Angel Flight

by R. D. Kardon

  Em was always upset. She was a very unhappy girl. Was he the only one who knew that? “What is it this time?”

  “You know, Bruce, she’s your sister-in-law. Why don’t you care about her?” This again.

  “I do. I do. What’s wrong?”

  “Danny is able to hold a line at Legacy—actually have a schedule—if he agrees to switch his crew base to Boston.” Bruce could not believe the lingo Heather used to talk about airline schedules. Em must have schooled her. Em was sharp. His wife was the pretty sister.

  “And?” Lord, she drew out a story.

  “He wants to keep his Denver base. He doesn’t want to commute from Exeter to the east coast.”

  Neither would Bruce. But he did not want to wade hip-deep into this conflict. If Danny held a line, even in Boston, he’d be home more. And his schedule would be more predictable; he wouldn’t be able to fudge it. Even though Bruce hadn’t flown for an airline, he was super-savvy about the tricks of the trade. Being on reserve was perfect for those pilots who didn’t want to spend a lot of time at home.

  “Well, that makes sense, hon. If he can get a schedule in Boston, he’s probably not far away from it in Denver.” That was a total lie, and Bruce felt guilty about it. Denver was Legacy’s most senior base. Danny could probably upgrade to captain anywhere else before he’d hold a line as a first officer in Denver.

  “You always take Danny’s side.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He barked. “That’s bullshit, Heather, and you know it!” His shout startled her, and she instantly sobbed. Bruce sat down next to her, took her hand, and gently moved an errant strand of hair behind her ears.

  Who was this man, the one who made his beautiful, loving, pregnant wife cry? Bruce didn’t know him, not at all.

  Bruce apologized, kissed Heather on top of her head, and went to check his packing job.

  Thirty-Nine

  When her land line rang, Tris was momentarily annoyed. The angel flight launched the next day, and she had so much to do. But then she saw “Unknown” on the caller ID. Please let it be Di.

  “Hey Tris, how’s it going?” Thank goodness.

  “Di, so much has happened. Let me tell you—”

  “I wanted you to be the first to know—I’m headed back to Brussels,” Diana said, talking over Tris.

  “Wow, that was fast. How? I mean, it sounded like they were intent on keeping you here in the US for a bit.”

  “Well, my doctor was able to get to the heart of my issues. They were all interrelated. And it’s physical.”

  “What is it, Di?”

  “My mother was the same age as me when she went through it. She died so long ago I never had a chance to ask her. I’m in early menopause.”

  “Wait. This is all hormonal? Seriously? Well, what do you have to take to fix it? Is it on the AME’s approved list?”

  Diana paused. “There’s no precedent for this with the FAA, I’m told. Think about it, Tris. How many women do you know that stay in our career long enough for this to be an issue? Even if they do, would they dare bring it up to an AME? I mean, they’re all men, right? Naturally, there’s no one here to ask. The union guys are all men, too.”

  Diana was right. So many women quit flying before menopause. And who could women possibly talk to about it at work?

  “Well, but, you have to do a First Class medical every six months. And random whiz quizzes. Aren’t you concerned?”

  “My doc said what I’m taking is a natural hormone, so it’s not exactly a drug. Supposedly, it doesn’t show up as anything the FAA is looking for. The feds want to make sure I’m not drunk or snorting coke or something. No chance of that.”

  To keep flying, Tris would have to take an EKG every year once she turned forty; another potential obstacle to clear. Now she had this to worry about. Every woman went through it, and Tris would get her turn. At only thirty-eight, it still seemed far away.

  “What kind of doctor diagnosed this so quick? That was a crazy-fast turnaround.”

  “My Ob-Gyn. You don’t think I was going to talk to my regular doc about this? No way. No, my gynie sent me to one of those natural supplement places, you know, with all the vitamins? And she introduced me to a friend of a friend, who gave me some natural energy boosters. I’ve been taking them since before I saw you last. I’m good to go.”

  “So what are you going to tell the company?”

  Diana didn’t hesitate. “Vitamin deficiency.”

  “Seriously? Di . . .” Tris didn’t want to come right out and challenge Diana. “Aren’t you concerned that—”

  The elder pilot picked up on the thread. “I know. But it isn’t exactly untrue. Who among these guys would know the difference between a hormone and a vitamin anyway?” She had a point. Maybe it was best left unexplained—one more quiet, unobtrusive way women learned to care for themselves in this crazy career.

  Tris shook off the thought. “And you convinced them to send you back to Europe?”

  “I told them I was fine. They whiz-quizzed me, which I expected. Of course I passed. Then they put me in the simulator. And I killed it.”

  Tris smiled. “Naturally.” Diana’s piloting ability was unassailable.

  “Hey, so Di, Woody’s made the Chief Pilot decision, and that angel flight is coming up . . .” There was a loud bang in the background, like someone had dropped something heavy.

  “Sorry, Tris? What was that?”

  Tris continued. “The Chief Pilot job . . . I didn’t get it. He chose Mike.”

  Another bang. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Tris. Can we talk later? Damn, I gotta go.” Diana talked away from the receiver, asking if something broke.

  “When can we talk? I really need to—” Tris sounded desperate but didn’t care.

  Diana seemed not to hear. “Right. Thanks, Tris. Bye.”

  Tris heard the dial tone but held the phone a while longer, still hoping for her friend’s attention.

  Forty

  “The angel flight leaves tomorrow. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

  “I know you haven’t been looking forward to it. Is it the trip itself?” Dr. C asked.

  “No. Not exactly.” How could she say it? Tris could barely admit it to herself. “I didn’t get the Chief Pilot job. Woody gave it to Mike. And I was pissed—so pissed, so disappointed. But then . . .”

  “What?” Dr. C asked, still scribbling on her notepad.

  Tris grappled for the right words, the ones that would precisely define her feelings. Like a spinning wheel, letters turned in her mind until, finally, the right ones lined up. “Then I met the husband of the woman we’re flying—Christine, the one with ALS. And, this flight . . . well, it could really be life or death. It could extend her life, this treatment.” Her fingers were interlaced, flexing back and forth like a fluttering bird. “And Deter was there.”

  “Deter? Where? Did you two speak?”

  Tris put both of her hands behind her head and looked up at the ceiling. “We did. And it was . . . normal. I was at Tetrix, picking up some information about Christine. And there he was. Deter. But . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “What?” Dr. C had moved forward in her chair.

  “He wasn’t a monster. He was just a guy. A guy from my past. Not what he was to me back then. And he was . . . what’s the word? He had compassion. The husband came over to thank me for flying his wife. He started to cry, and I think Deter did, too.”

  “Were you surprised?”

  “About Deter? Maybe, a little. It was like he was a human being. I didn’t expect to see him that way. I wasn’t used to it.”

  “Being around him was not upsetting?”

  Tris flipped her left wrist and checked her watch. She had to meet Mike and Bruce at Westin later on.

  “No. After all this time, and all the anticipation about ‘what if I run into him,’ there he was, and it was a non-event. He seemed happy to see me.”

  Dr. C smiled. “Maybe he was.”

/>   “And I was, too. Not happy, exactly but relieved.” Tris explained to her how the history that had been strangling her for so long seemed to miraculously lift away in those few moments.

  “Have you talked with Mike about this?”

  Tris took a deep breath and looked down. “Mike and I haven’t been spending much time together. Since he got chosen for the Chief Pilot job, I’ve pushed him away a little. It wasn’t his fault, really, but maybe I’m still blaming him.”

  The nails of both hands dug into their respective palms. Dr. C waited patiently.

  “Mike never . . . Ugh. Look. Even while we were competing, I felt so . . . good with him. So connected. Us being together just seemed right,” she whispered. “But then . . . Well, I’ve asked him to tell me more about his marriage, and he never does. So, I asked him about marriage in general—you know, what’s it like? Nothing. And then Danny said something that—I don’t know. There are clearly things that Mike’s not telling me.”

  Dr. C. squinted. “Every person opens up in their own time, Tris. Has Mike given you reason to be distrustful?”

  “I don’t know. The angel flight. Not getting the promotion. I think it all needs to settle a bit. That’s why I can’t wait for this trip to be over.”

  Dr. C nodded and seemed lost in thought. Then she returned to what they’d been working on for the last few sessions.

  “So, Tris, when the trip is over. When things return to ‘normal.’ What does that look like for you? At work? And in your private life?”

  “You mean me and Mike moving forward?”

  “Yes, that. But your job at Westin as well. Circumstances have changed. Your reality is not how you expected it to be, is it?”

  Outside the office window a backing truck beeped, followed by the crash of a dumpster being emptied.

  Tris twisted in her club chair, as if trying to put distance between the present and the past. “Things change. Circumstances change. People change. And everything I have, well, it can be gone in an instant. If I’ve learned anything from what happened with Bron, it’s that. I can’t push Mike away. I have to stay with this. He wants to live together.”

  “Is that so? Did he actually ask you?”

  Tris nodded. “He did.”

  Dr. C smiled. “And what did you say?”

  “Well, I didn’t say no. Not this time,” Tris replied. “We’ll hash it out after the angel flight. This flight. Ugh. It’s like a huge ‘pause’ button. Everything is in a holding pattern until it’s over.”

  Dr. C closed her notebook. “So it is. I hope it goes well.” She glanced at the clock. “That’s it for today.”

  They scheduled Tris’s next session for two days after she returned from Canada, then Tris grabbed her keys and quickly left. The elevator was right there, and she slid in before she’d even heard the familiar click of Dr. C’s office door closing.

  Forty-One

  Tris chastised herself during the entire drive home from Dr. C’s. Mike had treated her like a peer, an equal; he’d invited her into every decision about the angel flight and kept her solely responsible for passenger details and planning. What in the world had made her want to distance herself from this man?

  Whatever it was, whatever she’d needed time apart for, had passed.

  “Hello?” Mike answered on the third ring.

  “It’s me. I’m so sorry. I miss you,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “I miss you too. Tonight? Your place? After our meeting? We can pick up Chinese.”

  She chuckled. “Sure. But only if you pick it up.”

  “You got it. Kung Pao chicken and egg rolls.”

  Her favorite. “Sure. See you later. Hey, your voice sounds better. How are you feeling?”

  He cleared his throat. “Fully recovered. And since you called, better than I have in a while.”

  “Okay, baby. See you soon,” Tris said, and hung up. She smiled at Orion, smiled at the phone, smiled at the stack of mail she’d ignored even longer than she had Mike.

  She went to her purse and pulled out the new set of apartment keys she’d had cut for Mike. Tris slid them onto the heart-shaped keychain she’d bought.

  Tonight, she’d tell him: her answer was yes.

  The crew of the angel flight assembled at a spare buffet table usually kept folded away in a storage room. The trip paperwork, including the passenger manifest, actual flight plans, and weather was spread out in front of them.

  Bruce stood and addressed the two captains. His posture erect, he spoke confidently. “Tomorrow, April 11th, the crew will position the plane in Iqaluit, Nunavut, Canada. We will meet our passenger on Wednesday, April 12th for the trip through Bangor, back to Exeter. We are filed as a CMF—Compassion Medical Flight. On the radio, our call sign will be Compassion Royal Four-Five-Quebec, not our typical Westin Charter One.”

  Mike and Tris looked at each other with eyebrows raised, impressed. “Great catch Bruce. Thanks for that. ‘Compassion Royal Four-Five-Quebec.’ Sounds appropriate,” Tris said.

  “Nice Bruce,” Mike echoed. “Hey, can you work on some fuel-load estimates based on the current forecast winds aloft? I need a sec to go over some equipment in the aircraft with Tris. We’ll be out in the hangar.” Mike motioned for Tris to follow him.

  Once the door between the office and the hangar shut, Mike turned and gently pressed Tris against the wall.

  “Mike. Come on. Not here.” She wasn’t exactly trapped but she didn’t really want to move. He leaned in and kissed her, deeply, while one hand touched her cheek.

  “I really missed you.”

  “I can see that. So, am I the equipment you needed to check?”

  Mike put his hands in the air, an act of surrender. “I confess. You got me, Captain Miles.” As usual, his eyes spoke the three words of devotion he never had.

  She gently pushed him away. “C’mon. We need to go back in.” He let her lead the way. Tris opened up the now-thick manila folder with all the details Christine’s husband and the medical team had shared.

  Mike poured some coffee from a pot on the Bunn’s lower burner. “Go ahead, Tris,” he said. Bruce sat poised to take notes.

  “Thanks. Tomorrow, we leave on Westin Charter’s first angel flight—uh, can we still call it that, Bruce?”

  “Yup. That’s never been the official name anyway. Aviation slang.”

  “Great. We’ll fly empty to Bangor, Maine, pick up fuel, and then continue empty to Iqaluit, in the Nunavut Territory of Canada.”

  Bruce pretended to shiver. “It’s friggin’ cold up there. Have you seen the last week’s temps? It’s still in the twenties.”

  Tris rolled her eyes. “What did it hit here last week? The sixties? Can’t wait to plunge back into winter again,” she joked.

  “Anyway,” she returned to her presentation, “since I’m the one who has been handling the passenger information, let me bring you two up to speed. The requesting party for this trip is Erik Hudson, a Tetrix project manager. His wife, Christine Edgemon . . .” Tris nearly choked up, cleared her throat, and continued. “His wife Christine has ALS. We are picking her up to bring her back to Exeter for treatment at Exeter Medical Center.”

  Mike popped up from his chair, shoulders almost touching his ears, and paced. He’d moved so abruptly, Tris stopped speaking. Bruce just looked confused.

  “What?” Mike snapped. “So, this passenger, this sick woman, does she need services? Wheelchair?” His eyes had narrowed until they looked like shards of flint, and his voice and expression were callous. The Mike she’d necked with a few minutes before had disappeared.

  “I’m getting to that,” Tris said, looking down at her notes. “She doesn’t need anything. She can still walk and breathe on her own. We’re good there. Now, the catering . . .”

  Tris reviewed the orders the team had made for food, fuel, an overnight hangar in Iqaluit due to the cold temperature, and hotel rooms. And all the while, Mike stood by the reliable old Bunn, silent, arms crossed,
eyes focused on a point somewhere outside the window.

  Unnerved, Tris quickly finished the briefing.

  “We good?” Bruce asked when she finally closed the folder.

  “I think so. Good luck tomorrow, Bruce.” Tris nodded toward her co-pilot. “Hope the check-out goes well. I’ll support you in any way I can.”

  Bruce hesitated, then offered his hand. “Thanks, Tris. It’s all good.”

  They shook. “How about you, Mike?”

  But Mike wasn’t listening. “Mike?” Bruce tried again. “Hey, earth to Mike. Looking forward to my upgrade flight tomorrow?”

  Without a word, the Chief Pilot of Westin Charter grabbed his flight bag and practically ran out the door.

  Forty-Two

  “Sorry, ’Rion. You can’t join me on this one.” Tris liberated the meowing little monster from her overnight bag. Not delighted with his new position on the floor, he jumped right back up on the bed and curled himself into a ball in her suitcase.

  “That’s the way it’s gonna be, eh? Okay. I’ll work around you.”

  The first two pairs of underwear she grabbed from the drawer would do. Then she yanked a clean shirt off a hangar. Jeans next. On the nightstand beside her bed was her diaphragm. Take it? Leave it?

  She’d pop it in her bag, just in case. After she and Mike celebrated, of course. The heart-shaped key ring she’d present to him tonight was in her jeans pocket.

  As if on cue, Mike walked in through the slider she’d left unlocked. He held two bags of Chinese food.

  “Hey,” she said as he breezed past her into the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened and closed, followed by the sound of a beer cap twisting off.

  “Why’d you run out so fast earlier?” She stood in the kitchen doorway with her hands on her hips, smiling at the tall redheaded man.

  “I don’t know,” he said and took a long drink. Pushing by her, he went straight to the couch and picked up the TV Guide.

  “Hey, I taped the last episode of The West Wing. You know that’s what I want to watch.” No response. Good grief. What now?