Flying High

by Gwynne Forster

  “You mean he—”

  “Right. He didn’t wake up the next morning.”

  He put an arm across her shoulder as he looked down at her. “Lena, why didn’t you try to get in touch with me? You had my cell phone number. Is there anything I can do? Are you out of pocket? I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  He didn’t remember having seen her so lacking in aplomb and, for once, she appeared to be speechless.

  “I was real upset, sir. Uncle Claude was a father to me from the time I was ten and my own father passed. Uncle Claude was the youngest of the six brothers and the last to go.” Moisture accumulated in her eyes, but she didn’t let herself shed tears. “Now my generation is out there in the front.”

  “Don’t dwell on that, Lena. Ricky and I are you family. I’m here for you.”

  “You know I thank you, sir.” She pulled off her hat and looked around and smiled. “Place is nice and neat. You know, Colonel, you got a lot to offer.” She walked over and faced him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but your generation is right after mine. You done any thinking about a mother for Ricky? He loves me, but, Colonel, you don’t call your mother ‘Miss,’ and he’ll soon know the difference.”

  He wanted to glare at her, but considering what she’d just been through, he thought it prudent to indulge her.

  “It may upset you to know this, but my sense of obligation to Ricky doesn’t extend to marrying for his sake, and while my appreciation for you is considerable, neither in breadth nor depth does it cover you meddlesomeness. Understand?” He patted her shoulder to soften the remark.

  “Pshaw!” she said, placing her hands at her hips. “With your parents and your brother gone and no women hanging around you—least not any that I know about—that leaves me the only person who can tell it to you exactly like it is.”

  “And you’re bound to do your duty. Right?”

  “Well, sir, duty ain’t something I ever shirked.”

  “Getting you to mind your business is like getting roosters to lay eggs.” Walking away from her, he glanced over his shoulder before she had time to wipe the grin off her face and realized that she enjoyed joshing him. “Would you call Audrey and ask her to bring Ricky home?”

  “Yes sir-ree. Right now.”

  He went to his room and closed the door. He wasn’t in the mood to do battle with his emotions, and he didn’t feel like going to bed hard and aching.

  About an hour later, he had reason to question his sanity. Ricky’s squeals made the house come alive, and an insane kind of madness skated through him. He jumped up from his desk chair, flung open his room door and dashed to the stairs, where he saw Ricky tugging at Audrey’s hand as if urging her to climb the stairs with him.

  “Unca Nelson. Unca Nelson,” Ricky yelled, dropping Audrey’s hand and running up the stairs to meet him. He held out his arms and the child sailed into them, giggling and hugging him—and teaching him the wonder and purity of a child’s love. As he held Ricky—his only living blood relative—to his chest, the measure of his love for the boy startled him, and he closed his eyes as he dealt with the moment.

  Ricky’s tugging at his necktie triggered a change in his mood, and he opened his eyes only to have his heart lurch when his gaze fell on Audrey, who watched them from where she stood several steps below them. His right hand gripped the bannister. All that she felt, needed and desired of him blanketed her face. If only he could know for certain that she wouldn’t let him down!

  “Hello, Audrey,” he managed at last. “Thanks for bringing Ricky home and for taking care of him.” He put Ricky on his feet.

  “Unca Nelson, I wanna show Audie my room.”

  “She’s seen your room, Ricky.”

  “But she didn’t see my harp.”

  “Yes, I did,” Audrey said. “Hello, Nelson. Keeping Ricky was a pleasure.”

  He looked down at the anxious expression on Ricky’s face. “I don’t see why Audrey can’t have a look at your harp. Ask her to come up.” He looked at Audrey, making sure that they understood each other. “I’ll be in my room. Got some work to do.”

  Pain shot through his neck and shoulders and, without thinking, he grabbed the top of his right shoulder, grimacing as he did so. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand it, but he didn’t see an alternative. Days would pass when he felt like a normal man, and then the gnawing ache, the piercing, stabbing, and pricking like hot arrows into his flesh would set in and torment him for a time. As soon as Audrey left the house, he’d take a hot shower and enjoy some relief.

  Unable to work as the pain intensified, he waited for Audrey to leave, for he didn’t want to meet her in the hall while only wearing a towel around his hips. The light tap on his door startled him; Ricky didn’t knock on his room door, but called out instead. He got up and went to open it.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “It isn’t wise, Audrey.”

  “I know, but you’re in pain, and I can give you some relief even if it’s only temporary.”

  He didn’t know how he would react if she put her hands on him. “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Are you telling me you’d rather suffer than use a little self-control?”

  She had to know he wouldn’t shy away from that kind of challenge. With a shrug of his right shoulder, he stared down at her. “Okay. Shoot your best shot. What do you want me to do?”

  He could see her professionalism asserting itself. “Pull off your shirt and stretch out on that bed facedown.”

  He walked toward the bed and began pulling off his shirt. Then, for some unfathomable reason, he began to laugh.

  “What amuses you?” she asked, obviously nettled.

  “I was thinking about the legion of non-commissioned Marines who at one time or another would have liked to say that or something similar to me.” He stretched out. “Darling, please be gentle.” The words barely escaped his lips before he sat upright, shaking with laughter.

  “It never occurred to me that you’re a nut,” she said. “Lie down.”

  He thought he would fly out of his skin when she straddled his hips. Her fingers began their magic, kneading, pressing and massaging until the tension and pain began to ease and he had to fight off the urge to sleep.

  “It’s okay to sleep,” she said. “It means you’ve relaxed. You’ll feel better now.” She moved from him, leaving him bereft of her warmth and nearness.

  “I can’t thank you enough. I feel like a different man.”

  “Stay there for a while and rest.” Her voice seemed to drift away, and he realized that she was leaving the room. “I’m going to call you this evening, because I have something important to say to you. Bye.”

  He heard Ricky at the door, got up, and opened it. “Unca Nelson, Audie said I can learn how to play my harp. I want to.”

  “I’ll get a teacher for you, but you may be too young. That harp is big. Why don’t we start with the piano? I’ll teach you.”

  Ricky’s eyes, so like those of his brother Joel, beseeched him. “Then can I learn the harp?”

  “Yes.”

  “One of my friends at day school wants to come play with me. Can she, Unca Nelson? Can she?”

  A girl, huh? “Of course. Where does she live?”

  “Down the street.” Ricky rubbed the side of his head. “Her daddy works in Washington. She gave me her phone number.”

  “You know it?”

  “It’s 287-6199, and her name’s Stacey.”

  He nodded. This business with females must be a Wainwright curse. “All right. We’ll call her later,” he said, wondering what he’d do when Ricky reached puberty.”

  “What’s her last name, Ricky?” He wanted to know something about the girl’s family. Not that he was a snob, but given his high-security work, he could
n’t be too careful.

  “I don’t know, Unca Nelson.”

  Down the street, huh? He believed in walking carefully and, if he could manage it, leaving nothing to chance.

  “Come on, son,” he said. “Let’s go for a ride. We’ll be back shortly,” he called to Lena.

  Nelson headed his black BMW in the direction Ricky indicated. “You know Stacey’s house?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s big and red, and it’s got a white lion in the grass. That’s it right there, Unca Nelson.”

  He noted the number, about three good blocks from his home, made a U-turn and drove past it at greatly reduced speed so as to read the name on the door. Petin. Hmm. He thought of the World War II French general and traitor, Marshall Henri Pétain, and wondered about the spelling of the two names. Maybe it was nothing, but that name didn’t fit with Stacey.

  “You sure that’s the house?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hoping to divert Ricky’s thoughts from Stacey, he drove to the Old Town and bought them each double cones of strawberry ice cream. Caught up in Ricky’s delight in sitting at an open air-café, eating ice cream and watching a Ferris wheel in the distance, his mind settled on them as a family.

  I don’t spend enough time with Ricky, he said to himself. If I want him to have my values, I have to be the one who teaches him about life.

  But what about your compulsion to get back into action overseas? a niggling voice taunted. He would worry about that when he had to.

  “Let’s go, buddy. Your Uncle Nelson has some work to do.”

  At home, he polished his report and checked it for errors. Satisfied, he printed it out on his office stationery, locked it in his drawer and went downstairs to the kitchen where he found Lena and Ricky watching Sesame Street.

  “When that’s over, we’ll start your piano lessons,” he said to Ricky. “I’ll be downstairs.” Minutes later, Chopin’s “Polonaise” filled the room as he lost himself in the music that flowed from his fingers.

  “Am I gonna be able to play like that, Unca Nelson?”

  He hadn’t heard Ricky enter. “Of course you will. You can do anything you want to do if you work hard and play by the rules.”

  “Gee. Can I start now?”

  He slid over, placed the child’s right thumb on middle C and began the lesson. Two hours passed, and neither of them noticed until Lena stepped into the room.

  “I’ve been calling y’all for the past thirty minutes. My dinner’s gonna taste like it came out of the freezer.” She grasped Ricky’s hand and started up the stairs. “Did you like your piano lessons?”

  “I sure did, and soon as I learn, I’m gonna teach Audie how to play.”

  Climbing the stairs behind the two of them and hearing Ricky’s cocky comment, Nelson couldn’t help reminiscing about his youth, times when he thought the world was his and he could accomplish anything he put himself to. Suddenly, he laughed aloud, acquainting himself with a new kind of happiness, the joy men know when an inner light illumined them. Maybe God would be good to him, and he could have his four silver stars, his family and a woman who loved him.

  * * *

  At that same time, Audrey sat on her back porch, swinging and looking at the fireflies. Very few came out that evening, and she missed the swarm that usually entertained her. Clouds soon covered the moon and stars, and the wind strengthened to cool the air. She could almost smell the coming rain. Rolling thunder sounded in the distance, then closer and closer, and when the first lightning streaked through the sky along with the cracking sound of a million revolvers, she ran inside. Since childhood, she had feared the sound of thunder and the lightning that accompanied it and now, childlike, she sought the safety of her bed.

  For nearly an hour the elements tested their power, immobilizing her. When the storm passed, drained and disgusted that at age thirty she still couldn’t cope with it, she showered and got ready for bed. She had promised to call Nelson, but wasn’t quite up to the inner battle that was bound to entail, so she procrastinated a little longer.

  When the phone rang, she answered it immediately, thinking it might be one of her sisters calling to console her about the storm.

  “Hello.” The brightness of her voice surprised her, as she had thought herself melancholy.

  “Hello. This is Nelson. You said you wanted to speak with me about a matter of importance. Change your mind?”

  “Hi. I was...uh...waiting for the storm to pass.”

  “It passed half an hour ago. Ricky sends his love to you.”

  At the tip of her tongue were the words what about you? Fortunately, she had the presence of mind not to utter them. “He’s a wonderful child. He was here with me only four days, but I miss him. This place is really dull since I took him home.”

  “Yeah. He’s changing my life.” She thought she detected a wistfulness in his voice.

  “Is that because you’re responsible for him?”

  “Only in part, and a small part at that. I never loved a child before. Oh well, what did you want to tell me?”

  “Nelson, I want to plead with you to get an MRI or a CAT scan—”

  He interrupted, as she’d known he would. “Look, I’m handling it, so—”

  “That’s the problem. You are not handling it, and what is worse, you can’t handle it. What I felt this afternoon didn’t appear to me to be a whiplash. I bet anything you don’t have a whiplash, but the only way to be certain is to look inside. Why do you risk permanent damage that could alter your life and your lifestyle? I can envisage problems there that, if not treated, could eventually cost you your life.”

  “You don’t think you’re overstating this?”

  “I gave you my professional judgment. If you want more, I care about you, and it pains me to think of what you’re suffering now and how much worse it will be if you don’t get it treated.”

  “Look, I appreciate your concern and your help, too, Audrey, but I’m doing the best I can right now.”

  “Is that your last word on the subject?”

  “Unless fate decrees otherwise. Yes.”

  “Well, that was the reason why I was going to call you, so I’m turning in. Good night.”

  “Good night?” It sounded as if he screamed it. “Hell, woman, can’t you kiss a guy. You’re just hanging up?”

  Taken aback, she hesitated. “I can do that, but honey, I don’t get a kick out of teasing myself. And knowing what you can do to a kiss, that would be torture.”

  “It’ll torture both of us. Open your mouth.” She parted her lips, closed her eyes and let him have his way with her. “Can’t you taste my hunger and this awful need I have to explore every centimeter of your mouth and every facet of your body?”

  She shook herself out of the trance into which he seduced her. “You listen to me, Nelson. You say you don’t want to get involved with me. Sex, you would like maybe, but definitely without emotional attachment. Well, buddy, if you’re not going to mow my lawn, leave my lawn mower a-lone. And don’t forget both of us can play the game of seduction.”

  “I’m sorry if you’re ticked off because I let you use your imagination. You weren’t alone. And as for my liking the sex, baby, so would you. Now let’s not hurt each other. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know. It’s so frustrating.”

  “Tell me about it. We’ll talk again soon.”

  “We will. ’Night.”

  She replaced the receiver with slow hands. Nobody could convince her that she and Nelson weren’t headed for a powerful combustion, and she was equally sure that Nelson was hiding something. And he would pay a price for it. An awesome price.

  * * *

  At work that Monday morning, Nelson had much on his mind. Flushed with the plaudits of the Commandant and fellow officers following his rep
ort on the MEU, he went to his office to think about Stacey Petin. Stacey, whose first and last names didn’t match. Realizing that he could start something to which there might not be an end, he dialed an officer in the National Security Service.

  “Checkmate, Marilyn. This is Nelson,” he said, having signaled her to secure their conversation.

  “Hi there. What’s up?”

  He related his concern. “The child didn’t ask if my boy could visit her, but rather if she could visit him. Most kids want their friends to come to their house. I have no reason for suspicion, except that those names don’t make sense to me. Maybe it’s nothing, but these days I turn around if a long shadow approaches me from behind.”

  “And you are smart to do it. I’ll check this out on the Q.T. As you say, it may be nothing. Be in touch.”

  “Thanks.” After noting the conversation in his daily log, he dictated three letters to his secretary and went to lunch.

  “Mind if I join you?” a colonel with a chestful of Kosovo arena ribbons asked him.

  He nodded. “Glad for the company, man. You here for a while?”

  “A couple of years, maybe. My wife isn’t well, so I won’t ask for overseas duty and I doubt the wigs will ask me to go.”

  Nelson had never developed the habit of nicknaming his superiors, and he raised an eyebrow at the use of the term “wigs.” “With those battle ribbons on your chest, you shouldn’t have to go anywhere unless you ask. I hope your wife’s health improves.”

  “Thanks. She’s coming along. By the way, I hear Rupe Holden’s being transferred back here from Afghanistan. I figure somebody thinks it’s been too quiet around here and things have been going too smoothly. Holden will definitely change that.”

  Fortunately, Charlie Wills couldn’t see the rapid acceleration of his heartbeat and couldn’t feel the chills that raced through him. Lieutenant Colonel Rupert Holden lurked between him and his next promotion the way a river creeps along between shores. You could cross it, but you’d better have a solid boat. He didn’t welcome the man’s presence as a constant reminder that he teetered toward the abyss of failure.