Chapter 1 - The Airplane Made for Grandpa)
Three days earlier, Noah Bellacorte had sat at the end of a workbench with his tongue pressed between his teeth in concentration.
The garage smelled like pine boards, sawdust, and the faint machine oil left behind by tools that belonged to people who knew how to use them properly.
Noah did not.
He was four.
But he had an idea.
The idea had begun with a photograph.
In Richard Bellacorte's study at the family estate, there was an old black and white picture of Richard standing beside an airplane when he was twenty two. The aircraft had belonged to the flight school where Richard worked before he ever built the company that eventually made the Bellacorte family wealthy.
Noah had stared at that photograph during his last visit.
"Was Grandpa a pilot?"
Martha Reed, Richard's longtime house manager, had smiled.
"Almost. He wanted to be."
"Why wasn't he?"
"Life took him somewhere else."
Noah had thought about that for weeks.
Now Richard's seventieth birthday was coming.
Mark had purchased his father a gold watch.
Claudia had ordered a rare bottle of whiskey in a carved presentation case.
Noah had eight dollars and fourteen cents inside a rocket shaped coin bank.
So he decided to make an airplane.
The garage belonged to Mark.
Noah was forbidden to touch almost everything in it.
That was why he waited until his parents were upstairs.
He used two scraps of soft pine he found in a discarded box.
He rubbed the rough edges with sandpaper.
He found a small bottle of old blue paint.
He did not know how to shape the wings evenly, so he tried twice.
The second attempt looked more like an airplane.
At least to him.
When he carved an R into the side, the line slipped.
The R became crooked.
Noah stared at it.
His eyes filled.
Then a voice came from behind him.
"What are you doing?"
Noah froze.
Mark stood in the garage doorway.
He wore his charcoal sweater vest and an expression Noah knew very well.
Noah slowly lifted the airplane.
"It's for Grandpa."
Mark walked closer.
"You touched my tools."
"I only used the little sandpaper."
"I told you not to touch anything in here."
Noah swallowed.
"I wanted his birthday to be special."
Mark took the airplane from him.
He turned it over.
His mouth tightened.
"This?"
Noah nodded.
Mark laughed once.
Not because he was amused.
Because he was disappointed.
"You want to give Richard Bellacorte this?"
"I made it."
"Exactly."
Mark tossed it onto the workbench.
Noah flinched when it landed.
Mark leaned down.
"My father doesn't respect cheap things."
Noah looked toward the airplane.
"Grandpa likes airplanes."
"Grandpa likes excellence."
Mark stood.
"And this isn't excellent."
Noah said nothing.
"Clean this garage."
"But I didn't make all the mess."
Mark's eyes narrowed.
Noah immediately corrected himself.
"Yes, Dad."
Mark walked away.
At the doorway, he stopped.
"And Noah?"
The boy looked up.
"If I find you touching my things again, you know what happens."
Noah looked down.
"Yes, Dad."
Mark disappeared into the house.
Several seconds passed before Noah moved.
He climbed down from the stool, picked up the wooden airplane, and examined one wing.
A small crack had appeared near the edge.
Noah pressed it gently back together.
Then he heard footsteps again.
He quickly hid the airplane beneath his hoodie.
But the person entering the garage was not Mark.
It was Claudia.
Her auburn hair was perfectly shaped around her jaw. Gold earrings flashed beneath the ceiling lights.
She held her phone in one hand.
"Your father said you're cleaning."
Noah nodded.
"Then clean."
She turned to leave.
Noah waited.
Then Claudia noticed the blue paint on his fingers.
"What is that?"
"Nothing."
Claudia stopped.
Noah's stomach tightened.
She walked back.
"Show me."
He did not move.
"Noah."
Slowly, he pulled the airplane from beneath his hoodie.
Claudia stared at it.
Then at him.
"You're bringing that to Colorado?"
"It's Grandpa's present."
"We already bought presents."
"This one's from me."
Claudia sighed.
"Sweetheart, listen to me. Your grandfather's birthday is going to have important people there. Business partners. Family. Friends."
Noah clutched the airplane.
"And?"
"And we are not going to embarrass ourselves."
His face fell.
"But Grandpa will like it."
"You don't know your grandfather nearly as well as you think."
She took the airplane.
Noah reached for it.
"No."
Claudia lifted it out of reach.
"Please give it back."
"You should be grateful I'm stopping you from making a fool of yourself."
"It's mine."
Her expression changed.
Noah immediately realized he had used the wrong tone.
Claudia lowered the airplane.
For one hopeful second, Noah thought she was returning it.
Instead she put it inside the top cabinet over the workbench.
Then she closed the door.
"After the birthday."
Noah stared upward.
"You can have it back after the birthday."
"But that's why I made it."
Claudia walked away.
Noah stood alone in the garage.
His lower lip trembled.
That evening, Mark and Claudia attended a charity dinner.
The babysitter arrived at seven.
At seven fifteen, Noah dragged a chair across the garage.
At seven seventeen, he climbed onto the workbench.
At seven eighteen, he opened the cabinet.
And at seven nineteen, he had his airplane back.
Noah wrapped it in an old pillowcase and hid it beneath his bed.
Then he lay on the floor beside it.
He whispered into the darkness.
"Grandpa will like you."
He did not know that Claudia had already noticed the chair had moved.
May you like
And downstairs, as she came home earlier than expected, she stood in the garage staring at the open cabinet.
Her face went cold.
