Mixed Signals

by Liz Curtis Higgs

  She was amazed at how calm she sounded, how calm she felt. Clicking off the mike until her next break, she took a dozen pictures of the awe-inspiring view, still marveling that she couldn’t feel any breeze whatsoever.

  “Where’s the wind, Tim?”

  “You’re in it. We move with the wind, not against it.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “First time up, eh? I’ll have a pin for each of you when we land. Nice little cloisonné number, custom painted with our colors and design.”

  “Cool!” Josh’s voice was reduced to a breathy squeak.

  “Thanks, Tim.” She beamed back at him. What were you so worried about, girl? Ballooning’s a piece of cake. The launch was gentle enough. They’d sit back down on the grass just as easily, no doubt.

  Bristol and the state line between Virginia and Tennessee stretched out in the distance. Below them was the route Patrick and Norah had taken last Saturday when they eloped, she realized with a grin. You couldn’t call it eloping. Not at their age. The Virginia Highlands Airport appeared on the right, while directly underneath, motorists were honking and waving out their windows. She waved back, careful not to lean too far over. Gravity still happens.

  Looking over the edge from a safe distance, she realized how small everything appeared from that perspective. People looked tiny, houses looked like pieces on a Monopoly board, highways looked like narrow concrete ribbons. Problems looked smaller too, she thought, glancing at Josh with a guilty nudge to her conscience.

  Josh was his father all over again. Which meant he’d be nothing but a blessing to her life, no matter how things worked out.

  With the intuition of a child, he seemed to sense her gaze bearing down on him and looked up with a toothless grin. Without a word, he slowly slid his small hand into hers, natural as you please, shooting like an arrow straight to her heart.

  twenty-nine

  A hero is no braver than an ordinary man,

  but he is brave five minutes longer.

  RALPH WALDO EMERSON

  BELLE GULPED AND SQUEEZED Josh’s hand, warm and sticky in hers. “You’re a brave guy, Josh, jumping on board at the last minute like that.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing to it.”

  “Your dad went back to the transmitter to monitor the broadcast, and everybody else is right down there.” She pointed over the edge of the gondola. “See them?”

  Below them on Highway 11, the chase vehicle rolled along more or less their same route. She could spy Norah’s silver hair pressed against the window. Imagined Patrick by her side and the rest of the crew, keeping in touch with Tim on their car phone and his cellular.

  She sensed they were shifting more to the south as she finished her second broadcast of the hour. Whaddaya know? They were parallel with Old Jonesboro Road now. Heading toward David.

  Watching the familiar road unfurl below her, she indulged in a dozen pleasant memories of the evenings she’d navigated that country road, headed for another wallpaper project at David’s. When an on-air cue from Burt on her headphones caught her attention, she turned on the microphone for her final broadcast aloft.

  “Hello again from the skies above southwest Abingdon, where a few clouds have moved in as we begin our descent toward a friendly farmer—we hope—and a flat field. The ride has been picture perfect, with nary a breeze to knock us off course. My pilot Tim and I are—”

  She felt it. A wind—wind?—hard from the north, pushing the balloon forward instead of letting it drop gently toward the waiting earth.

  “Wind shear!” Tim hollered above the blast of the burners, while frantically tugging at the vent line.

  “Josh, sit down!” Belle did her best to not sound panicked. “That’s it, honey. Hang on to the tanks.”

  Belle suddenly remembered her microphone was on. “Ah … a wind shear is what my pilot tells me we’re experiencing. A radical shift in wind speed and direction, if I recall my earth science textbook correctly.” She fought to keep her voice steady, calm, in control, while her heart leaped into her throat as she watched their erratic descent.

  She took a deep breath, then pressed on with her commentary, clinging to every broadcaster’s code: Never let ’em hear you sweat. “Since I’ve not landed in a hot air balloon before, I have no idea if we’re traveling at the proper speed or angle, though it does seem a bit steep. And a little fast. Make that more than a little fast.”

  They were preparing to land, no doubt. But not in a farmer’s rolling field. They were headed toward the rocky hill behind David’s house. The hill with a radio tower on top.

  A glance at Tim confirmed her worst fears. His face was gray, deadly serious. His hands were working the only two controls he had at his command—the burners and the parachute vent. He could control up and down movement of the balloon. Forward movement, though, was up to the winds, which were quickly becoming March-like. Unpredictable.

  And frightening.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, Lord. Gently up and gently down. Like in the movies.

  The wind shifted suddenly again, and she dropped the microphone. Afraid to bend over and retrieve it, fearing the movement might make the basket unsteady or disorient Tim, she crouched inside the gondola, wrapping her arms around a shivering Josh, and watched in horror as the rough, hilly ground grew closer.

  The strong winds were pushing the deflating envelope forward, pulling the basket behind at a precarious pitch. She could barely make out WPER on her headphones, but thought she heard Burt calling her name.

  “Burt!” She screamed it in the direction of the microphone now caught underneath one of the propane tanks. “Burt, we’re trying to land. We … we’re near the transmitter site on Spring Creek Road.”

  Much too near.

  Seven hundred feet below them, David’s newly shingled roof came into view. What a nice job he did, she thought absently, her senses on overdrive. Ahead of them she saw treetops. A small hill. A tall tower.

  Three hundred feet of steel tower.

  With a red beacon on top, blinking for all it was worth.

  Warning! Warning!

  The shadow of the balloon on the ground was growing bigger. If they could simply steer a little to the left, she thought in a lucid moment, they could miss the tower completely.

  But Tim wasn’t steering. Couldn’t.

  He was cutting off the blast valves. Shutting down the fuel tanks. Yanking on the vent line. Shouting on his cell phone. Gripping the sides of the gondola.

  “Hang on, Belle!” She could hear the terror in his voice, see it in his eyes, see her own terror mirrored there. Josh was whimpering now, clinging to her yellow sweater, asking over and over for his mother.

  Lord, help us! Please!

  Her mind was whirling as she clamped her hands down on either side of the basket, backing down into one corner of it, shielding Josh with her body and trying to put as much distance between them and the target that loomed before them. The guy wires of the radio tower were dangerously close, close enough to see in detail, thick cables extending a hundred feet in three directions from the base of the tower, holding it up by sheer tension.

  The concrete-block transmitter shack at the base was growing larger by the second, too. The truth blindsided her: David is in there.

  “David!” She screamed his name out of pure instinct, though she knew he’d never hear her.

  “Daaa-vid!”

  Then, a revelation: He can hear you, Belle. Use the mike.

  Squeezing one hand behind the propane tank, she wiggled her fingers in the tight space, trying desperately to locate her abandoned microphone. There! She pulled it loose with two fingers, easing it up and over the top of the tank.

  With her headphones lost in the confusion, she didn’t know if she was broadcasting live or merely communicating with David, a few hundred feet below her. “David! David, we’re headed straight for the tower! Get out of the transmitter shack now. Now!”

  The door to the concrete building flew open. She could see hi
s face as he watched her, helpless. She wanted to comfort him. To comfort herself. “We still might clear the tower!”

  No. They were descending too fast for that.

  Seconds before impact, the gondola swerved, barely grazing the top section of the tower. Yes! Her heart leaped with immediate relief, until she was thrown to the basket floor with a sickening thud, pinning Josh beneath her.

  A strange silence, sudden and complete, filled the gondola.

  She didn’t dare move an inch. Wasn’t sure she could. Her leg was pinned underneath her at an awkward angle, hurting like the dickens. It was obvious even to her untrained eye what had happened. The envelope itself had snagged on the tower, straining the suspension cables of the gondola as it snapped back, sending the basket crashing into the tower from the rear.

  “Tim, we’re caught on the tower!” She could barely get out the words, barely project her voice above the half-deflated envelope, whipping around the tower like a huge, noisy flag.

  Her words were wasted on Tim. He was crumpled on the basket floor at her feet, unconscious.

  She felt the boy stir beneath her. “Josh, are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

  “I’m … I’m scared.”

  Suddenly, a fresh gust of wind tossed the basket away from the tower, then brought it banging back, then swung it away, then brought it crashing back again.

  “Ohh!” Every collision made Belle’s leg ache more. Woozy, she struggled to find any good news, a silver lining in the dark and cloudy present. At least they were no longer going up. Or forward.

  Down, however, was still a real possibility.

  Why was the basket shaking? No. It was her. Shock. She felt lightheaded. Dizzy. And scared out of her wits.

  She couldn’t go into shock. Couldn’t. Josh needed her.

  Hugging him close, she smoothed his hair and patted away his tears. “I’m here, honey. Don’t be afraid. Your daddy is … not far away and he’s helping us right now. You’ll see.”

  Let it be so, Lord.

  She didn’t know all the intricacies of broadcast engineering, but she knew this much: the antenna on top of the tower radiated 25,000 watts of power. Dangerous if a person got too close. She looked up, disoriented from the swaying basket, and judged the distance to be fifty feet.

  David would have dropped the power by now. Called EMS and the fire department. David knew what to do. He was so good. So good.

  “That man of mine,” she mumbled, losing a grip on consciousness, feeling her world starting to spin as her head dropped down on Josh’s small shoulder. “Be mine, David. Be mine.”

  “Belle! Josh!” David had shouted until he was hoarse, realizing that distance and the wind were conspiring against him. If they’re even conscious. He wouldn’t let himself think past that grim possibility.

  The gondola was a good fifty feet below the antenna. Far enough to be safe from electrical shock. Thank you, Lord.

  That also meant they were two hundred and fifty feet above the transmitter. Above the hard ground. Above him.

  The basket, badly damaged from the first collision, was not weathering the constant battering well. The winds that had blown the balloon off course had picked up speed, making the tower sway more than usual, sending hundreds of yards of nylon balloon material flapping in the wind like a sail, then wrapping itself around the tower.

  To make matters worse, the smell of rain was in the air.

  Lord, give me wisdom here!

  He’d called Sherry on the cell phone. Couldn’t even bear to tell her the details. Prayed she’d forgive him for such a foolhardy decision.

  Only one thought consumed him: the two people he loved most were in that balloon. He had to do something—and fast.

  The rescue teams were on their way. The chase crew would be here any minute. So would the media. They’d all heard Belle on the air, shouting for help. Shouting his name.

  “David! David!”

  He couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t stand around and watch the people he loved hang precariously in a basket, wondering any minute if it might fall. If they’d be rescued in time.

  “David! David!”

  He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, then grabbed the thick gloves he kept in the transmitter shack for emergencies. This situation definitely qualified.

  He pulled on thick-soled boots, grabbed a long rope and other crucial climbing gear, stuffed his cell phone in his pocket, and jumped onto the narrow ladder that led straight up, three hundred feet.

  Hold on, beloved ones. I’m coming.

  The first twenty feet were easy. Thirty, forty, fifty. He felt his blood pumping. Felt the wind on his face. He paused, not letting himself look down. Only up, up at Belle and Josh in the basket. Alive and well, Lord. Please.

  Sixty, seventy, eighty. The muscles in his legs were starting to ache. His arms, too. He’d need all four in good working order to go the distance. Ninety. One hundred feet off the ground. The contrary March winds whistled around his ears, sending the tower swaying a full foot one way, then the other.

  Without warning, the basket banged against the tower, almost knocking him off. Help, Lord! His foot slipped and his bravado with it. He hugged the ladder, waited until his foot found the rung, until his heart stopped pounding on the walls of his chest.

  Almost halfway. He couldn’t look down, couldn’t look out at the treetops, at the expanding view around him. He kept seeing his college friend, dropping off that radio tower like a stone, hitting the cement base. Alive but paralyzed for life.

  No! He wouldn’t think about himself. Only Belle. Only Josh.

  Keep them safe, Lord. Help me get there in time.

  He looked up and kept climbing.

  At one hundred fifty feet, the muscles in his legs were screaming, threatening to cramp up on him. He was slowing down, he knew that. But he had to keep going. A fragment of a verse he’d memorized spun through his mind: “For the joy set before him, Christ endured the cross.” This is just a lousy radio tower, Lord. Nothing as awful as the cross. If you can do that, I can surely do this.

  One hundred seventy feet. One ninety. Two hundred. He stopped again, breathing with ragged gasps. In the distance he could hear the wail of the sirens. EMS, the fire trucks, they were all on their way. But he’d been here first. He’d had to do this.

  For Belle. For Josh.

  For himself.

  To prove he could. To prove he loved them more than his own life.

  He could hear Josh now. Whimpering, it sounded like.

  Thank you, Father. He’s alive, he’s alive! It spurred him on. Helped him ignore the pain shooting through his arms and legs. He kept his eyes trained on that basket.

  Ten more feet.

  It took every ounce of energy he had left to call their names. “Belle! Josh! I’m here.”

  The whimpering stopped. “Daddy?” His son’s voice was tiny, faint, almost lost in the wind.

  “Josh! Is … is Belle okay?

  Silence. His hands gripped the tower tighter still, straining to keep his wits about him. No, Lord!

  “D-David?”

  Belle’s voice. He almost lost his footing when the relief hit him like a shock wave. “Belle! I’m almost there. Hang on.”

  Two more steps. His eyes never veered from the battered basket. He knew she didn’t dare stand, though he could see her gingerly working herself around to peer through a palm-sized hole in the side.

  “Oh, David.”

  Their eyes locked. He took in her bruised cheek, the cut on her chin, the fear in her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Her wide eyes were fixed on him. “I mean, how did you climb … ?”

  “Belle.” He struggled to breathe, to hang on to the ladder, to keep his equilibrium. “Never mind me. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Well, no. My leg is …” She smiled weakly at him. “Never mind. Josh is scared but he’s okay. Aren’t you, Josh?”

  All he could see was a blond head and wide gray eyes filled with fear.


  “I’m … sorry, Josh. I should never have … I’m sorry.” His words fought against the ever-increasing winds and the guilt that tore at his heart. He forced himself to move up higher still, above the basket so he could assess the damage, inside and out. The news was not good.

  “Tim is breathing but unconscious,” Belle informed him. “No blood, thank goodness. Ohh—!”

  Another sudden, stiff breeze knocked the gondola around in a half turn, sending them scrambling for something to hold onto in their wicker prison.

  They needed help and pronto. Better yet, they needed a miracle. “Belle, I can see the fire trucks pulling up to the house. They’ll be up here soon. Can you hang on?”

  “I’ll try.” The words croaked out. “As long as I can see you, I’m not as scared.”

  He barely heard Josh add, “Me, too, Daddy.”

  Their teary smiles galvanized him into action. He moved another foot up the tower, close enough to grab two of the suspension cables that supported the basket. He had to make them stable, keep them from banging around any longer, destroying the basket and all hope for a safe rescue.

  Removing the rope from his tool belt, he eased one end around the cables. Doing it with two hands on solid ground was tough enough. Clinging to a swaying radio tower, two hundred fifty feet up, made it nigh impossible. Struggling to steer the rope into a circle, he caught a movement below him out of the corner of his eye and realized Belle had tucked Josh in the safest corner of the basket and was standing to help him tie the knot.

  “Pull!” He shouted against the wind, watching her wince as she did as he asked. The Lord only knew what injuries she’d suffered. Below them, he heard the trucks getting in position, hoisting ladders. “They’re coming, Josh! Can you hear them? They’ll be up here before you know it. I can see your mom’s car down there, too. Are you okay, son?”

  Josh nodded, his cheeks tearstained but smiling.

  So brave. Like his courageous Belle, reaching across the abyss between them to yank on her half of their square knot.

  She was gasping for air as she labored over the rope. “David, I can’t … believe you … did this.”