew. She would wake up in yet another hotel room, in another city, and that would be life until the end of her tour.

After her fifth curtain call, Melly vanished into the night, and the lights were turned on again.

She undressed as she strode back to her dressing room, tossing her concert dress into the arms of the stylist, who helped her into her everyday clothes.

A car was waiting for her at the performers’ entrance.

Speeding down the priority lanes, they arrived quickly at the heliport, from where a helicopter would whisk her away to Lawrence Municipal Airport in no more than ten minutes. A private plane would handle the next leg of the journey, getting her to Chicago at around one o’clock in the morning. And then she would finally be able to sleep.

The helicopter’s blades had started to turn, forcing Melly to a stoop as she climbed in. She made herself comfortable in the back, sliding on the headset the pilot handed to her.

“It’s a pleasure to have you on board with us, Miss Barnett. Please fasten your seat belt. The wind’s picking up; looks like we could be in for a bumpy ride. Nothing to worry about, though. We should be there in twenty minutes,” the pilot said. “A little longer than expected, but not past eleven. I have to fly over the bay to avoid the residential areas. We’ll be heading west, up along Salem, and then we should be landing a few minutes later. Your plane is ready and waiting for you.”

The helicopter’s whistling was deafening. The ground worker checked that Melly was safely strapped in before shutting the door and stepping back, flashing the pilot a thumbs-up.

The helicopter hovered in the air, and Melly watched as the city lights grew smaller and smaller, turning into nothing more than a constellation stretching as far as the distant suburbs. The rain was falling in a light drizzle, and visibility was still clear. It would almost have been soothing but for the heavy whine of the motor.

The city drew back as the blackness of the ocean unfolded, flecked with the foaming waves that were cresting off the shore.

A gust of wind sent the helicopter swaying. Air pockets seemed to pull them down into the sea, but each time the pilot pulled them back up to safety.

The wind was blowing in stronger, and a sudden downpour lashed at the windows. The helicopter seemed to struggle to keep straight.

“Weather’s getting worse,” the pilot shouted into the microphone. “We’re going to need to land briefly until it calms down.”

The helicopter began shaking violently, tilting dangerously low to the right before straightening. A powerful rush sent them crashing sideways, and Melly thought how strange it was that on amusement park rides, you always screamed as you were being shaken, hoping the ride would soon end, but inside the helicopter, you could have cut the silence with a knife.

The pilot wasn’t saying a word, his right hand clamped down on the control stick, his left hand working the dials, while his feet stayed rooted on the pedals. Melly reached for the grip handle, and then paused. If the helicopter suddenly fell into another air pocket, she could twist a finger.

The wind threw them back into another sickening rise and fall, the pilot urging the motor into another rush of power that it struggled to deliver.

He started their descent. The shore wasn’t too far off as glimpses of the coastal streetlights indicated.

“November Four Zero Seven Lima Hector to control tower Logan, vertical to Thompson Island here, heading to three-three-zero. Things are getting a little wet and wild here. I’m going to need to abort. Attempting to land,” the pilot said calmly.

“November Four Zero Seven Lima Hector, this is control tower Logan. Head toward us, three-five-five.”

The pilot understood he was too low and had no chance of gaining altitude in the stormy weather. He had hundreds of hours of experience under his belt, and while this wasn’t the first time he had found himself in a tricky situation, it was the most sudden. The storm had swept in from the sea without warning, and he wouldn’t be able to keep the helicopter up for much longer. The blades were beginning to groan, the cabin vibrating violently, and the controls weren’t working as they should.

A red light was blinking on the dashboard. The engine had reached its limit.

“Negative,” replied the pilot. “Water landing at Pleasure Bay.”

“N-Four Zero Seven-LH, do you read me?” the air traffic controller asked.

But the radio had fallen silent.

“November Four Zero Seven Lima Hector?” the controller repeated.

No reply came.

An Airbus captain preparing to land at Logan came through.

“BA-Two Zero Three to control tower, he’s going to try for a water landing over Pleasure Bay.”

The air traffic controller hit the rescue button. N407LH had disappeared off the radar.

The firefighter trucks sped up Broadway, their sirens flashing by in a blur.

The Murphy Memorial Skating Rink manager had called 911 ten minutes earlier: a helicopter had just crashed into the beach in front of the rink. He had seen it all. A terrifying spectacle. First, he had heard the sound of a motor, a throbbing that told him they were flying too low. That was what had compelled him outside on a night like this. To see