“I am not pretending,” Mia called.
Victoria heard her.
“Tomorrow morning?”
Mia shouted, “Yes.”
Ethan held the phone away from his ear.
“I believe that’s your answer.”
The next morning, Mia stood on the private terminal tarmac wearing jeans, sneakers, a navy jacket, safety glasses, and an expression of absolute seriousness.
Notebook in hand.
Victoria met her beside the hangar.
She did not crouch.
Did not exaggerate her voice.
Did not call her sweetheart.
She extended a hand.
“Mia Cole?”
“Yes.”
“Victoria Hart.”
“I know.”
Victoria smiled.
“Your father says you ask difficult questions.”
“He says that when he doesn’t know the answer.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Victoria laughed.
Mia gained immediate respect for her.
They walked around the helicopter.
Victoria let one of the flight technicians explain the basic layout.
Mia asked why certain systems had backups.
Then why the backups needed separate pathways.
Then what happened if both pathways failed.
The technician looked toward Ethan.
Ethan said, “She does this.”
At the open maintenance access area, Victoria pointed toward the location connected to the earlier fault.
“That was the problem.”
Mia leaned closer without touching anything.
“That?”
“Yes.”
“It looks normal.”
“That was part of the problem.”
Mia looked at Ethan.
“How did you know?”
He answered:
“I listened.”
She nodded.
That was enough for her.
Victoria watched the exchange.
“You don’t want more explanation?”
Mia looked at her.
“He’ll explain for forty minutes in the garage tonight.”
Ethan laughed.
“Accurate.”
They continued into the hangar.
Across the floor, three young technicians were working beside a senior mechanic.
A community-college student was observing from a safe distance.
Victoria looked toward them.
“The apprenticeship paperwork started yesterday.”
Ethan turned.
“That fast?”
“You asked for two positions, Ethan. Not an airport.”
Mia opened the notebook.
Victoria noticed.
“I’ve been curious about that.”
Mia looked down.
“My notebook?”
“What do you write?”
“Things.”
“Helpful.”
Mia considered whether Victoria had earned access.
Apparently she had.
Mia opened the notebook and handed it over.
Victoria turned pages carefully.
The handwriting changed over time.
Early entries were larger.
Later ones tighter.
More deliberate.
“Birds get quiet before heavy rain.”
“Dad says cheap tools are expensive twice.”
“People say ‘interesting’ when they don’t want to say ‘bad.’”
“Mom remembered everybody’s birthday even when she was sick.”
Victoria stopped.
She looked at Mia.
Mia was watching the helicopter.
Victoria turned another page.
Near the back was an entry dated the previous afternoon.
THE HELICOPTER DIDN’T CARE WHO FIXED IT. IT ONLY CARED WHO LISTENED.
Victoria read it twice.
Then looked at Ethan.
“That sounds familiar.”
Ethan smiled.
Mia shrugged.
“It’s true.”
Victoria returned the notebook.
The sentence followed her for weeks.
The helicopter did not care.
Not about Ethan’s title.
Not about the manufacturer’s reputation.