by Tory Cates
“Hi, and welcome back to the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta,” Lowry said, turning on his patented folksy charm. “We have with us Archer Hanson, the owner and pilot of Cloud Waltzer II, the solar balloon you saw earlier in the program when we ran the footage of its crash landing yesterday.” He pivoted toward Archer. “Archer, that was some pretty spectacular maneuvering. How were you feeling yesterday about the time you saw those power lines coming at you?”
“Well, Matt,” Archer answered as casually as if he were sitting on a bar stool next to the exalted personality, “I’ll tell you, I was wishing fervently that we all had converted to solar energy years ago so that we wouldn’t have all those lines strung across the countryside.”
Meredith was astounded by Archer’s joking easiness.
“But seriously,” he continued, “our ‘unplanned’ landing hasn’t diminished my enthusiasm for solar ballooning one bit. And just as soon as we get that absorptive covering right, I’ll be back up there again.” He paused and turned to Meredith, without glancing at Lowry, and said, “You might want to ask Ms. Meredith Tolliver, a noted business writer, who was my passenger yesterday, how she feels about the experience.”
Meredith couldn’t believe it—“noted business writer”—Archer had given her a plug on national television!
Lowry, who was trying to disguise his irritation at having lost control of his own program, asked, “Are you equally as enthusiastic about solar ballooning?”
“As Mr. Hanson?” Meredith asked, feeling suddenly shy about calling him Archer, as if the intimacy between them might be revealed if she spoke the name that was so dear to her. “I might be somewhat less of an advocate than he is, but let me put it this way: Ballooning is a rhapsody, and solar ballooning is a rhapsody in which the orchestra doesn’t stop and tune up every few minutes. It’s the ultimate uplifting experience.”
Archer’s laugh floated, rich and warm, on the desert air. “I guess it’s easy to see why she’s such a respected writer, isn’t it, Matt?”
“Yes, it certainly is,” Lowry babbled. He was by now clearly disconcerted at having a guest who wasn’t intimidated either by his celebrity status or by the TV camera’s cyclopic eye.
The assistant was flagging a hand signal to Lowry telling him to wrap it up. He mumbled a few inanities to Archer and Meredith about how pleased he was to have had them as guests on his program. He wished Archer good luck with the solar balloon, then the camera’s red eye blinked off, and Matthew Lowry hustled off to the security of his mobile dressing room.
“ ‘Ultimate uplifting experience.’ ‘Rhapsody,’ ” Archer crowed, quoting Meredith’s words back to her. “You were fantastic!”
“I guess, for an on-the-spot improvisation, it wasn’t bad,” Meredith admitted. “I was inspired by your attitude. You acted like you were talking to just any old Joe off the street.”
“Who says I wasn’t?” Archer asked.
They were laughing when Phil, out of breath, ran up to them to ask, “Archer, there you are, are you going up for the Key Grab?”
“Key Grab?” Meredith interjected. “What’s that?”
“A dealership in town has donated a car,” Phil replied, stumbling over his words in his haste to get the answer out. “The keys are taped to the top of a twenty-foot pole. Whoever can grab them gets the car. What do you say, Arch? It starts in half an hour.”
“Would you like to go up with him, Meredith? Phil could pilot and you could grab.”
Meredith was impressed by Archer’s thoughtfulness. “Now what would I do with a new car when I have such a splendid vehicle already?” she admonished him teasingly. “No, you pilot, Archer, and, if I’m not mistaken, you could probably talk Phil into going along as your grabber.”
“How about it, Phil?”
“I thought you’d never ask!” Phil whooped. “Let’s hustle. Lift-off is at eight o’clock and we have to be two miles from the pole,” he said, already charging off toward the pickup that had Cloud Waltzer loaded in the back.
“Wait for me?” Archer asked, squeezing Meredith’s hand. Then he was loping after Phil, his loose, long-legged stride gobbling up the dusty distance.
Behind Meredith, the PA crackled to life. “Last call for entries in this year’s Key Grab,” a twangy, country-accented voice announced. “Pilots, please assemble at the field two miles directly northwest. This is your last call.
“For all you spectators, the competition will be starting in just twenty-five minutes. Should be a little tricky today because we’ve got some crosswinds kicking up. But that’s just part of the challenge. It’ll take a really top-notch pilot to maneuver a balloon within grabbin’ distance of that pole . . .”
Meredith drifted away from the center of activity toward the concession booths housing a variety of Fiesta merchandise. One booth in particular caught her eye. It was filled with stained glass renditions of balloons. Early morning sunlight shot through the saucer-sized disks, bringing their gemstone colors to sparkling life. She was enchanted, wandering through the booth with the tiny balloons bobbing above her head like the glitteringly exotic fruit of a fairy-tale tree.
She couldn’t resist the vibrant dots of color and purchased one in ruby and emerald. She’d hang it in her bedroom window as a symbol. The bright orb would stand for the new life she’d embarked upon, a life that would float free of the emotional weights that had kept her low for so long.
Outside the booth, Meredith took the piece out of the flannel drawstring bag it was packed in and held it up to the full force of the sun. It vibrated with eye-piercing color. Its brilliance seemed to mirror Meredith’s internal state. Fighting against the pessimism and dark expectations that had been her companions for so long, she prayed that the joyous colors would never fade.
“It’s exactly eight o’clock, folks,” the announcer twanged. “The first balloons ought to have started inflating by now. While we’re waiting for them to reach us, let’s go over the rules: Balloons can’t inflate until eight o’clock. They have to take off at least two miles from the pole. There can only be two persons in the basket. Each balloon gets only one try at the keys. And most important, the person grabbing for the key must at all times have both feet on the floor of the basket.”
Meredith fell in with the crowd that was flowing toward the pole with a set of brand-new car keys glittering at its summit. She thought of Phil’s open, freckled face beaming expectantly and of his long waits in freezing rain and blistering sun at the bus stop and hoped that their late start wouldn’t be an insurmountable handicap. Meredith’s hopes nose-dived, however, when she saw the first balloon come into view. It was a great wobble of zigzagging color. A large pack of balloons hotly pursued it. Cloud Waltzer was not among them.
“Here they come now,” the announcer said. “And they’re all right on course.”
The balloons swelled in apparent size as they drifted unerringly toward Meredith and ever closer to the pole planted in the middle of the field. Surely one of the pack would snatch away the prize before Phil and Archer even had a chance at it.
“Uh-oh.” The announcer intoned the syllables of distress as the three leading balloons veered off to the west. “Looks like some of our leaders have been blown off course.”
The three balloons all tried different strategies, firing up the burners to gain altitude or letting their crafts sink, all hoping to hit an air current moving in a different direction. None succeeded. The balloons trailing them were also adjusting their altitudes, trying to avoid the western current that was taking them all out of reach.
“That’s a balloon called Plum Crazy,” the announcer informed the crowd. “Up there high on your right.”
Meredith followed his direction to a purple plum of a balloon.
“And that’s Cherries Jubilee just behind it.”
A balloon striped in hot pink and cherry red bobbed into view.
“Looks like we’ve got a danged fruit basket up there today. There’s Orange Fiz
z and the Grape Escape coming at you now.”
Meredith delighted in the image of a giant floating fruit basket scattered across the sky. But the whimsical names and luscious colors were no match for the capricious west wind that kept blowing all the contenders away from their goal. Then a blazing orb of fire red and flame orange appeared on the horizon far below the others. Like a plane flying low to avoid radar detection, the balloon was skimming the earth to stay beneath the sabotaging air current. Though it was still off in the distance, it was coming in straight and true.
As it entered the zone where the west wind had batted all the other pilots out of the running, the fiery balloon didn’t waver. It was coming into the home stretch without any more complications ahead. Meredith sighed, thinking of Phil’s disappointment.
“Looks like we’ve got a winner, folks. That’s Hot Flash out of Houston. Funny thing, the pilot and his passenger are co-owners of a Cadillac dealership down Houston way.”
Meredith groaned to herself. A Cadillac dealership. There was no justice in the world.
“That nasty west wind doesn’t seem to be able to touch Hot Flash,” the announcer continued. “She ducked under it and is heading right this way with no competition in sight. Whoops, appears I spoke too soon. I was so busy staring straight ahead that I didn’t notice this aeronaut off to your right.”
Meredith tilted her head in the direction the announcer had mentioned and there, appearing like the mythical creature it represented, was the cloud white unicorn galloping across an empty sky. Unlike all the other pilots, Archer was approaching from the east. The cobalt blue Sandias loomed behind him and the west wind that had foiled all the others was acting as his ally, blowing him right across the spectators’ field of view, right toward the pole!
“That’s Archer Hanson’s Cloud Waltzer and it’s coming in mighty fast. We could have a dead heat shaping up here!” the announcer shouted, expressing the taut emotion that had gripped the crowd at the unexpectedly dramatic finale.
Only when a jolt of pain shot through her did Meredith become aware that she was chewing her knuckle in a classically melodramatic display of nervousness. She managed to suppress that gesture, but when the majestic unicorn dipped low enough that she could make out Phil’s gangly frame leaning out of the basket, she couldn’t help screaming, “Come on, Cloud Waltzer!”
She feared that her cheering scream was futile. Hot Flash was coming up fast and sure on the pole. The passenger in the red and orange balloon stretched out as the balloon came within yards of the keys, then drew abreast of them. The passenger leaned even farther over the rim of the basket until his belly was hanging over the rim.
“Remember,” the announcer cautioned, repeating the familiar rule, “all four feet in the basket must remain on the floor at all times.”
Hearing the warning, the grabber slid back into the basket. But even if he’d remained illegally stretched out, he couldn’t have reached the elusive keys. For even as the keys appeared within their grasp, the ineluctable west wind was finding the sails of their ship and blowing it ever farther away from the prize.
That same wind, ridden by a different captain, put the treasure within easy grasp. Meredith saw the disbelieving delight spread across Phil’s broad face as Archer eased Cloud Waltzer in for a winning pass and Phil grabbed the glinting keys to his new car. The crowd broke the bonds of its hushed silence, bursting into wild applause.
“Now, that was one demonstration of exceptional piloting,” the announcer congratulated Archer. “And that’s the point of this event. It’s a test of a pilot’s ability to read and ride wind currents. Today’s challenge was especially tough, but we had a pilot and crew who were equal to it—Archer Hanson and Phil Edwards.”
The announcer’s voice faded as Meredith joined the crowd surging toward the spot where Archer was putting down. She was as thrilled as she’d been the first time she’d seen him at the helm of his sky ship. His movements were so sure, so masterful. Just watching him, his authoritative maleness, Meredith felt her insides melt into a warm, slushy puddle at the pit of her stomach.
“Meredith, can you believe it!” Phil broke into her transporting reverie, dangling the silver keys in front of her face. He looked at the keys as if he expected them to vanish in a puff of smoke.
Meredith wrapped the exuberant sophomore in a congratulatory hug that caused him to redden in happy embarrassment.
Archer turned from shaking the hands held out to him and joined Meredith and Phil.
“Well, Archer, shall we go down to the lot and pick up our car?” Phil asked proudly.
“Your car,” Archer corrected him.
“Mine?” Phil questioned. “What do you mean? Do you want me to buy out your half?”
“There’s no half to buy. It’s all yours, Phil. I only went along for the ride.”
“You were the ride,” Phil exploded. Turning to Meredith, he burbled on excitedly, “You should have seen him. I kept wanting to take off, to be in that first wave of balloons. But Archer just stayed put, studying them. He watched them and calculated the currents from their courses. Then, when we did take off, Archer went up way higher than anyone else until we caught an east wind that took us out toward the Sandias, off to the side of the field. Then he brought her down until we hit the west wind that was messing everybody else up and it just brought us in neat as anything.” Phil shook his head and held the keys out to Archer. “No, you won that car. You deserve it.”
Archer balled up his fist around Phil’s, pressing the keys into the young man’s hand, and declared sternly, “It’s yours, Phil. I never would have even entered. You keep it. Besides, I don’t need the hassle on my income tax return. How do you file a car you grabbed out of the sky?”
Meredith watched Archer’s grin infect Phil as he took back the keys. She knew that many observers would have concluded that Archer’s generosity was merely a function of his wealth. But she knew better. She’d seen too many wealthy men who were far stingier than any hard-pressed working person to believe that wealth equaled generosity. Chad came to mind, and the embarrassingly meager tips he always left when they went out and he picked up the tab. Tips she invariably supplemented.
“Can I treat the winner to breakfast?” Archer asked.
The agreement was unanimous.
After the balloon had been carefully stowed away and arrangements made for Phil to claim his prize, the three of them found a cozy restaurant that specialized in Mexican breakfasts.
“I am famished,” Phil announced as they sat down in the sunny restaurant. “I think I’ll just order the entire right side of the menu.”
Meredith’s laughter was cut short by the realization that she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Far more alarming than that, however, was the awareness that she wasn’t even particularly hungry. Meredith had to force herself to make a selection when the waitress came by.
Her anxiety swelled as she watched Phil and Archer attack their meals with uninhibited relish. She looked down at her plate of huevos rancheros and could only appreciate on a visual level the artful blend of red and green chiles crowned with melting golden cheese. Her stomach had tightened into a hard knot that repelled food. It was frighteningly reminiscent of the awful days not long enough ago when the mere sight of food could induce panic in her. Back then, food had been inextricably linked in her mind with the illogical vision she’d cultivated of herself as an undisciplined blob.
She intercepted the concerned look that shadowed Archer’s face as he watched her toying with her food. It was a look she’d seen before on her father’s face. The familiarity of it sent icy chills digging into her belly.
“Anything wrong with your eggs?” Archer asked in a tone that was just a bit too determinedly casual.
“Too hot,” Meredith answered hurriedly, forking up a biteful. She transferred it to her resisting mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Good. They’ve cooled.”
Mechanically, she shoveled in several more bites. It felt lik
e those grim times after she’d finally gone for therapy and had to learn to eat again like a normal person. The whole time, she’d had to battle her terror that each bite would be the first in an unstoppable binge. Gradually that fear had subsided and, with excruciating effort, she’d reestablished normal eating patterns.
Were they crumbling now? she wondered darkly. Was the whole hideous nightmare starting again?
Chapter 10
After they dropped Phil off at the car dealership where a mob of reporters and his new car waited, Archer drove Meredith home.
“Can you believe that it’s only been one week since we met?” he asked. “I wish we could spend the whole day celebrating our anniversary. Preferably in bed.” He brought her hand to his lips.
“Sounds like a capital idea to me,” Meredith joked only half-kiddingly. It was stunning to realize that she’d known the man beside her for only seven short, transforming days. For the first time in her life she could understand the stories she’d always considered outrageous before of people who met and married within the same week. Marriage? The idea flickered like a dangerous flame in the corner of her mind. It was a flame that could either rage out of control, destroying everything in its path, or it could light comfortable fires that warmed and illuminated the lives of the lucky ones. She chased the notion from her mind. She had never been one of the “lucky ones.”
“Unfortunately,” Archer continued, “I’ll have to spend the next two days in Antonito doing an on-site inspection and hammering out some labor problems.”
Meredith winced at his word choice. It evoked memories of her notorious great-grandfather, the robber baron. “Hammering? What kind of problems are you having at the mine? I suppose I should know for the article.” It seemed odd bringing up the professional reason that had served as the catalyst for their coming together.
“I’d really rather the mine wasn’t mentioned at all in any article.”