Flying Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  He was tired with an exhaustion that went clear to the bone. He hadn’t eaten yet today, and his muscles cried out at the lack of nutrition. Four different meetings in three different states in two days meant four separate flights, most lasting only an hour or two. Finally, he was on his way home, though it would be midnight before he arrived in Nevada, and then he would have to drive to his house in North Las Vegas. The company would have paid for another hotel and a flight the next day, but he preferred to do the legwork now and sleep in his own bed.

  Almost numbly, he sat down outside the departure gate. Usually he enjoyed the traveling part of his job, but something kept drawing his thoughts back to Nevada. Something? No, someone—Liana.

  He had purposely not called her, though his thoughts were with her constantly. He hadn’t wanted to push her too hard, to force her to raise any of those walls she was so good at building. There would be time enough to talk when he returned to Nevada. But would she want to see him? He thought so. She had returned his kiss, after all.

  He was unsure if he could drive her from his mind. Maybe before the trip to Wyoming that would have been possible, but now he’d glimpsed the real woman beneath the hard facade. He found her fascinating, tender, passionate—a woman who released the rope over a freezing river just for a moment of flying. Yes, he knew her better now, and he wanted to know more. Of course, it was entirely possible that she didn’t share any of his feelings.

  Sighing, he drew out his laptop and began to look at the e-mails he’d downloaded that morning but hadn’t been able to read. The first message that wasn’t spam was from Sonja, the woman he’d broken the date with little more than a week ago. Funny, he couldn’t even remember what she looked like. He put the message in a file to read and answer later.

  The second e-mail was from Olya Kovalevsky in Ukraine. This one he was waiting for.

  Dear Mr. Walker:

  I am elated to learn of the money your charity has received. God must indeed be looking His eyes out for us. You ask what is the most pressing need here. As usual, our most big need is medicine, diapers, and baby powder. Other consumables remain also important, such as shampoo, soap, toothpaste, and products for washing clothes. One director also requested simple, durable puzzles for the children, though only if there is room and enough funds. The other items are greatly more important. For to help you, I have attached a list of items and amounts the orphanages I am working with could use and how long that amount would last.

  I do now have a passport, as last year you recommended, and my visa to America has been approved. So if it is needed I can go to America and accompany the supplies. I understand that at this time you cannot come and are worried about them arriving and getting through customs. I can also meet the supplies here, and this would save money. Most truthfully, I would greatly love to go to America myself as I am curious to see your beautiful country, but it would sadden me if such a pleasure took money from the orphans.

  In answer to your other question, yes, I have managed to discover more about my sister. She was sent to an orphanage near Kiev after the second orphanage she was in burned down. A worker tells me she was adopted by a couple, though they have not paperwork to prove this. This lady was not certain, but she believes the couple were originally from Romania. This is unlikely since during that time the Soviets did not permit foreign adoptions. Perhaps because Romania was also under Soviet rule, an exception was made. Why this couple might go to the trouble to adopt a Ukrainian baby when their own orphanages are so full, I cannot begin to discern. Perhaps they did not decide to adopt until they moved here from Romania.

  While I am happy my little sister may have been adopted, I still worry about her very much. Even if this couple eventually returned to Romania, the conditions there are similar to here. Now it is as if a wall has been placed before me in my journey. I do not know where to turn. But I will pray to God. Only He can help me now. I do know people who have connections to Romania. Perhaps one of them has some knowledge that will lead me to my lost sister. I am also using the Internet to search, but as you know, it is very expensive here. In addition, my sister may not have the knowledge that she was adopted, and if she does, it is possible that she has no Internet access.

  Again I apologize for burdening you with these concerns. I am very grateful for the help you give to the children. You have saved many lives and made better many more.

  I send to you greetings and deep appreciation from this your friend in Ukraine.

  Sincerely yours,

  Olya Kovalevsky

  Olya’s continuing gratitude made Austin slightly uncomfortable, though he knew it was heartfelt. When they’d first met, she’d been as eager for work as the rest. Fortunately for them both, she not only had a knack for leadership but also a need for redemption that would keep her honest even under the most tempting circumstances. Had anyone been there to champion her little sister? He knew that she desperately hoped someone had. So did Austin.

  Yet what disturbed him now was Olya’s plea for puzzles, which brought to his mind the thought of a hapless Ukrainian orphan longing for a simple toy. He remembered a similar longing.

  “A pair of jeans,” he told his mother. “Please can’t I have a new pair? Just one?”

  “You have your overalls,” she replied in the dull, placid way she had of speaking.

  He groaned. “But, Ma, they’re two years old and getting short. The kids at school tease me.”

  “Maybe next month.”

  But only a week passed before she bought the jeans. All went well until a month later in May when Austin had been at the swimming hole and hadn’t arrived home to milk Patches on time. By the time he remembered and ran all the way home, his dad was out working on the tractor, using pieces of his new jeans as rags.

  Austin cried. Not in front of his father but later in the tree by the river. “I hate him, I hate him,” he screamed to the dark sky. “I’ll run away and never come back. That’s what I’ll do.” At twelve he was nearly a man and could do a man’s work. He didn’t need his father.

  Mercedes found him there in the tree, and she sat next to him on the wide limb until he would let her hug him. He fell asleep with his head nestled in her lap, both of them covered with a horse blanket from the barn. He decided not to leave home because that would mean leaving Mercedes.

  The next day he was at the bus stop in his old overalls, but Mercedes didn’t ride the bus with him as she usually did.

  “Aren’t you coming to school?” he asked.

  “No. I’ve got something else to do.” She didn’t remind him not to tell; she already knew he wouldn’t.

  After school she was waiting for him outside his last class carrying a large plastic sack. She shoved the sack at him with a smile, and he opened it to see a pair of new jeans inside. “Where’d you get them?” he asked, amazed.

  Mercedes laughed, her black eyes shining. “I’ve been saving up. I walked to Grandma’s, and she drove me to the store and then here. There’s a couple shirts in there, too. They’re from Grandma.”

  He hugged her hard. Once again, she didn’t ask him to keep silent. They were both aware of their dad’s opinion of their grandmother and especially of her charity—unless it was directed toward him. Austin secretly changed into those pants in the barn before school for two months before his dad finally gave his mother permission to buy him another pair.

  Austin took out his cell phone and dialed a number. “Mercedes? Hi, how’re the boys?”

  “Good. I think they’ll all be back in school on Monday.”

  “And Buttercup?”

  “Buttercup and her kids are just fine. The boys named them Syrup and Pancake. They think it’s hilarious.”

  Austin chuckled. “Couldn’t have picked better names myself.”

  “Don’t encourage them, Austin.”

  “I will so—the next time I come to visit.”

  “And when is that?”

  “Soon. Next weekend maybe. Do you know if Fulmer
is still into woodworking?”

  “Yes, but only part time. Mabel made him get a job at the hardware store. She wanted insurance. Why?”

  “I may have a job for him.”

  “Does this involve the charity?”

  “Funny you’d mention that. You think you can make a few phone calls about another shipment? I’d like to get it there in two or three weeks.”

  Mercedes laughed. “I wondered why you called.”

  “Actually, I called to hear your voice.”

  “Oh?”

  His throat had become dry, and he swallowed hard. “I was remembering the jeans, Mercedes. Did I ever say thank you?”

  She was quiet a moment, and when she spoke her voice sounded choked. “Only about a hundred times.”

  “Well, thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mercedes let the silence last for nearly a minute and then asked, “So how’s Liana?”

  “I haven’t talked to her. I’m still on business in LA.”

  “You should have called her.”

  “Been too hectic.”

  “You’re calling me.”

  “That’s different.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  He sighed. “That seems to be happening a lot these days.”

  “So you didn’t go see Dad.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No.”

  “You’ll have to someday.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, Austin, I just hope it won’t be too late when you finally get around to it. You have to forgive him. I’m not saying to forget but to forgive. It’s still eating you alive.”

  He didn’t respond to her comment. Anger burned in him at the very thought of speaking to the man. Deliberately, he typed an e-mail to Tammy, the buyer for HeartReach, directing her to purchase everything on Olya’s list as soon as possible. He’d send the e-mail as soon as he had wireless access.

  “Austin?” Mercedes asked.

  He wasn’t purposely trying to ignore his sister. He simply wasn’t interested in forgiving his father under any pretense. “I’m here,” he said curtly. “Will you be able to arrange the shipment?”

  Mercedes sighed. “I’ll get it done the first of the week. May take a few days to get everything settled. And I’ll have to know how much space you’ll need.”

  “I’ll have Tammy tell you once she gets a look at the supply list.” Austin was thankful the awkward moment had passed, that Mercedes was the kind of sister who continued to love him even though he didn’t embrace her ideals. “Oh, and one more thing. How are you and the boys at painting wood puzzles?”

  “Wood puzzles?”

  Austin stopped deleting spam from his inbox, pausing at an e-mail from Christian. He grinned. “Never mind, Mercedes, I think I know just the artist for the job.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Diary of Karyn Olsen

  Tuesday, February 4, 1969

  I can’t believe it’s been almost two years since I last wrote. That’s because I moved into another apartment with some of the girls from work, and I misplaced this journal. But I found it today at the back of my closet in a box with my nursing books—but I’m jumping ahead of my story.

  I had the best experience today. My day started as it usually does—very late since I’m the night manager now at Denny’s (it’s so nice not to have to put up with all the passes from the men like I did when I was a waitress). When I awoke, I grabbed a bagel and went to J. C. Penney’s for a pair of jeans. While I was there I went to the bathroom, and I found a woman about my age leaning over the sink like she was going to be sick. I asked her if she was all right. She shook her head and grabbed her stomach. It was then I realized that she was WAY pregnant and that she wasn’t leaning over the sink to throw up but for support.

  Luckily, they’ve a couch there on this carpeted area, so I helped her over because she could barely walk. All the time she was moaning. I kept telling her it was going to be all right. It was obvious she was in labor, so I asked her how far along she was. She started crying and said she wasn’t due for three weeks. I told her not to worry, that her baby was just fine—that hundreds of babies are born safely at three weeks early. I noticed that her contractions were still about ten minutes apart so I knew there was still time to call an ambulance. But she clung to me and begged me not to leave her alone. An older lady came in then, and I told her to get a clerk to call an ambulance.

  They seemed to take a long time, but I stayed with her. I found out her name is April and that her husband was on a business trip to Texas. She doesn’t have any family here in California. Her contractions were five minutes apart when the ambulance finally arrived. She wouldn’t let go of my hand, so I went in the ambulance with her. I don’t know much about birth, but I did read about it in school. I taught her how to breathe through the contractions so they wouldn’t hurt so badly.

  By the time we were almost to the hospital, she said she felt like pushing. The paramedics were nervous, but I told them to get a doctor to meet us outside. We pulled up and the doctor jumped inside the ambulance with several nurses. A few pushes later the baby—a beautiful little girl—was out. Such an incredible miracle! They let April see the baby for a minute, heaped under a mound of warmed baby blankets someone had brought, and then they took them both inside. The baby had to be checked out, and April begged me to go with the baby and to bring her news. I came back in less than ten minutes and told her the baby was fine and that they were bringing her back to nurse. April started crying when they did. While she held her little one, she thanked me again and again, telling me that I was the best nurse anyone could ever have.

  I almost started crying. She’d said I was the best nurse. A nurse! That was exactly what I wanted to be. But somewhere along the way I got lost. I made up my mind in that minute. I still have my dad’s trust fund, and I am going back to school. I’m going to register tomorrow. I wish I could share my news with someone, but other than my roommates there is no one. For that, perhaps I am the only one to blame.

  Rays from the early morning sun splayed from the open kitchen window onto the white marble tabletop, making light patterns that varied as the curtains swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze. Liana bent over her work at the table, one hand tugging her hair and the other scribbling madly with a pencil. The pencil was always her choice for any work; she loved the feel of it in her hand and the way the dark lead marked up a stark sheet of white paper. More importantly, pencil marks could be easily erased, unlike mistakes in pen.

  She let her pencil fall and rapidly punched in numbers on the squarish calculator that she preferred over the one on her computer, hearing the satisfying movement of the paper as the machine printed her numbers in a neat column. Once again it struck her how predictable the numbers were—unlike a man who whisked a woman off to Wyoming, kissed her, and then disappeared into the night. Not like sisters who fought over the same man or parents who died in plane accidents.

  Scribbling in the last set of numbers, she sighed and pulled her hand from her hair, bringing several strands with it. “Done,” she said. All she had left to do was to type these numbers into the forms on the computer and go over the taxes with her new clients. Then she would be free for her flight on Wednesday. To start finding my mother. She felt frightened and shaky at the thought. What if she wasn’t able to learn anything? What if the information she obtained only made things worse?

  She had a strange and unreasonable urge to talk to Mercedes. What a stupid idea, she thought. Mercedes was nice—more than nice—but that didn’t mean they were suddenly sisters. But I should have had a sister—would have, if Clarissa hadn’t miscarried. Would having a sister make my life better? Fuller? Liana was sure it would have. A woman needs a sister.

  Reaching over to her computer mouse, she clicked on her e-mail program. Her arm cast shadows over the patterns of light on the tabletop. As the e-mail program connected to the Internet, she switched over to the files she had made for her clients and began typing in the
final numbers. For a fleeting moment, she wished she had used the new laptop Austin had lent her for the work at Goodman’s and HeartReach. No, she thought, that job’ll be over soon, and I have to make do with what I have. It wouldn’t be long until she could afford a better computer.

  She checked the e-mail that was still downloading and was surprised at the happiness she felt to see one from Mercedes. Eagerly, she clicked on it.

  Dear Liana,

  It was such a pleasure to meet you last week. I sincerely hope that we can stay in touch. I know it may sound strange to you, but from the moment we met, I felt I had found a kindred soul. You must come visit again, with or without that crazy brother of mine.

  Buttercup’s babies are doing great. The boys named them Syrup and Pancake, which tells you where their hearts are. Joseph and Scott are feeling much better now and have been out to the barn to see the goats and the new baby chicks. They drive the mother animals crazy!

  I’m beginning another quilt. I finished the other one and put it in Austin’s room. It’s much better than the old one he had there. I left your stitches in and hope you’ll come back to see that I did.

  Well, Wayne’s calling me to come out and see something. I think he’s gone and bought that white stallion I’ve had my eye on. I know I shouldn’t want a new horse, but he’s so beautiful and spirited. I can’t wait to ride him across our property! Wayne is such a thoughtful man. Liana, I so wish I could give him more. Just like you wish you could give your adoptive mother what she needs.

  Be good!

  Mercedes

  Liana looked down at her precise writing on the white papers in front of the computer, but the letters were unreadable charcoal smudges. She blinked her eyes hard to clear them, and the numbers came into focus. She hadn’t realized she had bared her soul so openly to Mercedes about her feelings toward Clarissa. Or had Mercedes, with her learning of psychology, retail management, animal medicine, and building contracting, managed to read between the lines for herself? The words of the e-mail touched a place inside her that she hadn’t even known existed. How she longed to be able to write a letter back, full of her hopes of the upcoming trip, of her contrasting feelings for Austin. But to do so would be to open herself further.