Chapter Text
“Honey, I know you probably think this is terribly romantic—” Lucille Tracy poked at the blindfold she was wearing for the thousandth time. “—but flights start to lose their charm after the first few hours of not being able to see.”
Her husband laughed, and she heard the sound of him throttling the engine back. “Relax. We’re nearly there.”
“Nearly there by the standards of an ordinary human being, or an astronaut?”
“I’m descending, okay?” And they were, she realised, as she felt gravity shift. “Just hang on for another minute.”
She crossed her arms and huffed affectionately. “You couldn’t’ve stuck the blindfold on me as we got close?”
“Insufficiently thorough. You might’ve figured it out.”
“How, exactly? I’m a terrible navigator.”
“You would’ve been able to see the instruments.”
“You know what your problem is, Jefferson, darling? You’re a control freak. Incapable of trusting for a second that someone under your command might—gasp, shock, horror—actually be able to follow an order precisely as given, despite repeated evidence of their trustworthiness and—”
Then, suddenly, the blindfold was whisked away. “Happy now?”
She blinked hard, unused to the glare of sunlight off impossibly blue ocean. “Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Was it even possible to sound that passive-aggressive and flirtatious simultaneously? Apparently so.
The plane angled lower, almost to crash-dive levels, then straightened abruptly. Lucille gripped the armrest of the co-pilot’s chair, willing her stomach to behave. Sea stretched before them, rippling waves just visible. And right ahead, growing larger with every second, was …
“Jeff,” she breathed. “Are we where I think we are?”
“Depends.” He gunned the throttle, and they shot forward towards the rocky island, so low they were nearly skipping over the water. “If you’re thinking Outer Mongolia, then … no.”
She resisted the urge to swat him on the arm; assaulting the pilot wasn’t usually a good idea. Especially when they were rapidly approaching a large hunk of immovable stone. “Careful. The boys will inherit that sense of humour.”
“That’s the plan.”
She folded her arms. “You do realise we’re going to hit the island if you stay on this course?”
“That had occurred to me, yes.”
“Feel free to pull up at any time.”
“Taking that under advisement.”
“You enjoy scaring me, don’t you?”
Jeff shrugged, smirked, and pulled back on the stick. The tiny plane swooped upward, missing the top of the peak by metres, and swung around in a tight curve. Lucille gave a sigh of relief that was far more theatrical than necessary. “You do. You like it when I—”
And then she saw it.
The structure was all concrete and glass and hardwood and angles, yet somehow it extended out of the mountainside as if it belonged there. In fact, it almost improved the curve of the slope, complementing the natural geometries perfectly. If Jørn Utzon and Frank Lloyd Wright had gotten together to build a villa, she suspected it would have looked much the same.
“Well?” Jeff said quietly. And a little smugly.
“You built it.”
“Yup. A few years late, but better than never.” He slowed the plane, gliding her gently down towards the makeshift landing strip. “The interiors still need doing, and I’m thinking of adding a pool. And maybe an extra structure on the top of that cliff, up there.” He gestured vaguely with a free hand. “But this is a good start. So, umm. Happy anniversary, Luce.”
Once upon a time, fourteen years ago, on an unexpectedly eventful honeymoon trip, she’d announced that she wanted to live out here—out amongst the sea and the sun and the stars. It had been a joke, of course; Jeff’s home and business were in the States, when he wasn’t outside the atmosphere, and living in the middle of the south Pacific simply wasn’t practical. But she’d never forgotten the beautiful little island, and she’d never changed her mind—not even after Cyclone Roberta had forced them to spend five days in the Cold War era testing hangar beneath the mountainside—not even after she and Sally and the boys had spent a week hiding in the same hangar during the darkest days of the war.
It wasn't that she didn't love Gran Roca: she adored her childhood home. But all this time, she’d clung to the dream that that little rock in the middle of the Pacific could be home too: just her and her family, away from the chaos and the pain.
And now Jeff was making it happen.
He’d promised, years ago, that he would—but the war had gotten in the way, and then he’d been so busy with Tracy Aeronautics, and so she’d never really expected the day to come. And now it had, and …
“Okay, hon, talk to me or make a noise or start crying or something, because you’re beginning to freak me out.”
“Just … land the plane so I can kiss you.”
“FAB.”
And he did, and she did, very thoroughly; and then they went for a walk, scrambling over the rough trail from the strip to the house. Jeff rambled on about logistics and supply airlifting and angles of sunlight, and his wife held his hand, unable to quite believe that this was actually happening.
“We’ll still have to live on the mainland most of the year, of course,” he said, helping her over a boulder. “This place is a bit far away to run a company from, unfortunately. But we can come over here in the winters, after Thanksgiving. I’ve already talked to the principal; the school’s agreed to work out correspondence arrangements. Think the boys’ll be okay with that?”
“Okay with it?” Lucille shook her head, laughing, dropping down into his arms. “You’ll have to drag them back onto the plane in the spring.”
“I figured as much. C’mon.”
Jeff caught her hand and ran the last hundred yards, towing her alongside him. The house stood before them, jutting from the rock face, sunlight catching the windows at just the right angle so that the whole structure seemed to glow. Behind them, a stronger-than-usual wave smashed against the foot of the cliffs as if in applause.
“Thank you, Jeff,” she whispered, when her voice could once again be heard.
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
“That’s a stupid phrase. I’m obviously enjoying this immensely.”
“Touché.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Wanna call the boys and show them? We’ve got a couple of hours before we have to get back to the mainland.”
“Sure. But, uh, Jeff?” Lucille blinked back tears as she stared at her new home, a grin rising to her lips. “Can I tell you something, first?”
“Shoot.”
Jeff Tracy had knocked out of the park as far as anniversary presents were concerned, it was true …
… but, all things considered, she was pretty sure she had him beat this time.
"I'm pregnant."