Three Little Words

“I loaded your luggage already,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. And you can store your equipment here if you want, so you don’t have to keep bringing it back and forth.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That’d be nice.”

“We’ll have everything tuned up for you,” he added. Then he looked a little embarrassed. “My parents own the ski shop too.”

Christy perked up and said to me, “Maybe next time we can buy you some better skis and boots.” Her own equipment was top of the line, while mine was entry-level stuff that my parents had given me years before. It was better than rental equipment, but not by much.

“I can help you pick it out,” Damon added helpfully.

I suppressed my inner skinflint and said, “Sounds like a plan.” Then I had to hide my annoyance at Christy, who had no concept of how much things cost. Money just appeared in her checking account when she needed it.

Still, I forced a smile and followed Damon as he led us out the back of the inn. At first I thought we were headed toward a detached part of the inn itself, but then I realized that his family’s house had been built to match.

Carolyn greeted us at the door and invited us inside. In the kitchen she introduced us to Damon’s fourteen-year-old sister, Alexa. She was a younger version of her mother, girlishly slim but with budding curves and the same large eyes, full lips, and golden hair. She could’ve passed for twenty, but I shook her hand politely and reminded myself that she was still a girl.

“I’m sorry my husband couldn’t be here,” Carolyn said. “He’s in

Washington on business.”

She and Christy chatted amiably as we ate. Damon was naturally quiet, but he came out of his shell as he grew more comfortable with me. We talked about flying and how I’d learned.

“We’re thinking of letting him take lessons,” Carolyn said. “So this is a good chance to see if he likes it.”

I could tell by his expression that it was a foregone conclusion, but she wasn’t convinced.

Christy brightened immediately. “Could you teach him, Paul?”

“The basics, yes. But I’m not a CFI. Sorry, a Certified Flight Instructor.

The airport will have a flying club, though. Someone there will be an instructor for sure. Probably several people.”

“We’ll check into it,” Carolyn said.

We lingered and talked after we finished eating. Christy and Carolyn already seemed like old friends, even though more than twenty years separated them. Not for the first time, I marveled at how my little blonde flower blossomed in social settings.

“We should probably head to the airport,” I said at last. “It gets dark early this time of year, and especially in the mountains.”

“Do you mind if we come with you?” Carolyn asked.

“No problem. The plane only seats four, but we—”

“I think she means just to the airport,” Christy said smoothly.

“Oh. Right.”

We cleared the table and then followed Damon to the large garage, which held a couple of snowmobiles in addition to the big Bronco. I’d thought it was his, but his mother handed him the keys and asked him to drive. He and I sat up front and mostly listened as Christy and Carolyn chatted in the back, with an occasional comment from Alexa.

At the airport the women stood back and watched while Damon and I walked around the plane and went through the preflight inspection. He remembered almost everything I’d told him two weeks before.

He grinned nervously as he sank into the seat beside me. I gave him the same speech I’d given Christy about what to touch, what not to, and what to do in an emergency. Then I handed him the little notebook already open to the pre-start and engine start checklists.

“Remember I told you that flying is a lot of habit and routine?”

He nodded.

“Well, this is part of it. Our lives depend on these checklists. You understand? Flying is a serious business for serious people.”

“Roger,” he said, in the same way I said it.

I suppressed a smile and then nodded at the card. “All right. Let’s go through the list.”

The ladies probably wondered what was taking us so long, but I wanted to make sure Damon followed along with each step.

“We’re ready,” I said at last. “Scan the surrounding area. If it’s clear, call

‘Clear prop!’ in a loud voice and turn the ignition to Start.”

He did, but then grew nervous when the engine turned over several times and didn’t catch immediately. The plane had been sitting cold for two days, so I wasn’t worried. I gently put my hand over his and held the key in the start position. The engine roared to life. He relaxed and gave me a shy grin.

“Good job,” I said through the intercom. “A plane is just like a person—it takes a while to get going on a cold day. Now, let’s wave to your mom.” We did. “Okay, scan the area one more time and we’ll taxi. Put your feet on the rudder pedals but don’t push. Just follow along as I move them. Also, put your hand here.” I pointed to the throttle. “I’ll move it, but I want you to feel what I’m doing. Okay?”

“Okay— err, I mean, roger.”