Three Little Words

“I hope he’s all right,” Anne said.

“Do you need to stay here another day?” Harold asked. “Or fly to Nashville instead?”

Anne said, “It sounds like they’re taking good care of him.”

“Taking care of who?” Christy asked when she entered the kitchen with her overnight bag. Her eyes went round when I told her. “Oh my gosh. I hope he’s okay.”

“Sounds like he’s fine,” I said. “They’re just running some tests to be sure.”

“You should probably stay here,” Harold said, “close to the phone.”

I didn’t glare at him, but only through concerted willpower.

“They have a phone in the cabin,” Anne said. “You heard him say so, dear.”

“I know. But the lines might be down. We know they can reach him here.”

“They’ll be able to reach him there, too. Christine, dear, finish bringing your things and we’ll take you to the airport.”

Christy looked from her mother to her father.

“I’ll help,” I said. “How much more do you have?”

She winced guiltily. “Another suitcase and two more bags. But the extras are my skis and boots!”

“You’re a little thing,” I chuckled, “but you don’t travel like it.”

I’d rented a Comanche 260 from one of the big San Diego flying clubs, which was a huge eye-opener compared to mine in Knoxville. Earl Walker ran a sleepy little FBO, but the one at Montgomery Field was a major operation, a bustle of people, planes, and activity.

Harold and Anne walked out to the plane with us, and I could almost feel him working up to an objection. I did my best to ignore him as I loaded everything into the baggage compartment and then stowed our ski bags in the rear seat.

I forgot about Harold completely as I went through the plane’s familiar preflight routine. It was longer and slightly faster than the one I was used to, but not so much that I needed a check ride, which was why I’d chosen it.

“I’m impressed,” he said when I finished.

“Thank you. But… what did you expect?”

“I’ve never flown general aviation,” he admitted. “The boys did, but… I wasn’t around for most of it.” He glanced guiltily at his wife, who smiled and let him off the hook.

“It’s slower and less complicated than a fighter jet,” I said, “but just as serious.”

“I can see that.”

“He’s a very good pilot, Daddy. I told you.”

“They’ll be fine, dear,” Anne said. “They’ll call us when they arrive, to let us know they made it safely.”

“We will,” I promised. “Our flight should take about four hours. We’ll have light winds and twenty miles visibility the whole way. Traffic’ll be heavy until we leave the San Diego airspace, but you know that.”

He nodded. Even if he didn’t fly himself anymore, he was Commander of Naval Air Forces in the Pacific, so I was pretty sure he had a good idea of the volume of air traffic in the area.

I watched his expression as he assessed his options to stop us from going to Tahoe alone together. He realized he couldn’t, so he gave in gracefully and told us to have fun, but not too much fun. Anne covered a smile at the last part.

“All right,” he said to her, “let’s get off the flight line. We can watch from back there.”

“The FBO’s the best place,” I said. “You can listen to the radio and hear when we taxi and get our takeoff clearance.”

“Roger that,” he said. He glanced at the plane’s call letters so he’d know what to listen for.

They headed back toward the building, while I helped Christy onto the plane’s wing and then climbed after her. Startup and taxi were mostly routine, although the airport was a lot busier than I was used to. We were sixth in line for takeoff, and I actually chuckled at having to wait.

Eventually it was our turn, and the plane accelerated smoothly when I pushed the throttle forward. We lifted into the air and the gear retracted with a soft whine and thump. I waggled the wings to Christy’s parents and then turned onto our departure vector. We were on our way.

The Olympic Valley taxi pulled to a stop in front of an A-frame cabin with steps leading up to the entryway. Several cords of firewood were stacked under a tarp nearby, and the patio furniture was an irregular snow-covered mound next to the house. The keys were supposed to be in a magnetic box under one of the chairs. I asked the driver to wait while I pulled back the tarp, found them, and opened the door. Then I paid him and carried our things inside.

The house was dark and cold and smelled slightly damp, but the lights came on when I flipped the switch, and the telephone had a dial tone. The decor looked like it hadn’t been updated in a couple of decades, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Well,” I said to Christy, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s cozy. And definitely private.”

I grinned. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“No, Mr. Horndog. Later. We have all night.”

“Mmm, all night.”

“Oh, behave.”

“Right. Then if we’re going to be all practical and everything, let’s take a quick tour, see what we have in the way of supplies, and walk to the grocery store before it gets dark.”