Excerpt from The Last Pilot by Benjamin Johncock, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Grace nodded.

Here, Pancho said. Go home, take this.

She handed Grace a bottle of red wine.

You keep wine back here? Harrison said.

Keep that to yourself or I'll break your damn legs, Pancho said.

All right, all right, he said. I'll see you.

Yes you will.

Night, Minnie, Grace said.

Good night, Mrs. Harrison, Captain Harrison.

Good night Minnie, he said.

Get out of here, Pancho said.

Harrison slipped his hand into his wife's and they left.

*   *   *

She lay in bed, on her side, away from him; arm hooked beneath her pillow. The yellow light from the lamp felt warm. He pushed his face into the nape of her neck, hand resting on her belly.

Hey, he said.

She didn't reply. He kissed her back. He couldn't see her face.

Don't do that.

What?

Stroke my belly. I'm not a genie.

I know, he said.

She sighed. Wish I was, she said.

I know, he said.

I'm sorry, she said, and rolled over. Her eyes, narrow and full, flicked up to his.

It's okay, he said.

I just—

I know.

It'll be all right, he said.

She rubbed at a small scar on her forehead, like she always did.

Monday—

Monday will take care of itself, he said.

Okay, she said.

Okay, he said, then, what's the matter?

I need to pee, she said.

He laughed. She slipped out of bed. He sat on the edge and stared into the empty room. The toilet flushed. He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled off his clothes, and got back into bed.

Not the eye mask, he said as she got back in.

It's too damn bright in here with a full moon, she said.

You a werewolf?

Werewolves change shape with a full moon, she said, not have a hard time sleeping.

You look like a giant fly.

Come here and kiss me, she said, lying down.

No way!

C'mon.

I don't want to kiss an insect.

She sought him out, buzzing through her teeth. He laughed. She climbed on top of him.

There you are, she said.

Get off, he said, laughing.

No.

Get off!

Never!

She stuck out her tongue and moved it toward him.

This is gettin weird, he said.

She took off the mask.

That's better, he said.

She bent down and kissed him and he turned her gently beneath him.

Oh, now you want some? she said.

I love you, he said.

I know, she said, giving a gentle gasp, and he kissed her.

She looked up at him, and he at her, and she touched his face, and he kissed her again, then said, but I'm on the flight line at five, so—he rolled onto his back—I gotta sleep.

You pig! she said.

Can I borrow your mask?

I can't believe I married you!

You are one lucky girl.

Go to sleep, she said.

Already halfway there, hon, he said.

She stretched out her arm and switched off the lamp. In the darkness, she said, Jim? Do you still love me?

He turned to look at her and stroked her face and said, I do.

They sat with six others on hard benches in silence. Stenciled in black on clouded glass spheres were three surnames, each hanging from a different door like droopy flower-heads. There was no clock.

The middle ball lit up and a loud buzzer sounded. A woman stood, folded her magazine, placed it back on the table and walked through the door.

Then there were five, Harrison said. Who we following?

You didn't have to come, Grace said.

What's the matter?

I said I'd be fine. Margaret Anderson. And nothing's the matter. Keep your voice down.

Excerpted from The Last Pilot by Benjamin Johncock. Copyright © 2015 by Benjamin Johncock. Excerpted by permission of Picador. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.