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John tried. He dug deep and tried.
On the flight he signaled Connie over, and they went through their Hawk inch by inch.
Even if he could bring himself to speak to her, his throat was too sore from Kee’s iron-strong fingers to shout over the roar of the C-17’s engines. So they did it in silence.
By the time they’d moved off the tail section and started on the twin GE turboshaft engines, they were working smoothly. John wasn’t ready to congratulate himself, but after thirty hours of complete avoidance, it was an improvement.
Connie was at a complete loss. John was making her work but wouldn’t speak to her. She’d tried to be in places where they’d been comfortable together. To somehow make it okay. She’d eaten with the crew, and he’d never come to a single meal. She’d worked with the
