License
Shelley J Alongi

 

The Crance house, in the early summer morning, looked peaceful; it almost took on a sleepy quality as the sun predominated the moon and began to shine it’s first soft light on the roses that graced their fence. The night before, Andrew and Anne had hosted a barbecue to which all their neighbors had been invited. The Cardenas girls came with their roller blades, and their sister who would start flight instruction soon with Andrew. The couple next door with the Alaskan Husky came, the neighbors on the left with their grand children came, the German history professor and his wife who lived across the street came, the older retired government official who had been pruning his roses and gave Andrew some sinus meds when he had a merciless headache even showed up; Michael and Beth Cross were there; Karl the mechanic and his wife were there with their grand daughter Beth who was a lot older now and may or may not have remembered sitting on Andrew’s lap at Eric Clemmens funeral six years earlier and helping to ease the sadness of that devastating loss. Andrew’s sister Rachel and her husband David had been there; Anne’s friend Angela and her new husband Charles were there. The sprawling two-story house had teemed with life. Music pored out of the house and so did ice tea and lemonade and coffee. Anne had entertained the kids with stories and Andrew had kept his neighbors amused with hamburgers and hot dogs and stories about flying with eccentric passengers. When he could, Andrew regaled the pilots who swarmed the patio chattering in small groups with stories only they would understand.
But he had been most attentive to his wanna-be pilot, exchanging the glossy magazine with the Bonanza on it for another one with some old pictures of B-17s and then a newer picture of a new model of Cessna. When Andrew was dragging Anna through the house exchanging the magazines Anne was outside in deep conversation with his sister, Rachel. It seemed that the pilot and his wife had been invited to Sara’s birthday breakfast tomorrow morning. Yes, Anne said, she knew that.

“Well,” said Rachel, suddenly remembering that Anne had been standing at Andrew’s bedside eighteen years earlier after the accident when she had first met the English teacher, “Sara is just dying to tell him something.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “She’s got her private pilots license.”

“Oh?” Anne’s face lighted, she waved to Andrew who caught her gaze, hands full of barbecue accessories, followed by Anna’s sister who was chattering incessantly about something. Anne smiled at the way people just flocked to Andrew; it was his personality; he just looked interested in everything; he always gave the impression that he was interested only in what you said at that moment. Maybe it was why he was still giving flight lessons. She saw Anna swiftly approaching the pilot and her sister, talk to her sister, lead her away. Andrew turned his attention to someone else; he was flipping a burger and talking at once.

“I think,”: said Anne Crance to Andrew’s sister, “you don’t have to worry about him finding out. I’m not going to tell, and well,” she smiled gently, “he’s too involved with being social right now to even suspect anything between us. Kind of like the day you told me I should encourage my shy pilot friend to marry me. You remember that, don’t you?”

“I do remember,” said Rachel who was now addressing her husband who had come to join them.

“David is a little worried about Sara getting her license.”

They both looked to see if Andrew was looking; but he was talking to the woman who had the Alaskan husky and trying to catch John’s attention.

“John looks surprised,” said David, “as if he’s never seen Andrew like this.”

“Andrew’s a professional; quietly efficient; but he’s involved when he needs to be.”

A group of pilots burst into laughter watching a video in the living room. Some girls came rustling out in swim suits to find Anne who gave them permission to go into the pool.

“As long as someone is watching!” instructed the teacher.

“Okay.”

Rachel turned her attention back to Anne.

“Well, anyway, so you’ll know; Sara is desperate to tell Andrew about her license. I think if she could have she would have let Andrew teach her, but no, it wasn’t to be; not with his busy schedule and the opportunity she had to go to New York. She took lessons there.”

“Is she looking for a plane?” Anne asked, not seeing Andrew coming toward her.

“Who’s looking for a plane?”

Andrew was coming up to his wife, handing her a piece of steak.

“Here, try this! Have I lost my touch?”

Anne’s look said they’d discuss that later.

“My daughter,” said his sister, “is looking for a plane.”

“A plane?” asked the pilot without skipping a beat, “Sara is looking for a plane?” He stopped for a minute, shook his head, then continued as if nothing had startled him. “What kind of plane?”

“One that won’t take her life savings,” explained his sister. “She’s been looking for a while.” She hoped this red herring had drawn him off the track.

“Ha,” said Andrew, absently, not seeming to notice that they were talking about his niece, “keep looking.”

Karl, the mechanic and Andrew’s friend now appeared holding a glass and seeing Andrew talking to his wife and sister, quietly yet firmly made his way through the knot of people standing around and addressed him.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said genially. “Listen, I know this is a party but can I ask a work-related question?”
As if to confirm that this was a party a sudden splash and gales of laughter caused the little group to immediately divert their attention toward the pool. Seeing all was well, Andrew picked up the conversation.

“Planes aren’t work, Karl. It’s about planes. Okay so what is it?”

“I need to know how long it has been since you took that Piper out?”

“Hmmm,” he said seriously, thinking about this. Andrew and Karl did not see the relief that passed between Anne and Rachel. Andrew turned to his friend, deeply involved now as if no one else stood on his lawn. “last week. I had a solo flight last week; no, no, that wasn’t it…why do you ask?”

“Well,” said the mechanic, “John says there’s something up with it; we’re going to have to keep it grounded.”

“What’s the problem?”

Suddenly, Sara’s plane was no longer of importance. He headed in the direction of the barbecue, blew a kiss to Anne and did not see that the women were already heading for the kitchen to discuss this out of earshot.

Now, hours later, the house was quiet again as the clock slowly ticked away the early morning. Somnolent, contented, curled in each other’s arms, the pilot and his wife slept and only vaguely stirred at the insistent ring of the phone. It seemed to disturb them at the edge of consciousness and Anne slowly realizing the phone was ringing pulled herself from the embrace of her husband and sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and wondering for a moment where she was. But Andrew, more used to being awake at this hour, had found the phone and was on it, seeming, Anne thought, very serious. She could hear conversation in the foggy existence of her mind.

“You can’t get anyone else? An emergency life line flight? I can be there in an hour. I’ll do it. Yeah.”

Andrew was up, hanging up the phone, rubbing his eyes, throwing off the haze of sleep that enveloped him. Anne, slower to wake, came up to him, the cool morning penetrating the fog of her brain.

“Lifeline flight,” said the pilot, turning to business.

“Oh. I’ll go make coffee,” she said. Andrew, having hurriedly pulled on shirt and pants came to his wife, held her, stopped her movements. He felt her still warmth and held her tight. They said nothing. Leaving his embrace, Anne didn’t bother to put anything on over her slim nightgown, but instead made her way in the dark down the stairs and seemed to wake up as the cool tile of the kitchen met her bare feet. How many times had they done this? How many times had a peaceful Saturday morning found him crawling out of bed and preparing to go fly someone in a medical emergency somewhere? They never said anything about it. It was an unspoken agreement since their marriage twelve years ago It was what he did. He flew planes. Andrew’s hand was on her shoulder and she looked up. The coffee was perking into the pot. Apparently she had done all the ritual movements in a half conscious state. He stood and looked at her, perhaps unknowingly seductive in that nightgown with her hair in twenty directions. He wanted to put his hands in that hair, to feel it’s tangled curly texture. She stepped up to him and let him take her in his arms again. She kissed the smooth cheek fresh from shaving and soap and water.

“You got the charts?”

“Hmm,” he said, “no, haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Where are you going?”

“”Susanville.”

“Oh, that far?”

He nodded.

“Call me when you get there?”

“yes, if I can, sweetie. I will.”

He sat down with the coffee. He wouldn’t eat this early in the morning. He never did. Coffee always seemed to give him the sustenance he needed, at least till he landed the plane safely at the emergency destination.

“Do you know what it is?”

“Organ transplant.”

Andrew finished the cup and got up quickly.

“I’ve got to go.”

Anne disappeared into the office and grabbed his flight bag. They always kept it ready; headset, charts, everything; GPS portable system.”

They made their way hand-in-hand out onto the lawn, through the wet grass, out the wrought-iron gate. It clanked against the post as she held it. The quiet morning embraced her. Andrew clicked the remote, unlocked the door slid in behind the wheel. He closed the door with a soft click and she came to him. He rolled down the window and turned to hug her. His kiss was warm, and wet, and gentle, possessive, and cool, insistent, playful, promising, quiet.

“Andrew?” she called his name quietly when they had separated. He had his hands on the wheel, his eyes on her.

“What are we going to tell Sara?”

Andrew suddenly looked surprised; the dreamy look of leaving her left his eyes and he started a bit.

“Oh, that’s right. Tell her,” he said, starting the car, “tell her we’ll take her to dinner tonight, okay? I’ll be back by then.”

 “You mean I have to wait?” the young woman on the phone almost wailed. “Oh I have waited so long I don’t know if I can wait any longer!”
 
“Poor Sara,” Anne said quietly, “sometimes it just happens like this, doesn’t it. I promise he doesn’t know though your mother was almost going to give it away!”

“Did she tell you?”

“yes.”

“Oh. Well, at least you know! But now you can’t make it to the breakfast.”

Sara seemed disappointed.

“You have plans tonight?”

“No,” said Sara, her voice hopeful, “no if you can believe it I don’t! The accounting group had to meet last night when you guys were having your big summer bash and I had to miss that! But tonight..”

“I’ll call you when Andrew gets back. He was in a hurry this morning and I did ask him because I knew we would miss this. He said dinner. You up for that?”

“You bet,” said the relieved girl, “Yes! I’ll bring the paper. But oh I am so…I don’t think I can wait!”

Anne had to laugh; Sara the accountant, professional at work, a competent pilot, was still in some ways a child wanting to tell someone a secret!

“He’ll be happy. You told him by email you were almost done?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to actually show him the certificate.”

“Don’t worry,” said the pilot’s wife, “Patience, my dear. You’ll show him.”

“Happy birthday, Sara,” Andrew said to her, holding out his hand with the card and the bouquet of roses they had gotten from their garden. Sara hugged her uncle and Anne, and stepped back to look at them. Her eyes sparkled over the bouquet of flowers. She caught Anne’s gaze.

“Did you tell him?” she mouthed to his wife.

“No.”

Andrew looked up and caught his niece’s eye. She turned away as if caught in some deep conspiratorial secret. He sat down, handing his wife the flowers seeming not to notice Sara’s agitation.

“Sorry about missing your party,” he said easily, “it wasn’t supposed to happen that way but I got a call and well John said there was no one else.”

“I know,” Sara breathed, relieved by his comments, “You had to go and perform your good deed. Did it turn out okay?”

Andrew nodded.

“They told me everything was fine. I just dropped the woman off at the airport and the ambulance took her. I got some breakfast because I was hungry then, refueled and came back home. I was back by 11:00, but by then it was too late to get there.”

But it hadn’t been too late for Andrew and Anne to spend time together that day, sitting hand-in-hand watching the roses soak up the sun. The best thing about this marriage, Anne thought, was that they could just sit for hours and look at each other, gaze into each other’s eyes, as it were. It was comfortable. While he had been gone she had finished grading her Gone with the wind assignments and emailed her students their grades. It had been quiet and she had done some dishes, cleaned up the remainder of last night’s festivities.

 
Now, comfortably settled in the simple decor of the steak house, the three turned their attention to the highly glossy menus. Andrew was hungry. The adrenaline of waking early in the morning and undergoing the tense situation of the flight, hoping to get the lady in need of her kidney transplant to the hospital, being all business, professionally talking to ATC and thinking about where to get into the traffic pattern had left him ready for a good T-bone. He looked at the picture and knew what he would get.

“They have great strawberry cheesecake here,” said Sara, reminding Andrew that she remembered his fondness for anything strawberry.

“Hmmm,” replied the pilot in his usual way. Having made his choice he sat back and waited till they had placed their orders.

Andrew noted that Sara seemed nervous as she reached into her purse for something. Silently, she held out a paper to him and made sure he saw it. Startled, the flight instructor reached for it through the tangle of glasses and the salt and pepper shakers. He drew it toward him, pretended to study it with great seriousness, drew his hand over his temple as if thinking, nodded seriously, almost too seriously, thought his wife, who was trying to keep from laughing. He seemed to study it in an exaggerated manner, turning it this way and that, and then finally, he winked mischievously at his niece and handed it back to her.

“Well, so now there’s another plane to look out for in the traffic pattern, eh? Congratulations! You deserve it!”

Sara looked about to cry, then caught herself. Suddenly she remembered the day long ago, the day Anne had met Andrew, when he had had to make the off field landing. She remembered that day and then a few days later coming with her mother to the hospital to see him. She had been old enough then to go into the ward where he was, and he had been awake, waving her into stand by him. Somehow since Sara could remember they had always had something between them and so she had gone in a bit shyly, but his eyes had been open and he was smiling. She remembered that day now very intensely, the head bandages and his face and the i.v. drip and his hand gesturing to her and then what he had said to her. He had said: “Hey, Sara, don’t look so serious. I’ll be fine. Besides, I owe you a lesson.”

He had done more than given her a lesson. He had helped her become familiar with the craft and the planes, and even the messy paperwork parts and the sometimes tangled problem of pilot insurance. Now she had gone out on her own and gotten her private pilot’s license. Suddenly he remembered introducing her to her first plane at age nine and she remembered the first flight he had taken her on; her hands clenched in delight and nervous anticipation, and now it had all come to this piece of paper and this sense of accomplishment.

“You know,” she said to him, catching the gaze of the pilot who was seventeen years older than she was, and eighteen years older than he had been when he had landed that little Cessna in the grass, “I have my private pilot’s license, just a recreational one; I’m not going to fly for a career or anything; but, well, I should know how to make my money count now since I’m a certified CPA.”

Andrew put his hand out.

“Well, you can come and balance our check books; show us how to increase our cash flow. John’s always looking for someone to run numbers.”

“No,” she smiled, “no I have a job waiting for me back in New York. But I’m here till Saturday. Can I take you up?”

“Yeah,” said the pilot now looking at the steak that was sitting before him, “name your day. John has me on the schedule a couple of days. Want me to get out my planner?”

“After you eat,” said the new pilot, respecting Andrew’s reverent look at the steak. “We’ll do it.”

      

 

 

Copyright © 2003 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"