Spirit Flight

by P. R. Fittante

  “Yes, Emily. We’ll be at Maw Maw’s in just a few minutes.”

  Frank watched her gently stroke her daughter’s golden hair. He began to sense how much love a parent could have for a child. How much love Dale must have felt. He knew then, Ethan and Emily would be the key to Rachel’s healing.

  Frank turned left on Highway 12, heading north up Bodie Island toward Nags Head. Not really an island, the narrow roadway they traversed actually followed a slender peninsula extending nearly 100 miles south from Virginia Beach. The old Beach Road, spanning the Outer Banks from Ocracoke to Corolla, was a precarious path in the face of shifting sands and storm-driven swells. Gazing at the expansive beaches, Frank had forgotten how alluring the raw beauty of this region could be. As a child, visits to this birthplace of aviation had first kindled his own dreams of flight. He marveled at how such a youthful passion had evolved into a high-tech profession. Here, among such simple earthly elements, he felt quite removed from those sterile Edwards cockpits. He had come full circle.

  “Frank, come back to us,” Rachel said, tapping his shoulder. “We’re almost at the house.”

  Frank felt himself blush. “Sorry, I’m not usually such a day dreamer.”

  “I know, but you’ve always seemed a little sad to me. Dale used to say the same thing.”

  Frank looked at her, somewhat surprised. Did he really seem sad? Before he could say anything, Rachel pointed to her mother’s house approaching on the right.

  Frank slowed the car and turned into a short sand and gravel driveway. The single-story gray shingled house was perched on stilts, protecting it from the all too common storm surges. He pulled the car forward into a makeshift carport in between the wooden pillars. Rachel’s mother was waiting for them.

  Grace Carson was a sturdy woman of sixty-five. Like the house in which she had lived for the past ten years, her weathered face offered a hardy hospitality. Frank had first met her back in college when she was recently widowed. She was definitely an independent woman—tough but tenderhearted. Dale always joked that the only person he feared in life was his mother-in-law. Especially after he embarked upon the nomadic existence of an Air Force pilot, accompanied by her only daughter.

  Grace approached the car, limping noticeably. Rachel rushed to greet her.

  “Mama, I’m so glad to be home.”

  “I know, baby, I know.” Grace held her daughter tightly. “I wish I could have been there at the funeral for you. This new hip just doesn’t allow me much traveling.”

  “This is where I need you, mama. I just need time away to sort things out.” She closed her eyes tightly against the flow of tears. “I still can’t believe Dale is really gone.”

  Frank slowly walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk. He didn’t like seeing Rachel cry. He wished he could offer comfort, but he never seemed to be very good at that. He began to remove the luggage. It seemed the only useful thing he could do at the moment.

  As he closed the trunk, he saw Grace standing before him.

  “Thank you for bringing my little girl home,” she said as she hugged him. Then she stood back and looked him straight in the eyes. “Are you doing OK?”

  Frank could see her concern. Had Rachel told her something, or did he really seem so distressed?

  “I’m OK,” he said. “I’m just glad Rachel has you to come home to.”

  Rachel had gotten the kids out of the car, and they ran excitedly about the yard. Frank picked up the luggage and followed Rachel and her mother toward the house. A narrow wooden path took them up the face of a grass-covered dune to the back patio. The patio rested on top of the dune, and offered a spectacular view of the beach and ocean, not thirty yards away.

  “I always take the path now instead of the stairs underneath,” Grace said as she opened the sliding glass door into the house. “It’s a little easier on the hip.”

  Frank stepped into the spacious living area, as Rachel called for the children to follow them.

  “How are the children handling all this?” Grace asked as she watched them scamper up the wooden path.

  “I think Ethan understands Daddy is gone. But just this morning, Emily asked when Daddy would be meeting us at the beach.” Rachel shook her head. “I try to get them both to understand that Daddy will always be watching over them from heaven.”

  Ethan and Emily ran into the room, begging to go out on the beach.

  “Go ahead, dear. Why don’t you all get changed, and I’ll fix some snacks.” Grace headed for the adjoining kitchen, as Rachel took the children back to the bedrooms. Frank stood alone in the family room.

  He was about to head back to the bedroom when something over the fireplace caught his eye. It was a painting. He stepped closer and saw it was a beach scene. In it, the sun appeared to be just below the horizon, but the sky and clouds above reflected wondrous hues of crimson and violet. The waves and dunes were also cast with luminous reflections of the early light. Frank felt himself drawn to this panorama of earth and sky. Only after greater scrutiny could he discern the human silhouette amidst the shadows on the beach. It was the lone figure of a woman. She was facing the ocean.

  “It’s a lovely painting, isn’t it?”

  Frank turned at the sound of Grace’s voice.

  “It makes me think of my husband,” she continued. “When I start to miss him, I draw some sense of solace from it.”

  Frank looked back at the painting, studying it for several moments. “It makes me feel lonely.”

  “Well, I guess we all relate to it in our own way.”

  “Who is the artist?” Frank asked suddenly.

  “A local artist. Her name is Anna Preston.”

  Anna. Somehow, he had known it. He moved closer to the painting, examining the individual contours of oil and color. It was as if he could recognize her in the distinct strokes of her brush.

  “She’s quite gifted,” he said a little absently.

  Grace regarded him with some curiosity. “Frank, I want to thank you again for staying with Rachel these past few days. I know none of this has been easy on you either.”

  Frank turned away from the painting. “I just wanted to make sure she got back here safely. She’s been strong, but she needs this time with you.”

  “I know. But I want you to know that you are welcome to stay as long as you would like.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carson. But I planned on going to see my father tomorrow.” Though he was touched by her compassion, Frank couldn’t imagine burdening this family with his presence. He’d never experienced such feelings of guilt and uncertainty in his life. Now, on top of it, his head was reeling with thoughts of her. Anna. Someone he’d tried to block from his mind for years.

  Rachel returned, dressed in shorts and a tank top. Ethan and Emily were both in their bathing suits.

  “Come on, Mr. Frank,” Ethan pleaded. “Aren’t you coming on the beach with us?”

  Frank hesitated a moment. He felt like driving off on his own, but resisted the temptation. “OK little guy. Just give me a minute to get changed.”

  He headed back to the guest bedroom and put on his bathing suit and a T-shirt. He kept thinking about the painting. The entire day had been an endless current of memories and emotions. Now, a simple work of art had offered the greatest shock.

  He stepped outside and saw Rachel already heading down the beach path with the children. Frank felt fatigued as he set out to follow them. His carefully orchestrated lifestyle left him unprepared for such turmoil. Still, one steady thought did emerge through the chaos. One thing he had to know. Where was Anna Preston now?

  Chapter 13

  Her hand moved swiftly over the page. The soft charcoal lines seemed to flow from her long nimble fingers. The strokes were quick and instinctive, the slender piece of charcoal acting as a conduit for the images in her mind. She never stopped to think how the translation occurred. It just did—a magic of creation that had always been her gift. Sometimes, the beauty of the final product s
urprised even her.

  Anna Preston paused to absorb her surroundings. She laid the sketchpad upon her thighs and tilted her head back toward the pale blue sky. Her cheeks tingled and flushed as the bright sunlight washed over her delicate features. She closed her eyes, listening to the distant thunder of the ocean waves as a warm April breeze whispered through her soft auburn hair. The slender sea oats on the adjacent dunes offered their own wind-driven chorus. A gentle rustling that summoned a harmony of sound and spirit.

  This was Anna’s favorite time at the beach. No tourists. No students on break. No interruptions. The solitude of her beach house had always been her haven. Here, she was free to sketch and paint without distraction. Inspired by the beauty and serenity of the Outer Banks, she was able to immerse herself in her art.

  She set the pad to her side and stretched her legs out. She ran her hands over the firm muscles of her calves and inner thighs. Toned and tanned by two weeks of early morning beach runs, she was proud of her shape. The youthful beanpole had, at the age of thirty-two, finally blossomed into a lovely woman.

  She leaned back against the wooden railing of her back patio. From here atop the dunes, she had an unobstructed view of the beach and ocean beyond. She had owned this house for almost five years. Its purchase roughly coinciding with the end of her days as a starving artist. Now she could afford to spend weeks at a time at this home by the sea, devoting herself to her craft. The studios were hungry for her work and the galleries requested her for exhibitions. She had attained the life she always wanted.

  Anna picked up the sketchpad and studied her work. Before applying oil to canvas, she liked to develop a scene in charcoal first. This view from her deck was lovely, but something was missing. She shifted her gaze toward the ocean, wondering what could complete the picture. A lone seagull caught her eye.

  The bird appeared to be hovering over the dunes. It was facing north into the wind, its wings spread wide. Anna could see the shape and angle of the wings constantly changing, adjusting for the swirling air currents. The subtle corrections allowed it to maintain an exact position over the sand. She found herself fascinated by the bird’s precision and control.

  Suddenly, the right wing dropped, and the gull whipped into an abrupt spiral. It made two complete turns, dropping twenty feet, before it leveled out in its perfect hover. Amazed, she watched the bird arch its wings forward, regain the lost altitude, and execute the maneuver again.

  Anna could see no reason behind the solo aerobatic display. But when the gull made a slow arcing turn over head before resuming its maneuvers in front of her, she couldn’t help but think the crazy bird was showing off for her.

  She adjusted her pad and began sketching, marveling at the bird’s apparent joy and freedom. What possessed it to attempt such challenging maneuvers? She could see several other gulls in small groups, pecking at the sand or swooping low over the water in search of food. But this gull was alone, perfecting its skills.

  She glanced back up to observe the intrepid aviator, but it was gone. Disappointed, she scanned the sky, but couldn’t find the lone gull. As she turned back to her sketching, she saw it. It was perched on a dune, not ten feet away. It appeared to be looking directly at her.

  “I don’t do many portraits, but I’d be happy to sketch yours Mr. Gull.”

  As she flipped the page of her sketchpad, the sound of children’s voices floated up from the beach. Looking beyond the motionless gull, she saw a man and woman walking past with two small children. Something about the man caught her attention. His build, his walk—it seemed familiar. She sat up on her knees to get a better look.

  As Anna studied the man, she began to feel a strange ache in the pit of her stomach. It was an emptiness she had not experienced in many years. Her head felt light as she realized who this man was. The one individual in her life she had tried to forget, the one individual she had never expected to see again, was suddenly before her.

  The sight of Frank Farago opened a deep hole in her heart; one that had never quite healed. She had lost track of him over the years, but he had never been far from her thoughts. Now, he appeared before her—with a family. Her mind raced, trying to imagine what his life had been like in the intervening years. She had always assumed he would remain an illusory vision from her past. A memory that would slowly fade, sweeping all the old pain and joy into numbing oblivion. Now she felt it all again.

  The art pad slipped from her fingers as she stood to watch the four passing figures. Observing Frank’s fluid stride, it seemed time stood still. Twelve years had left him unchanged. Still the trim athletic build. Still the sharp handsome features. Only now, he was not alone.

  Anna remained motionless as the four of them faded into the distance. Then she slowly turned and stepped back into her empty house. The lone gull remained, watching her.

  Chapter 14

  Frank stripped off his shirt and dropped it on the beach. The hot sun felt good on his skin. He began to jog toward the ocean, his feet sinking into the soft sand until he reached the firm, cool strip along the water’s edge. He hesitated a moment considering which way to go, then decided to head north, into the wind.

  Treading the stark boundary between land and sea, Frank tried to relax. He quickened his pace, stretching the muscles that had been so badly bruised a few days before. Though the pain had finally begun to subside, the memory of the accident was still fresh in his mind. He was glad to finally be alone, having left Rachel and the children back at the house eating a late lunch. He needed time to sort through his thoughts.

  Normally, Frank used such solitary moments to inspire himself with thoughts of the future. He would anticipate upcoming test flights, plan his future assignments, and ultimately fantasize about what it must be like to fly in space. Today, none of those topics seemed important. In contrast to the beauty and clarity of his surroundings, his own horizon was clouded. He couldn’t focus beyond what was lost from his life. His mother and now his best friend were gone forever. The emptiness he felt thinking of Anna Preston seemed just as permanent. He couldn’t ignore the pain of these loses any longer. For the first time in his life, he felt vulnerable.

  Frank closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he splashed through the oncoming waves. He had planned to turn back by now, but for some reason he pressed on. He realized he had no plan.

  As Frank opened his eyes, he saw a woman standing in his path a short distance ahead. She was facing the water, allowing the dying waves to swirl about her ankles. He started to turn to avoid her, but instead slowed to an easy walk. Something about her caught his attention.

  The sweet curves beneath her trim shorts and light tank top provided the first attraction. But something else drew Frank’s interest. The way she stood, her arms loosely crossed, her feet buried in the sand, she seemed a part of the landscape. It was all quite familiar. He approached her, eager to get a glimpse of her face. A gust of wind obligingly swept back the veil of gentle curls.

  Frank’s heart was pounding as he realized who she was.

  “Anna,” he whispered.

  She turned to him. Her face had changed over the years, but if anything, she was more beautiful than he remembered. The features were softer, her smooth skin radiating a honey glow in the afternoon sun.

  He stepped toward her, wanting to hug her, but she made no move to do the same. Instead, he awkwardly reached for her hand.

  “Hello, Frank.” She said it sadly, dropping her hand to her side after the brief contact. Her brown eyes seemed especially dark, the pupil and iris blending into deep Stygian pools. Still, he felt himself drawn to them, just as he had so long ago.

  “Do you live here?” he asked.

  “That’s my house,” she said, motioning beyond the dunes. She turned back to face the water without even looking at him.

  Frank scrambled for conversation. Her indifference toward him came as a complete surprise. He suddenly felt desperate to even justify remaining in her presence.

  “Yo
u’re an artist,” he declared. He said it quickly, unsure if it came across as a statement or a question.

  “I’m doing what I’ve always wanted,” she said. Her voice was flat. Her gaze remained fixed upon the horizon.

  Frank decided to gamble. “I’ve seen your work,” he said, pausing for effect. “It was a picture of a lonely woman facing the ocean.”

  She turned quickly, her eyes flashing. He wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or hit him.

  “What about you? Are you still doing what you always wanted? Are you still flying those jets?”

  Frank hesitated, unsure how to answer. Anna’s look of defiance faded to uncertainty, mirroring Frank’s own expression. He wanted to tell her all that had happened—everything that had led him here to her. But, her reaction to him thus far kept him cautious.

  “How long have you been married?” she asked suddenly. Her question seemed both an accusation and a surrender.

  “I’ve never been married.” Frank was surprised to see her face tighten until he remembered his earlier walk with Rachel and the kids. “You saw us, didn’t you?” he said smiling.

  “Who?”

  “You saw me with a woman and two children, didn’t you? We walked right here by your house.” He began to laugh, realizing the source of her frosty reception.

  “Yes . . . well, is that your family?” Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

  “No,” he laughed, taking a step closer to her. Then he thought of the man whose family it was. “No . . .” he repeated, lowering his head. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “Do you remember Dale Walker?”

  “Yes. He was your roommate your senior year at Carolina.”

  “The woman I was with was his wife, Rachel. And those were his two children.”

  “Did they divorce?”

  Frank reached for her hand. “No. Dale was killed last Wednesday.”

  This time she didn’t pull away. Instead, she studied him, her eyes softening with shock and concern. The icy barrier was gone, replaced by the tender warmth of her hand in his. For the first time, he felt he was with the Anna Preston he remembered. He decided to open up a little more.