The Flight Path Less Traveled

by Leigh Dreyer

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes and remained silent as they made their way down the hall to the psychology office. She seriously doubted that Caroline had any sort of noble intentions and was most likely taking advantage of Jane’s kindness. Caroline had a knack for avoiding anything resembling “work.”

  “Are you ready for therapy?”

  “I like Mrs. Jennings. She’s nice, but she’s not exactly someone I would spend time with outside of that room. Honestly, I don’t know how well she’s going to protect me in a board.”

  “You need to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I guess.”

  “I’ll leave you to check in. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Thanks, Jane. I’ll see you after.”

  Elizabeth rolled herself to the check in desk, handed the reception staff her ID, and was called back immediately by a kind woman with a round, smiling face. The woman held out a hand to point down the hall before moving behind Elizabeth and pushing her chair.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Jennings,” said Elizabeth, modulating her voice to sound cheerful.

  “Good afternoon! It is past noon already. I’m sure being in a building with no windows for so long today affects your sensation of time.”

  “I’m sure it does.” Elizabeth entered the therapy room.

  “Dried cherries?” asked Mrs. Jennings, pointing to a bowl set up on a coffee table in the center of the room.

  “Um, no thank you.” She settled herself across from Mrs. Jennings’ chair.

  “Where would you like to begin today? Still having nightmares?”

  “Hmm. Maybe I will have a cherry…”

  “Elizabeth, if you don’t talk to me, it’s hard to help you.”

  “No offense, Mrs. Jennings, you seem like a nice lady and I’m sure you’re an excellent therapist, but tell me the truth. Do you think you can help me?”

  “It makes me sad to see you just give up. I’ll tell you the secret of therapy: I don’t help you; you help yourself. You certainly never struck me as a woman who would just roll over and let life kick her when she’s down. In fact, you act like nothing anyone does seems to do you any good. I’m sure if I knew something you’d like, something you would get excited about, I’d go to town and pick it up for you.”

  “Can you pick me up a new body and a path back to pilot training?”

  “No, and besides, UPT is not the only training program in the world. In fact, with flying talent like yours, I’m sure you will never want for an aircraft.”

  “Great. Well, I guess I saved you a trip.”

  “Sarcasm. I must have hit a nerve.”

  “It’s a special talent of yours.”

  “You know what? Let’s start over. The crash and everything that has happened since is clearly plaguing your heart, so why don’t you tell me?”

  “Well, I was flying the two-ship in a formation when—”

  “I don’t need flying specifics, dearie. Just tell me your feelings.”

  “My feelings? Uh, scared? I think?”

  “You think?”

  “Well, I wasn’t really thinking about feelings at the time.”

  “You don’t really think about emotions, Elizabeth. You feel them. Most people feel them at the time. What you don’t do then is name them. That’s what I want to focus on now. Name the things you were feeling.”

  “Isn’t that what I was doing with scared?”

  “You’re not a simpleton with only four feelings: happy, sad, mad, and scared. Dig deep.”

  Straight and level. “I guess I was terrified. I could feel my stomach in my throat while we jolted around in the cockpit.” Elizabeth looked up to see Mrs. Jennings nod and continued. “I was dizzy. The ground kept coming closer and closer, and my arms were tired from pulling up on the stick. They hurt so badly. I was scared, but I was in control, you know? In hindsight, it must have been the adrenaline. My thoughts felt like I was in slow-motion, but everything I saw blurred from moving too fast. I was running through my checklists and I knew I had to eject. It took me a minute to find the ejection handle, under my seat.”

  Elizabeth wiped the sudden prickling sensation of sweat on her brow.

  “I can still feel my back crack. I blacked out soon after and then nothing. I remember the sirens and the people looking down at me. I don’t remember if that’s from the hospital or from the crash. My hand hurt. I remember trying to unzip my flight suit. I was so hot. I remember thinking that I was going to die. I was worried about Wickham. I was so sure everything was my fault.”

  “Which we know it wasn’t.”

  “The safety investigation ruled that it was his fault. But, what—what if it wasn’t? Mrs. Jennings, what if I killed him, and there’s nothing I can do to change that? What if I’m the reason he burned to death in the wreckage? Why couldn’t I have helped him? He was an experienced pilot. He knew what he was doing and I—I didn’t. I’m just a student—well, I was just a student.”

  “Don’t defend him, Elizabeth. He knew what he was doing. I don’t have access to the whole report, but you told me the first time you saw me that he had demanded you turn off his ejection, isn’t’ that right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. It seems cruel he left you alone to deal with this on your own. You did nothing wrong. One day, you’ll see that for yourself but, until then, remember that I am here to help you through this.”

  The rest of the session was of a similar bent. Elizabeth processed through her dreams with Mrs. Jennings whose opinion about Elizabeth’s experiences varied with every fresh conjecture. By the end, despite never moving from her chair, Elizabeth was exhausted.

  The drive from the base clinic to Longbourn Inn was quick. As they turned down their street, Elizabeth looked at Jane, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind of the open window as she drove.

  “You know, we don’t have to come home for dinner every week,” Elizabeth said, maintaining a cool casualness in her voice.

  “Yup.” Jane put her hand out of the window and moved it up and down with the wind, swimming as the car slowed into the drive.

  “We could just go back to Netherfield.”

  “Sure could.”

  “Jane.”

  “Elizabeth”—Jane flashed a smile at her sister—“you know these once-a-week dinners are important to me.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but Jane continued without breaking. “And to Charles for that matter. We will only live here for a short time. Netherfield is leased, you know. It’s not like we own it and will be back every summer vacation. When Charles is reassigned, the likelihood we will be back even once a year is slim. I want to spend time with family, including you, while we can.”

  Elizabeth, who had heard a variation on this theme each time the subject was brought up, nodded. “And, you get to avoid Caroline for the night.”

  “I would never say anything to disparage my sister-in-law.”

  “Well, I would.” The girls laughed and even Elizabeth’s smile stayed until both were sitting in the living room, waiting for their mother to call them to dinner.

  After the struggle of making her way to the dining room and sitting down, Elizabeth looked around the table at her parents and sisters. Her mother fussed over the homemade Greek dressing to accompany the gyros while Kitty and Mary set the table. Mr. Bennet had a book in front of him and his head rested casually on one hand. Lydia was busy making a pest of herself to Jane, asking about life with a husband.

  “Dad,” said Elizabeth, “what has been happening today?”

  “The Allens have checked out.”

  “I thought they would never leave,” said Lydia. “Mrs. Allen was a bore and Mr. Allen is so demanding.”

  “I don’t think he was that demanding,” said Kitty. “He always gave me tips for cleaning the room.”

  “You got tips? I never get anything. I’ve been cleaning the blue room for the last three weeks and not one guest has left me anything.”

  “You’ll notice, my d
ears, that Elizabeth doesn’t whine about her difficulties,” said Mr. Bennet, sighing and closing his book.

  “That’s because Elizabeth is perfect.” Lydia blinked and smiled pointedly at Elizabeth.

  “Thanks for dinner, Mom,” said Elizabeth, choosing to ignore Lydia and change the topic.

  “Just a little Greek. Don’t you feel like Greek food is the happiest of the Mediterranean? Of course, I love Italian and Spanish and French and German, but I just think Greek is so joyful.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean Italian is so rich and fulfilling, and German is warm and comforting.”

  “What is French?” asked Kitty.

  “French is romantic, dummy,” said Lydia.

  “‘For he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things.’”

  “Thank you, Mary,” said Elizabeth.

  “When you’re finished, Elizabeth, would you meet me in my office?”

  “Sure, Dad. I’ll just come with you. I’m not very hungry.” Elizabeth placed her napkin over her nearly whole gyro quickly.

  “Lizzy! You have to take that with you! You’ve got to keep up your strength if you ever want to feel better. Why look at you—skin and bones. You won’t catch a man if you’re a skeleton even if you do live in the same house.”

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth and turned on her crutches to follow her father. “Thanks, Mother. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  Lydia snickered mockingly. “You should.”

  “Whack her for me, Kitty,” Elizabeth said as she left the room. She heard the dull thunk and a screech from Lydia before the door swung closed. Upon entering her father’s office, she sat down in her favorite chair. She inhaled the scent of old books and leather bindings, and her father smiled contentedly.

  “How are you, Elizabeth?” asked her father from behind his desk.

  “Living the dream.”

  “Is that what ‘the dream’ looks like these days?”

  “My therapist informed me that I deflect my emotions with sarcasm.”

  “A shocking revelation, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. I hurt every day. I can barely walk. My PT is completely insane. I try my hardest, but I feel like I’m not any better than I was when I got that corset back brace off.”

  “It’s not been that long since you’ve been out of the hospital.”

  “I don’t feel like anything I’ve tried has made a bit of difference.”

  “You have to be patient.”

  “That’s another thing my therapists all say. Kathy, the occupational therapist, says that the bones in my hand may take up to a year to heal, but at least three or four months before I can just do my regular activities. I hate to even think what has happened to my flying. I had good hands before the crash.”

  “I’d like to think you’ll have them again after some practice.”

  “Says the man who can hold a book for long periods of time. I’d kill to be able to grip an object for longer than a few seconds.”

  “My mother always said that if things are going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next. You’ll be well soon, and then you’ll actually have to determine how to go on.”

  “Well, pilot training, of course.”

  “Obviously. You’ve seemed quite set on that course since you were small.”

  “It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I never understood how you and Mom could just stay here your entire lives. Didn’t you ever want to get out, see the world?”

  “We had some friends who did just that, but I think your mother and I ended up content with our lives.”

  If you consider fighting all the time or complete indifference to what goes on around you as “content,” then sure.

  “I’m scared, Dad.”

  “Fear is a completely logical emotion to your situation. You have to continue to rise above it, no matter how difficult. How are your therapies going, generally?”

  “Ugh, there is nothing quite so fatiguing as doing something I don’t like.” She sighed, resting her head back on the chair, and looked up. “All of them are fine, I guess, for being dull, painful exercises in frustration.”

  “You know, I never would have thought you to be so like Lydia, but today, I can truly see the family resemblance.”

  “Ouch, Dad. Ouch. You cut me deep.”

  “Snark must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure. But it isn’t in your typical character to sit around and whine about your problems. You, my dear, face them head on and tilt like Don Quixote and his windmills. Let other people dwell on guilt and misery. You, Elizabeth, just need to keep your focus.”

  “Right. Dad, are we about to share our feelings?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  “Thank god.”

  Her dad laughed heartily. “Thank you for helping me escape your mother and sisters for an evening.”

  Elizabeth cracked a smile. “Sure thing.”

  “I’m sure she’ll expect you back soon, so you need to scamper along.”

  Elizabeth nodded and made her escape to the living room to find Jane sitting on the couch.

  “Mom said she needed a moment alone with Lydia. Mary and Kitty went to their rooms and I decided to wait for you here. How is Dad?”

  Jane and Elizabeth sat alone in the living room for two beautiful, quiet minutes. They looked around the room together, discussing the appointment with Dr. Willoughby and Elizabeth’s renewed hopes for treatment and her medical review board. Elizabeth even had the decency to feel momentarily guilty for wanting to go straight to Netherfield and skip her family’s presence altogether until a scream pierced the heart of every resident in the home. Reverberating off of every available surface, the high-pitched wails only increased as the sisters shrugged at each other. Their pleasant moment completely vanished as Lydia, still screeching, ran through the room.

  “I won’t go! I won’t go! You are ruining my life!”

  Lydia took a deep breath, momentarily stopping the noise, and then belted out a scream fit for a rock star. Not only was it high in pitch but incredibly loud. Her mother flurried in first, apron covered in flour, hands moving up and down, attending to nervous flutterings all over her pudgy frame. Taking the dramatic entrance in stride, Elizabeth watched the proceedings in an amused sort of horror while having flashes of inspiration for various band names: the Leaping Lydias (a Christmas tribute band), the Terrible Teens, and Unopened Tuna.

  More Bennets flew into the room from every entrance. Mary righteously marched to the couch and sat down, murmuring various psalms about quiet retreats under her breath. Kitty paced the room, looking incredibly unsure of herself, unwilling to leave the scene but equally confounded by the goings on. Their dad ambled to his favorite arm chair, observing each family member with rapt attention.

  Lydia sucked in a deep breath to scream, saw her older sisters and changed tack. “Jane, tell them they cannot make me go!”

  Jane, the consummate peacemaker, asked in a soothing tone, “Go where, Lydia?”

  Lydia threw herself dramatically into a chair. “A Christian school.” She shuddered. “Somewhere in the Hill Country, nowhere near society, but that doesn’t matter. He wants to send me away—by myself, I might add. How irresponsible is that? I’m an adult for god’s sake! Don’t I get a choice in where I go to college? The worst part is, it’s a private church school too! Church! I’ll never get away from Jesus freaks like Mary! How am I supposed to do anything that actually matters? Where am I supposed to get a date or have fun? She says she won’t consider sending me to Texas State or Ohio where I actually want to go.”

  Elizabeth smirked and turned a barking laugh of derision into a cough. If anyone needed Christian school with strict rules, it was her dear, stupid little sister. Elizabeth hoped there would be a convent of strict nuns. At the same time, Elizabeth was impressed at her mother’s ability to deny Lydia anything.

  “Shut up, Lizzy! This i
s all your fault anyway. I would have been married by now if you hadn’t killed George!”

  “That is unkind!” exclaimed Jane as Elizabeth said, “No, you would have been a victim of some horrible sex tape. Not cute. Not classy. Not a wife, that’s for sure. I know it’s hard to believe, but George wasn’t a nice person.”

  “And now I have to go to some stupid college where I’ll never have any fun, just because Dad says so. I can’t even pledge a sorority there. Mom will never make me go!”

  Their mother was flapping around the room, unsure of where to secure her motherly attentions, gave a little shriek, and held her hand to her mouth. She shook her head wildly and said, “Your father has the right of it. You can go or stay here and work like your sisters did before you, Lydia!” She then fled the room, her little body vibrating as she ran upstairs, sobbing.

  “Just look what you’ve done!” Mary shouted. Elizabeth, who was sitting nearest her, startled in surprise. Mary had always been the most sober of the bunch, and Elizabeth had never witnessed such an outburst from her.

  “We honor our parents! You should go! And be happy nothing worse happened.” Mary smugly, if somewhat vulgarly, placed her hands obviously on her stomach and Lydia flew at her in a rage.

  Kitty finally jumped into the fray and grabbed Lydia, holding her back from clawing at Mary’s face, who raised her nose in the air and left the room.

  “Lydia, let’s just go. Let’s go to our room. I’ll help you pick your classes. Maybe it will be fun?” Kitty said, pulling on Lydia’s arm and moving to the stairwell. Then almost to herself, as if to convince herself of her course of action, she murmured, “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll help look at courses.”

  Lydia let out a scream again and stomped up each stair. Soon a door slammed, and Jane and Elizabeth were left alone in the living room with their father, eyes trained on the floor above them.