Flygirl

by R. D. Kardon

  September 1998

  Fifty-Six

  TRIS SIGHED AND turned off the ignition. She looked around the Tetrix parking lot and took a minute to consider the piece of real estate, what she always thought of as the transition area between real life and Tetrix life.

  Deter’s white Jeep was parked just a couple of spots away. She wouldn’t see Zorn’s car, but if he wasn’t there, he’d be in soon. He had a trip on the Gulfstream in a couple of hours.

  Deter sounded surprised when he heard Tris’s voice on the other end of his home phone yesterday, and even more so when she asked him to come in early for his trip today so they could talk. Tris and Deter hadn’t seen much of each other since Dallas. On their way to DFW for their flight back to Exeter, she had asked him what he and Jensen talked about after she crashed the sim. He looked away, shook his head, and grumbled something about old men and loss of bladder control.

  It had been over four months since Tris got her type. At first, she still hoped to upgrade but felt it unseemly to ask. Ross’s death cast a pall over everything in the flight department. It was impossible to pass his cube, now empty, without remembering.

  Tris flew as co-pilot on Astral trips after training, mostly with Basson, once with Zorn. She planned to wait a respectable amount of time before she pushed to be captain. Now it wasn’t even up for discussion.

  Just two weeks after Ross died, Zorn and Willett announced that Dicky Lord would be joining the company. They sent him to Dallas right away to qualify as pilot-in-command on the Astral since they were short a captain on that airplane. Tris continued to fly as co-pilot over and over on Astral trips after training, including a couple of times with Dicky.

  Tris wasn’t considered for the open captain slot. That’s when she realized that if she didn’t leave voluntarily, she’d be stuck in the right seat forever.

  Deter sat at his desk when Tris walked into the pilot area. There was no one else around. He got up when he saw her and motioned in the direction of the smoking lounge. Tris nodded and pointed to the coffee maker. She’d grab a cup and meet him in there, where she’d begin the first of three important conversations she would have today.

  “First I wanted to thank you,” Tris said when they finally settled around the table.

  Deter had been looking at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, but raised his head at those words, his eyes wide. It was not what he expected her to say.

  “That day, during the type ride. After the sim crashed. What happened between you and Jensen? Will you please tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “Whatever you talked about, I can’t shake the feeling that you saved the ride. Did you?”

  Deter’s expression never changed, though she noticed a slight quiver in his Adam’s apple. That was his only tell. He bent his head in the slight nod that pilots use to acknowledge their respect for other pilots.

  “You earned it.”

  She returned the acknowledgment and took a deep breath. “But now it’s time for me to tell you what flying with you was like for me this last year.” She looked into his now translucent blue eyes, waiting for him to yell or storm out of the room.

  “Go ahead, Tris. I’m listening.” Deter settled back in his chair, and crossed his legs, his fingers laced together around his neck.

  They spoke for another half hour. They both learned from separate sources that Ross first told Zorn about Deter’s comment. And then, of course, the passengers who overheard it told Willett, and the situation took on a life of its own.

  “I regret that comment,” Deter said. “I shouldn’t have said it. I lost my composure under stress. But you held up perfectly, professional to the last. You did a great job that day.” Tris stifled her surprise at the compliment and again nodded her head toward Deter.

  Deter kept his job at Tetrix on the Astral. Ann-Marie told Tris that he wouldn’t see the inside of the Gulfstream for a long time, if ever. In addition to a swing through charm school, she confidentially shared with Tris that Tetrix had put him on ‘super secret’ probation. Tris figured the ‘super secret’ part was that they weren’t supposed to talk about it, but everyone seemed to know.

  In the end, Deter accepted responsibility for what happened on the Luxembourg leg. He stood tall in a way Ross never could.

  After Ross’s death, Deter and Tris were questioned again about that flight. They explained separately and consistently that Ross begged them to say he flew the leg. Ross told Deter he was afraid his blood alcohol level was over the legal limit. There was no way to test it, so they decided to put Tris in the right seat simply out of an abundance of caution. And now no one would ever know the truth about Ross, where he’d been, what he’d done the night before, and whether he could have flown that leg.

  Tris never told anyone at Tetrix that Ross came to her room in Vienna, not even Ann-Marie. There was nothing to gain, no greater purpose to accomplish, by sharing that story.

  Tris and Deter made their peace. Despite Deter’s constant mistreatment, well, Tris wouldn’t hold it against him. Deter was there when she needed him.

  “Thanks, Ed.” Tris extended her hand to him. “Now, I need to speak to Zorn,” she said, mostly to herself, as they shook.

  No one in the Tetrix flight department knew she would hand in her letter of resignation that morning. In fact, when she walked into Zorn’s office, he shuffled papers around on his desk and said he had “just a few minutes” to speak to her. She simply placed it on his desk and waited.

  Zorn tilted his head back and arched his brows after he read the two-line note. “Really? Do you have a better offer? More money?” He always said he couldn’t understand why anyone would ever leave his department.

  “No, no other offer.”

  “So you’re leaving flying?” Zorn looked incredulous.

  “I have no immediate professional plans.”

  Zorn thanked her, wished her luck, and told her he’d make sure she didn’t fly but stayed on the payroll for the next two weeks. She could return her keys and clear out her desk that day if she wanted. So she did, taking her time before she headed out to have the third and most important conversation of the day.

  Her last official day at Tetrix was 369 days after her first.

  Fifty-Seven

  TRIS LEFT THE Tetrix hangar for the last time and headed south for the two-hour drive to the cemetery. Located close to the edge of the state, it sat in a commercial zone next to a tiny airport called Orchard Field—the perfect place to put a cemetery. None of the residents would call the airport authority with noise complaints.

  Each time she stopped at a light, she reached into her purse and fingered her new pilot certificate. She’d received it in the mail a few weeks earlier. It had the designation for the Astral, AsL1000, listed after the words, “Type Ratings.” She’d done it, and she needed to tell him.

  Tris parked in the familiar lot and left her bomber jacket in the car. It was unseasonably cool for September—around fifty degrees, but the jacket would be too warm. She checked the front of her blouse for gaps and ran her hands down her thighs to smooth her slacks.

  She walked inside the small-shingled welcome building she knew so well, with a sign that read “Maps & Directions” and then “Restrooms” underneath. Inside, an older couple perused reproduced maps of the grounds alongside a stack of brochures touting local attractions. Tris spotted the familiar ad for skydiving lessons.

  The first few times she came here, that ad had seemed so misplaced. After a few visits spent in the welcome shack, she realized that people probably came from out of town to visit relatives and friends buried here, maybe they’d want to do something besides mourn while they were in town.

  Tris didn’t know exactly how many times she’d made this trek, but she’d yet to see his grave. She also couldn’t bring herself to attend his funeral or the company-sponsored memorial service. She thought everyone would expect her to s
ay something, have the right words. She couldn’t face his family, his friends. What could she possibly tell them?

  Tris exhaled in frustration. She hadn’t had the right words in any situation for a long, long time. And she simply could not be with him again until she did. Until today.

  The plot was a short walk from the parking lot. The sky shone an outrageous clear blue, an almost arrogant tint, as if daring any other color to interfere.

  His grave sat in an open area near a large oak. In the spring and summer, it would be shaded. She knew he’d like that.

  She wiped her hands against her slacks. Tris wanted nothing between her and the stone as she traced the engraving of his full name with her fingers.

  BRON GREGORY MICHAELS

  She used both of her hands. Right hand first, one letter at a time. Then left. And when she was done, she said his name out loud.

  “Bron Gregory Michaels. Hi, baby.” She choked out the last two words. He was really, really gone.

  Below his name, the headstone read Beloved Son and Brother. Beloved.

  He was beloved. She should have told Bron that her life was better simply because he lived. That when he walked into a room, everyone else disappeared. But those feelings sucked her down and swallowed her whole. They were so big, she couldn’t control them, so she packed them away.

  They’d take a break and get back together, she’d reasoned, after he left her apartment that last time. It was as though she’d tossed him out, but like a cat you’d fully expect to be back in the morning, she never thought it would be forever. On his way to the crash pad, by the Chinese greasy spoon on the corner of Albemarle and Vaughn, Bron was hit and killed by a drunk driver.

  It was her fault, she was sure of it. So how could she face him? How could she get him to understand, no, no, it wasn’t that she didn’t love him? She just didn’t know how.

  But Bron would have never blamed her. He was simply too good a man.

  “Coincidence, Flygirl,” he’d say. “Just a really, really bad one.”

  Tris lugged her guilt around like a bag of stones she couldn’t put down. It got heavier and heavier, harder to carry. She could have cast that burden aside in favor of Bron’s memory, his lightness, the love he had given her while he was alive. Instead, she simply worked harder. Jurgis Rudkus indeed.

  Tris finally accepted what she’d lost, what was lost, what left the world when Bron had died. She could not stop hearing the words Bron would use to soothe nervous airline passengers. “Hey. Don’t worry. The most dangerous part of this flight was your drive to the airport!”

  Tris had failed Bron that night; that’s why she had to make captain, to show him that she’d heard him, understood him, at least about flying. Then she would be ok—or so she thought.

  And there, as she faced his grave, it finally made sense. The answer wasn’t a particular airplane, type-rating, or rank. It was love.

  Bron wouldn’t have cared if she had failed her training at Tetrix or if she’d given up flying altogether. Because he loved her.

  Nothing could make up for the pain she caused by holding back her love for Bron. Tris had run from her feelings, a marathon paced to her beating heart. The race never slowed, never stopped, and she never gained any ground. She was exhausted from the sheer effort of restraint.

  Finally, Tris could let go. The search for the right words was over. Today, she had every verb, noun, vowel, and consonant she needed.

  Tris sat cross-legged at the base of the headstone, facing it at an angle. It still looked brand new. She loved the purples and blues of the granite, the sun reflecting off of it in several spots, shooting out prisms of color. Half of her body sat directly over where his casket was buried. Tris touched her heart with her left hand and the word “Beloved” with her right. Her voice had to be certain and strong.

  As she opened her mouth to speak, Tris first swallowed back the tears. And then she realized there was no need. She cried openly as she began her final conversation of the day, the one she’d waited fifteen months to have.

  “I love you. I wish I’d said yes.”

  Well into the afternoon, Tris sat over the grave, telling Bron all the things he needed to hear.

  The things she had never, ever said.

  December 15, 1998

  IT WAS ONE of those hot and humid days in Miami, where it was sticky even in winter.

  Today Tris would fly to Atlanta and then work her way back across the country with her student, an Exeter gastroenterologist. She enjoyed these long training trips, and her student was fun to fly with.

  Before the Doc left for his meeting, they did a brief ground lesson on visual landing aids. She took out pictures of the red and white lights set on the side of the runway that told pilots if they were too high, too low, or right on course. Every student remembered the sing-songy memory device.

  White over white, you’re high as a kite.

  Red over red, you’re dead.

  Red over white, you’re all right.

  You’re all right.

  Tris loved the Doc’s plane, a straight tail Beech Bonanza. The Doc enjoyed having a plane but didn’t fly much. At least he was smart enough to know he shouldn’t do a cross-country trip without an instructor sitting next to him. The Bonanza, with its turbocharged engine and retractable gear, was way too much airplane for him to fly alone safely by himself.

  When she first resigned from Tetrix, she had marked her distance from the job by hours. A hundred and two hours since Tetrix. A hundred and thirty-two. After the first week, by days. Forty-six days since she worked there. Then fifty-six. Now it was almost three months. She counted as though that alone would widen the gap, make moments pass faster.

  Tris kept in touch with Ann-Marie, who had secretly been in her corner during the whole Deter-Ross-Luxembourg disaster. Over a drink at O’Slattery’s one night, Ann-Marie told Tris that when she quit, Willett took the heat for making a bad hire. After all, Tris left after just a year with the company, and just months after all that money spent to get her a type rating wasted. Zorn skated away from all responsibility, naturally.

  Each time Tris visited O’Slattery’s, she thought about Ross. Since his death, Ross had taken on saint status in the department, even though he killed three people. Ann-Marie shook her head as she told Tris that salient fact never made it into the “remember when” stories the guys told about Ross. Tris wondered how Deter felt about that, but it wouldn’t matter. Deter would be a good soldier. That’s what and who he was, loyal to the mission, to the core. And someone who would always protect what was his, even if it was only his honor.

  She and Danny were back on speaking terms, but it would be a while before their friendship fully recovered. He told her about a girl he was dating, said it was getting serious. She was truly happy for him.

  Now that she was instructing again, some of the other résumés she’d sent out the world over the years started to generate some interest. Danny offered to put in a good word if she wanted to return to Clear Sky. She wasn’t interested in going back there. She filled out an application at another commuter airline, one that paid better than Clear Sky. They asked her to call for an interview date, but she hadn’t done it yet.

  The most amusing call she got came from the chief pilot of another large company in Exeter with three Astrals in its fleet.

  “I heard about you,” he said. She clenched a bit at first and realized he must have gotten positive information or he wouldn’t be calling. Turns out Jim Jensen was a buddy of his. Jensen was always spying for good talent, he said.

  According to Jensen, Tris “did an amazing job in the simulator under difficult circumstances.” Tris still didn’t know what had gone on between Deter and Jensen, but if Jensen was impressed, she’d take it. She found it amusing that Jensen was lying in the weeds, looking to help his buddy do some pilot poaching.

  “Someday on the road, you’ll have to tell me all about it,” he continued as if inviting Tris into her own conspiracy. She list
ened politely as the chief pilot tried to entice her to interview for a job at his company. “And we don’t only go to Europe, like Tetrix, you know,” he said brightly. It was true. The company had manufacturing facilities in Asia and South America. She would love to travel to those regions. She still might someday. But not in their airplanes.

  Tris listened politely as he bulled on. “We’re trying to integrate our department, Patricia. We’ve never had a woman—a qualified woman—and it’s time.”

  Maybe, but I’m not that girl.

  “Thanks so much. I’m in a good situation right now. Let’s stay in touch.” As soon as she said it, she realized she truly believed it. When she had first instructed, it was simply a way to build flight time, a means to an end. Tris had seen what the ‘end’ looked like up close and she liked this better.

  “Need fuel?” one of the rampers asked, startling her from behind.

  “We do. But I want to wait until my student gets back from his meeting. I want him to decide how much we need and do the order.”

  “Got it. Just let us know. Will you need anything else? Ice? Coffee?”

  Cleary the ramper wasn’t sure what airplane she was on. The flight school she worked for required instructors to wear uniform shirts with bars, so she could have been crewing one of the many corporate jets on the ramp instead of her student’s single-engine Bonanza.

  She was happy at the flight school, glad to be back in a job where she made a positive difference. The head of the school was thrilled to hire someone with so much experience. “We don’t see too many primary instructors with type ratings around here,” he’d said when he offered her the job.

  It was almost noon, and Tris was ready for lunch. There was a restaurant on the field, a diner whose greatest claim was its view of the runways. It was less than a mile away, but she wasn’t going to walk to it in her uniform in the heat. She’d ask the van driver to take her.

  She began packing up. All of a sudden, the ether around her shifted. It was barely perceptible at first, just a slight swing in wind direction and speed. As seconds passed, it grew stronger. Tris became part of it. She smiled as her shoulders relaxed under the touch of his invisible hand—sensations she knew with and by heart.