It did matter.
Just not in the way truth was supposed to matter.
So Lucas stopped fighting.
He took contract work.
Small airports.
Charter operators.
Cargo nights.
Agricultural aircraft.
Regional repair shops.
Anything that did not require a corporate hiring committee.
He became very good at disappearing.
Noah became very good at noticing.
“Dad, why don’t you work at the big airport anymore?”
“Different job.”
“Did you quit?”
“Something like that.”
“Did you do something wrong?”
Lucas had looked at his son for a long time.
“No.”
Noah had been seven.
He accepted that immediately.
Adults never had.
By the time Noah turned ten, Lucas’s monthly income changed constantly.
Some months were decent.
Some were frightening.
Lucas kept a spreadsheet.
Rent.
Utilities.
Groceries.
Noah’s school lunch account.
Gas.
Insurance.
Dental payment.
Baseball registration.
There was a column labeled EMERGENCY.
It usually contained less than a thousand dollars.
Sometimes less than three hundred.
That Monday morning before the private-airport shift, Lucas had stood in their kitchen counting cash while Noah ate cereal.
The landlord had emailed the night before.
Rent increase beginning next month.
One hundred eighty-five dollars.
Noah had been reading the back of the cereal box.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we moving?”
Lucas had looked up too fast.
“What?”
“You make that face when you’re doing money.”
“What face?”
“The forehead face.”
Lucas rubbed his forehead.
“I do not have a forehead face.”
“You do.”
“We’re not moving.”
It had been a lie.
Or maybe a promise Lucas had no idea how to keep.
That was what crossed his mind now as he walked toward Evelyn Cross’s jet.
The rent.
Noah.
Temporary work.
One wrong step.
One complaint from a senior engineer.
And Lucas could lose another place willing to hire him.
Richard Hanley noticed him when Lucas was about twenty feet away.
His eyebrows pulled together.
“Excuse me.”
Lucas stopped.
Richard walked toward him.
“This is a restricted ramp.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
Lucas could feel several engineers looking over.
Evelyn remained near the stairs, speaking to her assistant.
Lucas pointed toward the tail.
“I heard the start sequence.”
Richard waited.
“I think you may have an intermittent connection in the APU start circuit.”
Richard’s face changed from irritation to disbelief.
“You think.”
“Yes.”
“Based on what?”
“The sound.”
Behind Richard, a younger engineer named Mason Cole laughed.
Not loudly.
Loud enough.
Richard turned slightly.
Mason shook his head.
“Sorry.”
Lucas looked at him.
Mason was maybe thirty.
Clean uniform.
Factory badge clipped to his belt.
Laptop on a rolling cart.
Richard looked back at Lucas.
“You’re auxiliary maintenance?”
“Yes.”
“Assigned where?”
“Hangar Four support.”
“So not this aircraft.”
“No.”
“Have you worked on this airframe before?”
“Yes.”
Richard’s expression sharpened.
“Where?”