Eight
BY THE TIME WE LAND in the field behind a house that makes Martin’s look like a shack, I’ve just about gotten used to Martin’s pride and joy.
I figure I might as well, since it’s the only way of getting back to Myerton.
“Well, that was as smooth a flight as I’ve ever had,” Martin says with a grin. “Remember our flight to Atlanta, Mae?”
She laughs and says, “I think I said all twenty mysteries of the Rosary on that one.”
I snap my head around to look at Helen, who looks like she’s just had a massage instead of experiencing two hours of terror. “Why don’t we just rent a car and drive back home?” I whisper.
“It will take all night, and you have Mass at 8 a.m. tomorrow. Martin got us here safe, he’ll get us home safe. If we don’t fly back with him, you’ll insult him. And after all
