by Beth K. Vogt
He’d spent the last week back at the School of Aerospace Medicine in Texas having another medical evaluation. When the physician asked if he was still experiencing vertigo, he answered honestly—knowing how saying yes would affect the medical board’s decision. He was tempted to call Kendall, talk it all out with the only doctor he ever considered a friend.
Or did he just want to hear her voice again? Recapture the comfort he’d felt when she held him after he told her about the plane crash?
He didn’t try to figure out the real reason why he stared at his phone, debating whether to call Kendall Haynes or not. Because, in the end, he tucked the phone away, along with that desire.
Once he got back to Colorado, he drove straight from the airport to his former sponsor’s house without bothering to call. With Ian back in Florida with the Jamisons, there was no reason to go home. No one to go home to. Griffin now sat outside on Doug’s back deck, a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade chilling his hand. If he wasn’t facing the end of his career, he would have enjoyed the view of Doug’s xeriscaped backyard, light on the grass and heavy on rocks and gravel and plants that didn’t require a lot of water.
“So. How are you feeling?” Doug settled into the bright yellow Adirondack chair next to him, placing a plate of sliced watermelon on the matching wooden table between the two chairs. “Relieved to finally know where you stand?”
Relieved?
“I’m resigned. I’ll do this assignment and retire. Figure out what I do after that.” Griffin tasted the lemonade, the sweet-sour tang reminiscent of his life—although right now his future had most definitely soured.
“Might as well say what you’re thinking. God knows. Care to share with me?”
“Why did God say no to this? I’m a pilot. It’s all I’ve trained for—all I’ve done.” Griffin stood and walked across the deck, turning to lean against the wooden railing and look at his friend. “This decision—my still having vertigo—doesn’t make sense.”
“Have you ever considered God was using the vertigo to get your attention, maybe even to redirect your life?”
“It’s vertigo—not some sort of sign-toting angel.”
“Agreed. But God can use anything—even vertigo—to get your attention.”
Griffin considered this. “I’m listening.”
“I agree with you that it doesn’t make sense that you’re not flying—and that you may not fly again. But you’ve done everything you can to stay in the cockpit, including hide the vertigo in the first place.” Doug stood and came to stand next to him. “For some reason God closed the door on flying. The question is, are you willing to look around and see what door is open?”
“I hate to think that the job at Schriever is all there is. This is quite a trade-down.”
“It’s a job. Be thankful for that. I have a good friend who’s been out of work for five years.”
“When you put it that way, I guess there is something worse than not flying.” He drained his lemonade, handing Doug his glass. “Thanks for listening. Again. I think I’m going to go for a drive. Think some things out.”
“Sounds good.”
Griffin climbed into his Jeep—and sat. He still didn’t want to go back to the empty town house. The idea of calling Kendall crossed his mind again. Maybe she’d want to go four-wheeling?
Right.
He told her there couldn’t be anything between them. And she no doubt believed him. There was no way Kendall knew how often he thought about her.
The afternoon stretched before him. Empty. If Ian were here . . . but he’d been in Florida for ten days. And Griffin was man enough to admit he missed his brother.
The sun beat down on his shoulders as he pointed the Jeep toward the Air Force Academy. Since being assigned to Schriever, he hadn’t gone to the Academy, not even to buy groceries at the commissary. It was easier to shop at the nearest grocery store. He hadn’t been back since . . . well, graduation. Never made time for any of his class reunions.
Twenty minutes later, after a leisurely drive up winding two-lane roads on the western edge of the Air Force Academy, Griffin pulled into the parking lot near Harmon Hall, where the superintendent’s offices were located. Pocketing his keys, he strolled onto the plaza area, noting the long lines of marble stones, replicating the strips down on the cadet terrazzo below. Memories flashed through his brain: walking the terrazzo to classes and meals as a doolie—a freshman—and being limited to traveling along the one-person-wide white marble strips that divided the area into twenty-eight-foot squares flashed through his brain.
Tourists milled around the plaza, stopping to look at the different memorials. Sculptures of different planes, of eagles in mid-flight, even a life-sized sculpture of General Harmon, the first Academy superintendent. A breeze swept over him, reminding him of walking to classes in all sorts of weather. Rain. Snow. High winds.
Griffin stood, training his eyes on the Cadet Chapel towering above him, the seventeen aluminum and glass spires pointing upward against the brilliant blue Colorado sky reminiscent of the outline of jets. He never attended services at the chapel as a cadet. The only times he entered the doors were for his wedding rehearsal and the actual thirty-minute ceremony.
He and Tracey graduated one day. Married the next.
Graduate. Get married. Go to flight school. He shoved the failure of his marriage and the consequences of his choices behind him, in the same place he put memories of David and the plane accident. And kept moving forward.
And somehow until the vertigo brought him to his knees, Griffin convinced himself he was living his dreams.
He lied to himself.
Griffin walked over to the low stone wall surrounding the plaza, leaning on it so he could look down on the terrazzo twenty feet below. And now, here he was, back where all those dreams started. And what did he have to show for it?
Nothing.
Really, God? I’ve got nothing?
Yes, his marriage failed—but he had tried to make it work, even sacrificing being a father.
Yes, he was still on nonflying status. But he had lots of great assignments and experiences that most people never dreamed about.
Yes, his parents were gone. But he knew they loved him—and that they trusted him with Ian.
He assumed he would always be a pilot. Once a pilot, always a pilot. And when he allowed God into his life, he assumed that was God’s plan for his life, too. But maybe it wasn’t about the job. Maybe it was about relationships. And God had to take the job out of the way to get Griffin to realize that.
Was God trying to get past all the stuff that Griffin thought made him “worthy” so he would realize God wasn’t condemning him—or even accepting him—for who he had been in the past?
What was that verse he’d scrawled inside the flap of his Bible? While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
God loved him when he was making all those wrong choices—and God would still love him if he made a wrong choice now. But even more important, Griffin needed to see where God was leading him now.
Which brought him back to his brother.
Yes, in the past, he had made no attempt to get to know Ian.
Yes, Ian was twenty-two years younger than he was.
But they were brothers. And, with God’s help, they could be family.
God, what’s the right thing to do? For me? For Ian? I asked him to stay—and he still left.
He could always ask Ian to come home again. But first he had to think of a way to get his brother talking to him. So far, every one of his phone calls to Ian had been ignored, rolling over to voice mail. Calling wasn’t going to cut it.
Griffin pulled his keys from his pant pocket as he headed back to his Jeep. He raised his hand, noticing one particular key. His brother may not want to talk with him—but Griffin did have something Ian wanted.
His Jeep Cherokee.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Griffin was either making a fool of himself or he was finally g
oing to convince Ian that he wanted a real relationship with him.
Either way, Ian would have his Jeep.
Griffin waited on the Jamisons’ wraparound front porch, the air thick with Florida humidity and the scent of Mrs. Jamison’s hanging flower baskets, bright splashes of color at evenly spaced intervals along the length of the porch. His body ached from the two-day, sixteen-hundred-mile car trip. Once he talked with Ian, he needed a shower to wash the grime from his body before snagging some sleep and then figuring out his flight home.
The front door opened, and his brother joined him on the porch.
“Griffin? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Ian.” Griffin dared to wrap his arms around his brother in a quick hug. “Pardon the road funk. I’ve been driving since Wednesday afternoon.”
Ian pushed him away with a groan. “No kidding. And you were always telling me to shower.”
“All in good time.” He gave Ian a quick once-over. “You look good.”
His brother shoved his hands in his pockets, bare feet sticking out from his jeans, a green tank top hanging on his thin frame. Had he gotten taller?
“So what’s going on, Griffin? Everything okay?”
“Well, yes and no. I’m probably going to still be inactive as far as flying goes.”
“That’s tough.”
“Yeah, well, the air force doesn’t really want a guy with vertigo handling their A-10s, ya know?” Griffin shrugged. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I want to ask you to come home.” He rushed ahead, stopping Ian from responding. “Hear me out, please. We’re family, Ian. And Mom and Dad wanted us together—but even more than that, I want a chance to get to know you. To really be your brother. And I want to do it right this time. We can get whatever you want out of storage—furniture, pictures—and haul it back to Colorado. I’m tired of living in an empty house.”
Ian stepped back, folding his arms, not a sign of enthusiasm on his face. “Why are you doing this now, Griffin?”
“Because I’ve finally got my head on straight. And I can see how wrong I’ve been. And because I miss you, Ian.” He had to do one thing before his brother answered him. “I did come to Florida for one other reason.”
“What?”
“You forgot something.” Griffin pulled the key to the Jeep Cherokee from his pocket and dangled it before his brother. “You forgot this.”
Now he had his brother’s attention. Griffin stepped past Ian and pointed down the street. “It goes to that.”
When he saw his Jeep, Ian let out a whoop that brought Mac and his two sisters—what were their names?—out on the front porch. By that time, Ian was off the porch and running across the lawn.
Mac watched his friend climb into the front seat of the Jeep, a huge grin spreading across his face. “You’re here to take him back to Colorado, aren’t you?”
“If I can convince him to come home with me.”
“You won’t have to convince him. He talks about you all the time, Mr. Walker.”
“He does?”
“Yeah. He even says he might want to be an air force pilot like you.” Mac moved away. “Good talking with you. I want to go get a look at this cool Jeep. See if your brother will let me drive it.”
“Good luck with that.”
Griffin stood on the porch and watched Mac badger Ian about driving the Cherokee. So far it looked as if the answer was no.
“I wondered how long it would take you to get out here.” Mrs. Jamison stood beside him, offering him a glass of iced tea, probably sweetened as only real Southerners could make it. In a pair of capris and a casual cotton top, she reminded him of his mom.
“What do you mean?”
“When I called back to say we’d take Ian, I wasn’t completely honest with you.” The woman smiled as she listened to the two boys laugh together. “My husband and I prayed about your request, just as you asked us to do. And I got a clear answer. We were to take Ian—but only until you realized Ian was supposed to be with you. Permanently.”
“Huh.”
“God didn’t tell me how long that would take. But let me put it this way: I haven’t enrolled Ian in school for the fall.”
“You’re a wise woman, Mrs. Jamison.”
“My husband says the same thing, Griffin.” She gave him a slow wink, her eyes brimming with laughter. “I’m wise enough not to disagree with him, either.”
Had he ever felt this tired—and this happy at the same time?
Griffin walked into his townhome, dropping his olive-green helmet bag onto the floor right inside the door. He’d deal with unpacking later. Right now, he wanted to crawl into bed and forget about the past four days. A road trip. Thirty-six hours with Ian, planning his return home. A flight back into the Springs and then a taxi ride home.
And in two weeks, he’d be flying back out to Florida, loading up a U-Haul with whatever Ian wanted out of storage, and making one fast trip back to Colorado. But with Mac and his dad helping drive, they’d manage it in a long weekend.
To fill the silence in the house, Griffin grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The local news anchor appeared on the screen.
“Coming up, the latest on the investigation involving two local physicians, Dr. Kendall Haynes and Dr. Heath Parker. One cleared. One charged. More when we come back.”
What? That Dr. Kendall Haynes can’t be my Kendall Haynes. Who’s been charged? With what? Who’s been cleared?
Griffin sat and waited for the news to restart, barely hearing the ads for local car dealerships and the upcoming Sky Sox double-header. When the news team reappeared, he turned up the volume and leaned forward.
“Here’s the latest on the story we first reported to you two weeks ago. Dr. Kendall Haynes, a local family physician and allergy/asthma specialist, has been cleared of all allegations related to the alleged poisoning of one of her pediatric patients that caused a life-threatening reaction.”
Griffin watched as a professional-looking photo of Kendall flashed across the screen.
“Our investigation has shown that Dr. Heath Parker, an infectious disease specialist who recently moved to Colorado Springs after five years in Africa, is being charged with providing a dangerous substance to a minor, nearly causing his death. Police believe Dr. Parker accessed Dr. Haynes’s medical records to obtain patients’ names and contact information to recruit them as unknowing test subjects for an unapproved imported supplement purported to improve immunities.”
The scene on the TV flashed to a video clip of a man identified as Dr. Heath Parker, brushing past a reporter trying to ask him questions.
“According to the police report, the supplement is being investigated for possible traces of cocaine and digitalis, a drug used to treat certain heart diseases, but found naturally in the foxglove plant. We will keep you updated on this story. In other news—”
Griffin muted the TV and threw the remote on the couch, going to retrieve his phone off the counter. He dialed Kendall, not even taking time to think about what he was going to say to her.
She answered on the second ring. “Dr. Haynes here.”
“Kendall, it’s Griffin.”
Silence.
“Are you all right?”
“In regards to what?”
“I’ve been out of town. I just turned on the TV and heard about some investigation—”
“Oh. That. That’s old news, Griffin. Why are you calling?”
“I was concerned . . . I’ve thought about you a lot these past couple of weeks . . . thought about calling you, but I didn’t—”
“I see. Thanks for that. And you’re calling now because . . . ?”
Why was he calling now? Because he hadn’t stopped to think. Not that he could tell Kendall that.
“Wouldn’t you call a friend if you thought they were in trouble?”
“Don’t play the ‘friend’ card, Walker. The way you left it between us, there was
n’t much of a friendship.”
“About that. Kendall—”
“Look, I really need to take Sully for a walk.”
Ouch. She might as well have told him she needed to wash her hair.
“I’ll call you later then?”
“Sure, Griffin. Whatever.”
“So in about an hour?”
“What?”
“I’ll call you back in about an hour.”
“Um, no, that’s not good for me.”
Griffin paced the length of the living room. “So when is a good time to talk?”
“How about I call you back when it’s a good time for me to talk to you?”
“Look, Kendall, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. And that Ian’s coming back and—”
“I’ve got to go, Griffin.”
“Okay. Call me?”
“Bye.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Maybe one day, Griffin would no longer think of a doctor’s office as enemy territory.
“Dr. Haynes will be with you soon, Colonel Walker.” Liz stood in the doorway to the exam room, one hand resting on the doorknob, one hand holding a blood pressure cuff. “Are you certain you don’t want me to check you in? Take your vitals?”
“I’m good. I just need to talk with Dr. Haynes.”
As the medical assistant abandoned him, Griffin could only hope Kendall would listen to him.
Instead of sitting down, he paced the tight confines of the room, skirting the exam table. On one wall hung a mountain scene, golden aspens dotting the landscape as if someone had tossed handfuls of gold coins across the slopes. On the opposite wall several framed certificates declared Kendall Haynes an outstanding resident three years in a row. The woman didn’t lack for awards.
Griffin froze as the door opened behind him with a soft click.
Caught.
“We didn’t have a chance to talk when you arrived, Colonel Walker—”
But not by Kendall. Her receptionist, Evie, entered the room.
“Please, call me Griffin.” Griffin twisted his neck left then right, trying to shift the invisible weight knotting his shoulders and neck.
