by R. D. Kardon
“Hey? What are you doing back there? I thought you were ignoring me.” Mike found Tris buried in the squishy cushions.
She struggled for purchase, frustrated by her helplessness. “I can’t seem to get out of here.”
“Here, let me.” Mike gallantly extended his hand.
Tris grabbed his forearm and let him pull her forward. Mike then crowded in next to her and made a comment, but all she heard was what sounded like running water inside her skull. Tris looked down at her knees while she blushed, lest she give something away.
Airplanes were a safe topic. “So, Mike, where else have you flown? Do you know Danny from Clear Sky?”
His leg muscles tightened against her thigh. “After Clear Sky, I went to Legacy. I know him from both.”
Tris couldn’t hide her surprise. “Legacy? And you’re not still flying for them?” She scratched a spot on her arm that didn’t itch, then ran her thumb around the mouth of her beer bottle.
“Nope.” Mike raised his beer, took a long draw, swallowed and belched softly. “Excuse me,” he said, his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. “Well, Legacy isn’t for everyone. I was still on probation . . . and, well . . . I ended up quitting.”
Tris had no idea what to say next. To have an opportunity like that and quit during the first year? Didn’t make sense. Something had to have happened, but this wasn’t the place or time to probe.
Mike playfully bumped her shoulder, and his lips spread into a mischievous smile. “Hey, looks like they’re going to pop the champagne. Let’s go get some.”
Tris smiled back, and let Mike take her elbow and guide her toward the festivities. She leaned into his side, his flannel shirt soft against her cheek. Her heartbeat bumped like an African drum solo. She straightened up, slightly, enough to put a few inches between them, but not far enough away to make him think she wasn’t interested.
Mike was in the bathroom, Danny was talking to a woman who Tris thought might be his mother-in-law, and Em and Heather were huddled at the dessert table. Em gestured with both arms, each movement an exclamation point at the end of whatever she’d said. Her torso was rigid, and her voice low enough so Tris couldn’t hear it.
Tris needed a break, a minute to steady herself, by herself. She’d been to Bruce’s house before, and while it was small, the master bedroom was far enough away from the action in the living room to provide solitude. She walked quietly down the corridor in that general direction and saw the bedroom door ajar.
At first, he was hard to see. The bed was covered with jackets, purses, bags, and other accouterments of party guests. But there was Bruce, sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over, his chest on his knees.
She stood in front of him. “Hey, Bruce?”
He blinked rapidly, as though he didn’t recognize her. But then he grabbed her wrist. “Hey Cap. How are you?” he said and tightened his grip.
Tris gently removed her arm from his grasp, sat down next to him, and put her hand on his back. Should she call for Heather? No, she’d have to shout and that would bring unwanted attention.
She donned the most convincing smile she could muster while his eyes darted around the bedroom in a loop between the windows, the closet, and the door.
“So. Tired of the party already?” She tried to joke him out of his trance.
“Party? Yeah. I guess.”
“Buddy, are you okay? Did something happen?”
Bruce looked around the room, his brow furrowed, as if he were trying to find something he’d misplaced. Then his expression cleared and the look of the smart, purposeful co-pilot she knew returned. He leaned in close to her.
“So, the Pinedale trip. I keep thinking about it. Like, sometimes I think what if we didn’t get around those thunderstorms? And in my dreams, I see us in the plane, getting tossed around, except it’s not you and me in the cockpit. It’s Heather and the baby.”
“Bruce, are you nervous about the baby?” Tris spoke softly, after glancing over at the open door to make sure no one was lurking in the hall.
“No. Well, yes. No. I don’t know. I think it’s the usual first-time dad stuff, you know. But there’s something else, since Lemaster . . .” His voice trailed into a whisper.
“I know. It freaked me out, too.”
Bruce didn’t respond. He shook his head, and covered his face with his hands.
Tris proceeded carefully. “There are options, you know. Maybe you should see someone. Just once or twice. To talk about it.”
He suddenly came alive. “A therapist?”
She nodded.
He sat up sharply. “Are you kidding? That would totally fuck up my career.”
Tris wanted to tell him that there were ways. If he was careful, he could get help. She’d done it and was better for it in and out of the cockpit. The risk was manageable. She’d teach him how.
“Anyway,” he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “it’s not the baby, or even Lemaster. Not entirely. It’s Legacy.”
“Legacy? What about it?”
“They granted me another interview. My third. And last, if I don’t make it. They want me to schedule it within the next ninety days.”
Bruce needed to make more money. He was at the age and experience level where most of his peers were moving on to bigger companies, with more opportunity. Bruce was clearly desperate to go to Legacy—she knew it and suspected that Woody did as well. It was the next appropriate step. But he’d blown the two interviews he’d already had, and Legacy only gave applicants three chances.
Tris quickly did the math. “Then schedule it as far out as you can. After the angel flight you’ll be a captain. You can impress them with that experience. You’ll get the job this time.” She could make him a captain in time for his interview. She’d do it for Bruce. Woody was right. As Chief Pilot, her success and Bruce’s would be intertwined. How proud she’d be to help him get the job at Legacy.
They sat in companionable silence for a while. Then Bruce laughed, and turned the conversation to their Pinedale passengers, the only bright spot of the trip: a married couple who had renewed their wedding vows in the dusty town where they’d met twenty-five years before.
“Those two were really into each other, eh? I mean, I thought the guy was gonna carry his wife over the threshold of the ramp.”
Tris chuckled. “It was nice. Kind of cute. Hard to imagine that in my future. I’m not as lucky as you and Heather.” More silence. “Bruce? Hey, let’s get back to the party. Before people start to worry about you.”
He smiled at her appreciatively. “Like you did, Cap?”
“Roger that.”
Fourteen
Tris latched the aircraft’s lavatory door and did an awkward pirouette to turn around in the tight space. Despite filling it with all the Ozium she had onboard, the lav stank. She’d order a cleaning after today’s long leg.
Exeter to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, was a lot of work, but a great payday. And the best part was the crew got to stay overnight.
She stopped on her way back to the cockpit and spoke briefly to her passengers, a family of five who had an estate in Jackson. He was the Chairman of a huge Exeter drug company whose corporate jet was down for maintenance. The crew had bought a chew toy for the family’s dog, an even-tempered Golden Retriever. The dog was snoring on a club chair, one of its paws resting on the plush gift.
As a charter captain, it was Tris’s job to be both a strong pilot and a good host. After all, people paid what most would consider an insane amount of money to be in her professional space, to have a more comfortable and personal travel experience than the cattle-car environment of Exeter’s discount airlines. It was incumbent upon the crew to pamper them both in the air and on the ground.
This group was tidy. They had stacked their sandwich trays neatly, along with their used paper plates and plastic utensils, near the trash bin. This would save her and Bruce time when they landed since there was no hired cleaning crew on the road.
The
Royal was a big step down from the standard of luxury this family was used to. Tris wished she could commiserate with them, since she came from flying a larger, more spacious airplane with opulent fixtures and frills.
Memories of piloting the Tetrix Astral into the exquisite valley of Jackson Hole brought a wave of nostalgia. The moment Tris crossed the Tetons for the very first time was one she’d never forget—flying over snow-covered tips so close they looked like they’d scrape the bottom of the fuselage.
Tris slipped back into the left seat and nodded to Bruce that she had the radios. Bruce would fly the challenging approach into Jackson Hole, one that tested every pilot’s skills even in the beautiful weather they had today. First, they’d glide over the Teton Range, then dive almost straight down into a steep valley surrounded by mountains. Not for the faint of heart. And tomorrow’s departure would be even more harrowing.
Assuming Bruce did well today, she’d put him in the command seat tomorrow for the trip home. He needed that experience, and Tris was determined his training be thorough.
She’d judged and critiqued Bruce’s performance ever since they began flying together. The two debriefed every flight, going over what went right, and what went wrong. Bruce listened and processed her suggestions, tips, and critique. She was pleased and proud when he incorporated them all into his flying.
But this was different. Pilot training was the mission-critical skill of a Chief Pilot. It wouldn’t matter if she could expound on the details of the airplane’s systems or know charter regulations and FAA procedures cold. If she couldn’t successfully train Bruce as a captain, get him upgraded—well, then she wasn’t qualified for the job.
The syllabi she’d drafted for herself and Bruce were still on Woody’s desk. He’d rushed her to get them done but hadn’t approved them yet. She cut Woody some slack. Booking charter trips was the highest company priority and Woody was a one-man sales department.
Bruce interrupted her reverie. “Excited about the overnight?”
“Oh yeah. We’re lucky that Phyll could get us such a great rate. This place, Bruce.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The hotel they were booked into was right on the Snake River in Teton Village, and had unimpeded views of the entire Teton Range. Tris had stayed there with Tetrix years ago.
Tris dreamed of the day she could retire in Jackson Hole, or someplace like it. Every time she visited, she was entranced by the tranquil beauty of the setting. But how could she ever afford it? She lived month to month, with little left over for savings.
Chief Pilot pay would make things a little less tight. Maybe she could start putting money away for retirement so that someday she could walk outside her home, turn in any direction and see magnificence. Step One: Finish her Chief Pilot training. Step Two: get Bruce in the left seat.
Grand Teton rose before them, its high peaks teasing the wide cerulean sky. When the entire Teton Range came into view with Yellowstone in the distance, the landscape shone in its full majesty.
Bruce was monitoring the instruments, as he was supposed to. When he looked up at the stunning natural beauty all around them, his mouth opened wide. “Wow,” he said softly, as they started their descent into the valley. They’d been cleared for a visual approach, and he scanned the area as they flew across the field and turned parallel to Runway One-Nine.
“This is amazing,” he said after calling for flaps, and then after the gear was down, “Oh my God.” It was breathtaking. There was no other way to describe it.
Bruce clicked the autopilot off, and Tris instinctively guarded the rudder pedals. Her right hand hovered near the power levers, and her left shadowed the yoke. Nothing was wrong. She was simply doing her job.
Bruce had called for and completed all required checklists as he turned the Royal perpendicular to the field on a perfect base leg. The airplane’s descent rate was right on. They had a direct crosswind, so Bruce carried a little extra speed on final approach. Exactly what she’d have done.
Less than a minute from landing, the wind picked up. To stay on track, the nose of the south-flying airplane pointed to the west. Tris moved up slightly in her seat. Bruce’s features were taut, his eyes trained outside.
When the Royal started to buffet, Tris turned to check on the passengers. Predictably, they’d all stopped whatever they’d been doing, and stared at the pilots. They were looking for a sign of strength, some indication that whatever was tossing their airplane around was no big deal. The cockpit was their confirmation, their comfort. If the pilots were calm, they’d try and stay calm, too.
Bruce’s right hand was firm on the yoke, tighter than normal but short of the dreaded “death grip.” After all, it was just a little wind shear. Still pointed almost forty-five degrees off the runway centerline, fifty feet above the ground, Bruce pressed the rudder and kicked the nose of the airplane forward.
The left main gear touched softly on Runway One-Nine, followed almost immediately by the right, and then the nose wheel. After his perfect crosswind landing, Bruce let the plane roll to the end of the runway before turning off. He’d given the passengers the best possible ride and a soft touchdown. The extra runway used was a small price to pay.
Tris nodded appreciatively. “You’d have landed a little sooner normally, right?”
Bruce was used to Tris grilling him on procedure. “If the runway was contaminated with, say, ice or snow, to avoid a go-around back into bad weather, sure. And thank you.”
She nodded. “Yes, nicely done. I’m going to have you fly us home tomorrow from the left seat. You ready for that?”
Bruce tensed for a split second, then nodded. “You bet, Cap.”
“Let’s shut down, get these folks unloaded and get to our overnight.”
An older man with a long gray beard wearing reflective gear marshaled them into a parking spot. Tris didn’t recognize him. She prided herself on remembering the ground crews at airports she’d visited. Experience had taught her that a friendly relationship, a handshake, and a decent tip for going above and beyond—carrying passenger bags, cleaning the lav and toting out the catering—went a long way in the aviation game. She’d say hello before they left.
Bruce would “kiss them goodbye,” code for chaperoning the passengers to their transportation and making sure they were safely on their way. The passengers’ limo was waiting, and, incredibly, each of them asked for their own luggage so they could help roll it to the car. Their older child even popped his own bag in the trunk, while his father, the Chairman, left his for the driver to handle and hopped in the long black luxury vehicle. The Chairman said something to Bruce, and Bruce responded. They shook hands, the limo pulled away, and Bruce headed back to the airplane to help Tris finish cleaning.
“Cap,” he began tentatively.
“Uh-huh?”
“Hey, look, about the party the other day. You know, when I was . . . weird?”
Tris had been organizing her charts but stopped to pay closer attention.
“Yes? What about it?”
“You know. I was a bit, maybe, overwhelmed. And nervous. Heather. The baby. Legacy.”
Tris looked down. Her strongest memory of the party was seeing Mike again. She’d almost forgotten about those odd moments with Bruce.
“No problem, Bruce. We’re good.”
He gave a quick nod and redirected himself to the business at hand. “We putting it in the hangar overnight?”
“Well, what would you do, Bruce?” She loved to turn his questions back on him. He’d be the one deciding soon enough.
Bruce grimaced. “Let me check the overnight weather. Be right back.” He jumped down the air stairs and sprinted into the executive terminal.
She busied herself brushing crumbs off of the seats and collecting trash. She crossed the seatbelts, made sure all the seats were forward and tray tables stowed. The rug needed a quick vacuum. Tris grabbed the full bag of trash and went to request a shop vac. She ran into the bearded ramper she hadn’t recognized before.
She smiled and held out her hand. “Hey. We haven’t met. Tris Miles.”
“I remember you.” He touched her hand quickly and turned away.
“Wait. What? You do? Have we met?”
“Yup. You came in here a couple of times in an Astral.” He laughed and jabbed his thumb toward the Royal. “That little prop your ride now?”
Ah. She was used to being looked down upon by other pilots who flew bigger, more sophisticated aircraft. But a ramper?
As he turned away again, she called after him. “I need a vacuum. And a lav service.” He kept walking.
“Now.”
He smirked. “You sure that’s what the captain wants?”
Despite the cold, Tris hadn’t yet put on her parka, so she rotated the sleeve on her uniform jacket so he could see her epaulets. “I am sure,” she said evenly.
He looked at the four stripes and shook his head.
“Yes, Captain,” he said as he walked off to comply with her request.
Tris didn’t know whether deep-seated disrespect for her authority drove his rude behavior, or if he was just a jerk. Thanks to what she’d learned from Dr. C, all Tris needed to shake off the encounter was to breathe deep and look around.
From the top of the Royal’s air stairs, Tris could make out busy ski runs, lifts going up and down the mountains, skiers in bright colored clothes and hats shifting their weight back and forth as they flew down the slopes. No way that guy was going to disrupt her enjoyment of this wintry paradise.
She must have still had an odd expression on her face when Bruce came back out.
“What happened?” he asked and blew into his ungloved hands. The wind had picked up again, and the sun was going down.
There was no point focusing on the encounter. She was over it. “Nothing. So?”
Bruce smiled. “We don’t have to pay for a hangar. No precip expected tonight.”
The rude ramper walked by, glaring at the two pilots.
Bruce cocked his head. “What’s up with him?”
“Got me,” Tris said. Now in her parka, scarf hanging loosely from her neck, she pulled her shoulders back and grabbed the handle of her overnight bag. Bruce walked in stride behind her as the two pilots passed the ramper, who struggled to attach a drain tube to the lavatory cap on the aircraft’s fuselage.