Twin Engines

Jack opened his eyes, raising his gaze to the clear blue Oregon sky.
He clicked the shoulder straps in place, raised his finger to the ignition switch and
pressed.
Jack listened to the low synchronized charge of both engines for the second time in less
than an hour.
The long silver blades cranked over until vanishing.
John and Amy dropped their playing cards.
Jack checked the wind direction calculating its strength, visualizing how it might affect
his takeoff. He gently eased up on the brakes and pushed the throttle, guiding the Baron onto the
gravelly strip, then picked up the radio microphone.
His voice crackled through the radio on the porch. “This is Baron One One Nine Five
Fiver, approaching runway South Kelley, requesting takeoff. Over.”
“Oh, My, Gosh! Dad’s going to do it!” Amy cried out.
John quickly leaned over to the table, snatching the radio transmitter. “Baron One One
Nine Five Fiver, your request for takeoff has been granted. Proceed at your command. Over.”
Jack double checked to make sure his heels were firmly on the floor to avoid touching the
brakes, then centered the yoke and pushed the throttle full forward and gave her hell.
John sprang up, jubilantly waving his hat in the air.
Jack listened to the powerful engines thunder down the runaway in perfect harmony. The
plane jerked slightly reminding him to ease up on the rudder pedals, as they would become more
sensitive as the airspeed increased. He pulled the nose up just a few degrees above the horizon,
keeping one eye on the vertical speed indicator and climbed about a hundred feet, aligning the

100

Baron with the runway. He focused on the tall evergreen trees at the end of the strip rapidly
growing closer and he lowered his flaps slightly, reducing his stall speed.

He had to tell himself to breathe as he pulled back the yoke, his stomach rushing upward
to the back of his head.

He was up, clearing the trees by only a few feet.
The plane wobbled like ice cubes tumbling to the bottom of a whisky glass. He made a
slight correction to the stabilizer leveling the Baron, and left the dusty airstrip behind.
Jack soared over the forest like an eagle leaving the nest for the first time and felt the
anchor of fear fall freely to the ground. He banked to the left, then right, following the bending
Columbia River, cautiously guiding his bird towards the mountains, his confidence building with
every rotation of the twin propellers.

############

Jack landed safely and was over the moon, convinced he’d slain his dragon.
With his confidence fully restored his apprehension to fly the Baron was now nothing
more than wasted time. As John put it, ‘Jack was back in the saddle again.’
He was energized, anxious to start a new adventure, the journey he now whole-heartedly
committed himself to. There were no excuses. He had the time, the map, and an airplane he
would fly… alone. He could leave at any time, but not before he had a few questions answered.
“Have you tried searching Google, Dad?” Amy asked.
“No, that’s a good idea.”

101

Amy cozied up on the Pendleton rug in front of the fireplace with her laptop. Jack nestled
beside her and watched as she tap-danced her fingers across the keyboard until the Google
homepage appeared on the screen.

“Okay Dad, I’m logged on. What would you like to find out?”
Jack was tempted to tell Amy about the mysterious email. Now would have been as good
a time as any, but he made the decision to wait.
“Let’s start with Lake Michigan? Have there been any small planes recovered in the last
twenty years?”
“Okay, let’s type Lake Michigan plane accidents,” she said.
In seconds the computer screen was filled with information.
LAKE MICHIGAN AIRPLANE CRASH

SMALL PLANE GOES DOWN IN ICE COLD LAKE MICHIGAN

MILITARY PLANE CRASHES INTO LAKE MICHIGAN

PILOT’S BODY PULLED FROM LAKE MICHIGAN

“Let’s read this one,” Jack pointed to the file marked “PLANE GOES DOWN IN
MICHIGAN.”

A single engine plane crashed into Lake Michigan last Sunday evening off Chicago’s
South shore. Rescuers pulled one person from the waters alive. The pilot is still missing.

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Amy clicked the next page.
ONE SURVIVOR ONE MISSING IN SMALL AIRPLANE CRASH IN LAKE
MICHIGAN
One man disappeared into the chilly waters of Lake Michigan. The plane’s only
passenger, a fifty-seven-year-old Minnesota male, and the missing pilot, also believed to be in
his fifties, struggled to swim to shore together but were separated.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not going to fly across the lake are you?”
Jack heard the immeasurable concern waver through her voice and closed the laptop.
“No. I won’t do that.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good.” Amy’s distress instantly vanished. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“John’s not going with you because of his leg, right?”
“You know that.”
“I was thinking…” She started to say.
Jack read his daughter’s angelic face knowing what was coming next. “Oh no, don’t even
think about it, Amy.”
“But, Dad…?”

103

“But nothing. The answer is ‘no’ and that’s final,” he said, adding a small log to the
dying flame.

“Dad, you don’t even know what I was about to say.”
“Whatever it was, the answer is still no.”
“That’s not fair. You should try to be more reasonable. Let me ask the question at least.
You’ve always said it never hurts to ask.”
For a second Jack thought his daughter might make a good lawyer when she grew up.
“You’re right. That was rude of me. Go ahead and ask, but the answer is still no,” he said,
closing the screen and moving back beside her.
“Dad,” she moaned. “Free your mind!”
Jack nearly laughed out loud but managed to hold on. “Okay, you win. I’m sorry I
interrupted. You have the floor.”
Amy took her time, carefully choosing her words to build her case. “John isn’t going to
go with you because of his leg. You were probably thinking you’d have to fly alone, right?”
“I hadn’t really thought about that part yet, but yes, that sounds about right.”
“What if I go with you?” She said, adding a toothy grin to sweeten the deal.
“Amy, I know you mean well,” he started to say.
Amy set the laptop aside. “Dad, you just can’t go by yourself. You just can’t. You’ll need
help following the maps or charts or whatever. I could be the navigator. Think how lonely you’re
going to be flying all that way by yourself. You’d have no one to talk to, or to eat with for days.
I’m getting sad just thinking about it,” she frowned, a little too much.

104

Despite her overacting Jack thought she made a good point. An extra pair of eyes and
someone to keep him company would be helpful.

Sensing she was making headway Amy contained her smile and pushed on. “Just think,
Dad, it would give us time to bond. It’s summer vacation. Most kids want to go to Disneyland,
go shopping or hang out at the beach. I want to fly across the country with my dad in an old
airplane. Think about it, Dad, it could be educational.”

“Educational? Oh, you’re good. Want to try to sell me a bridge?”
“Dad, I’m serious. I want to go with you. I want to spend time with you. I want to find
out about the grandpa I never had.”
“You want to find out about your grandpa?” Jack asked, appreciating the pure
determination his daughter was displaying.
“Yes I do, sure as spit.”
“You know if I did say yes, the law says I’d have to ask your mother for permission to
take you out of the state. She’d never go along with it.”
“But, it would be okay with you?”
Jack took a moment to think it through. It would be hard to turn down the opportunity to
have such extensive one-on-one time with his daughter. He could use this trip to get to know her
all over again.
“I think it’s a terrific idea.”
“Really?”
“Really. Like you said, I could use a navigator.”
Amy leaped, hugging her father tightly.

105

“It’s going to be so much fun. I can’t stand it. I have to call Teresa!” Amy spun around,
searching for her cell phone.

“Don’t get too excited. Remember, we have to ask for your mother’s permission.”
“Hmmm? What are we going to do about that?”
“I say we give her a call.”
“Now?” Amy asked.
Jack checked his watch. “I think it can wait a little longer. No need to start World War III
just yet.”
“I hear that,” Amy said. “Can I go tell John?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you, Dad!” Amy kissed Jack on the cheek and ran down the hall.
For the next hour Jack sat alone watching the fire. He used Amy’s laptop and logged into
his email, reading his latest message for the fifth time.

ARE YOU COMING
“You better believe I’m coming.”

##############

“Are you out of your mind!” Sharon said.
Jack met Sharon at Joe Mama’s, a funky coffee shop that remained mostly unnoticed,
buried deep inside the Portland suburban landscape long ago when the final curtain dropped on
the folkie days of the late seventies.

106

The “Mama.” as it was simply referred to by the few but supportive flannel shirt & logger
boot clientele was a tie-died hole in the wall where you could enjoy a fine inexpensive cup of
coffee as long as you ordered it black. Most patrons hadn’t realized they now looked more post
grunge than post CSN &Y. They would sip their cup of Joe while listening to genuine vinyl
records from a collection that had amassed over the last forty years and reminisce about the good
old days of Rock and Roll when Led Zeppelin concert tickets were only eight dollars and
bell-bottom jeans ruled.

Sharon had pulled into the vacant lot fifteen minutes early. Jack was already there,
impatiently circling Mama’s failed attempt at a roadside attraction; a gigantic inflatable purple
coffee mug with Mama’s dilated mocha-brown eyes peeking above the center. It was tragically
hip enough to keep the regulars coming back, but disturbing enough to keep potentially new
customers in their SUV’s until they reached the corner, where they would find safe haven at
Starbucks.

Jack unintentionally fit right in, dressed in his favorite blue flannel Pendleton shirt, a
clean pair of Levis and desert-brown work boots.

Jack had guided Sharon inside the Mama to the red, white and blue painted booth he’d
reserved. A Lynyrd Skynyrd album cover hung on the brick wall behind his head. It was the one
showing the entire band swallowed in a golden wave of flames.

He told her about the recent events, from the emails, the keys, to his visit with his mom;
and then laid the bombshell on her.

“You’re out of your mind. Do you seriously think I would allow you of all people to fly
my daughter, my only child, all the way across the country in one of those deathtraps?”

107

“She’s my daughter too. I have a right to spend time with her, any way I choose.”
“Yes, you do. Any way you choose, as long as you stay in Oregon, unless you have my
consent. Read the divorce decree for once, Jack. It’s all there in black and white,” Sharon pushed
her soy latte forward and began to stand.
“Sharon, please. Sit down for one minute. Let me try and explain something to you.”
“Fine, you’ve got one minute,” Sharon raised her wrist; pointing to her watch.
Jack hated being at her mercy more than just about anything in the world; but
unquestionably loved his daughter more than anything in this world.
“Amy wants to go. It was her idea. My first thought was to say no, too. Then I saw the
look in her eyes. I could see she wants to be with me as much as I want to be with her, just the
two of us, to strengthen a father-daughter connection. There is a certain amount of logic to it, and
you know I haven’t been there for her as much as I should have been.”
“And that’s my fault?” Sharon said defensively.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying this would be a great adventure for Amy and me;
a great time in her life, and mine. Think about it, Sharon. It would be educational.”
Sharon couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been hanging around your daughter more than
you think. Let me ask you, how safe is she going to be in that old plane? I want the truth.”
“Safe, one hundred percent. I gave it a thorough check up. The Baron is tip-top.”
“Amy said she just helped you fix it?”
“Nothing was wrong with the plane.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”

108

“Then why were you working on it?”
“John made a few adjustments. I was readjusting them back. That’s all.”
“What about you, Jack? I know you were a good pilot at one time, but you haven’t flown
a real trip in years. You have a place to park airplanes, but I’m not so sure you even like looking
at the damn things.”
“I’m fine. I can do this, Sharon. I need to do this. Amy will be perfectly safe.”
“What does John think about your ability?” Sharon asked. She had known and trusted
John’s opinion for many years. In her eyes there was no pilot, living or dead, better than John. If
he believed in Jack then she could too.
Jack anticipated the question and had his cell out. He dialed, then handed the phone to
Sharon. She raised her brows; surprised to see he owned one. “Hello, John.”
Jack tried to listen in and follow the conversation, but Sharon desiring her privacy walked
away from the table with her coffee to the café’s front window. Ten minutes later she returned
wearing a cautious but satisfied expression.
“You’ll make sure Amy calls me every day so I can hear her voice and know how she’s
doing?”
Jack smiled. “I’ll have her call you every day. More if we have time; when we gas up,
when we check in for the night, we’ll call all the time.”
“You promise?”
“Promise. And you can always call or text her anytime too.”
“Then pick up the check and let me be on my way before I change my mind.”

############

109

The next couple of weeks flew by.
Jack spent most of his mornings practicing takeoffs and landings, getting a feel for the
Baron, while Amy would go over the maps and charts with John’s help.
Afternoons were spent preparing the plane; cleaning the cabin from nose to tail, making
sure all instruments and controls were working properly. Jack inspected both Continental
engines, the tires and fuel lines, checking everything he could possibly think of. Then to make
sure no one went hungry he added a mini ice chest to store drinks, sandwiches and other goodies.
Amy made a point to leave her fingerprint, making sure there were colorful Pendleton blankets
and pillows on board to keep them fashionably warm and comfortable.
The evenings were spent mostly on the porch. John would hold Amy’s attention by
telling stories of when he was a young pilot flying for his country. Jack would keep one eye on
his daughter, happy just to have her there, and the other eye studying the collection of Merritt’s
adoption papers he’d discovered hidden in the piano.
The last afternoon before the flight, Jack taxied the Baron close the house. John turned up
the stereo, real loud, and played his favorite record, Gene Autry’s ‘Back In The Saddle Again.’
He rhythmically parading himself on the porch the best he could while Jack and Amy danced
around the Baron, washing and polishing the silver twin-engine plane with the red lightning bolt
until it looked shinier than the day it was built.

##########

“I can’t believe it, today’s the day! We’re really going!” Amy said, triple-checking her
list of personal items she was bringing.

110

As the morning sun was just beginning to peek over the tree line Jack circled the plane,
giving it one last look. It was a chilly morning. He tried to remember if he’d checked the cabin
heat to make sure it was working, though he knew he had.

John limped across the strip to the plane carrying a brown grocery sack under his arm.
“Did you sleep?”

“Not a wink.”
“I didn’t think you would. I wish I was going with you.”
“I do too. We could always throw you in the back. There’s plenty of room.”
“I thought you might ask, but this is one mission I’m sitting out. This is your time, Jack,
not mine.”
“Thanks for letting me borrow the Baron. I’ll take good care of her. I promise.”
“My pleasure, Amigo. I think she’s been waiting for you for a long time. Remember to
let her do the work. You don’t have to hold the yoke tight, just nice and easy, just like you’re
fishing for rainbow trout. And you’ll only need to worry about the cabin pressure if you’re flying
over the mountains, which I don’t see you needing to do if you follow the flight plan. In other
words, fly around them, not over them. And, don’t worry about running her hot over the desert,
she’ll love the sunshine.”
“I’ll keep all that in mind.”
“I’ve told you all this before, right?”
“Once or twice, maybe.”
“Here, I’ve got something I want you to take along,” John said, handing Jack the grocery
sack.

111

“What’s this?”
“Open it, see for yourself.”
Jack opened the sack, peeked inside, and then pulled out his father’s Eddie Rickenbacker
model biplane.
“I’m not the superstitious sort,” John said. “Well, maybe just a little. Doesn’t matter. I
think you should take it for good luck.”
“Good idea. I’ll take all the luck I can get.”
“When I was a test pilot I always carried a photo of Belle, our family dog for luck. I
loved that dog. She was a Boston terrier. I’m pretty sure Belle saw me through more than one
jam in the sky, and on the ground.”
“But, you don’t carry Belle’s photo anymore?”
John tapped his chest pocket. “I never said that,” he laughed.
Jack patted his good friend on the back. “I guess there’s no sense in wasting precious
daylight,” he said, turning to the Baron.
“You’ve been on the ground long enough,” John agreed.
Jack tossed Amy’s backpack into the cabin. “Last chance, Amy. Do you have everything
you need?”
She glanced at her list one last time. “Yes, Dad.”
“You sure?”
“Sure as spit.”
“Sure as spit?” Jack cocked his head, glaring at John.
“She didn’t get that from me,” John quickly denied, though not totally convinced.

112

“Okay, hop in and buckle up,” Jack said, ushering Amy inside the cabin.
Amy gave John one last hug. “Are you going to be okay being here all alone? I don’t
want to worry about you.”
“No need worry about me, Buttercup. I’ll be just fine sitting on the porch with a nice cold
pitcher of lemonade, writing my memoirs.”
Amy wasn’t certain if he was kidding.
“Go, have a good time with your dad. He’s going to need your help more than me. He
doesn’t get out much, you know,” John said, as she climbed into the cabin, then took Jack’s
hands and squeezed them hard as he could. “You be careful. Don’t take any chances.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not kidding, Jack, NO CHANCES!”
“I won’t. Really.”
“I’ll have a couple of cold ones waiting for you when you get back.”
“I’m counting on it,” Jack said, climbing inside the cabin.
John secured the Baron’s door, knocked on it three times for good luck, then cleared out
of the way.
Jack double-checked Amy’s seatbelt. “Are you ready?”
“Ready when you are, Dad.”
“Why don’t you do the honors.” Jack nodded to the ignition switch.
Amy let out an anxious giggle, then pressed her tiny palm against the starter and listened
to the twin propellers whine a few seconds before turning over.
They taxied across the acres onto the narrow strip, and waited.

113

Jack looked left then right, then up to the sky. He inhaled a deep breath and pushed the
throttle wide open. Amy felt the unbridled power of the two engines vibrate the airplane, and
nervously interlocked her fingers, closing her eyes as if to pray.

The sleek, silver Beech Baron 58 with the red thunderbolt running across its side, roared,
then wiggled down the gravel road. Jack eased the yoke back and the wheels left the ground. His
backbone pressed hard against his seat. The left wingtip abruptly plunged to the left and Amy let
out a loud squeal, while Jack quickly made a minor adjustment.

It wasn’t a pretty takeoff, but they were up.
Jack proficiently guided the plane through a few unavoidable pockets of turbulence
before settling down, eventually leveling the Baron off at five thousand feet, cruising at nearly
two hundred miles an hour.
Amy pressed her nose against the side to get a better view, while Jack focused on setting
his course, weaving between blue sky and the marshmallow clouds. He reached over and took
his daughter’s left hand, wondering if his dad had reached for Kevin’s, and thought nothing
could be better.
“It’s so beautiful up here,” Amy said, almost on cue.

##########
From above, they followed the busy four-lane highway South for a few hours then cut to
the East, following a lonelier two-lane highway. Amy had the map spread across her lap working
hard to fulfill her duty as the onboard navigator.
John acquired the Beech Baron 58 sometime in the early seventies, equipped with only
the basic instruments. Being a confident test pilot for the military, John never felt the need to

114

install newer high-tech toys to locate airports more easily. This forced Jack to fly in almost the
same elementary way his father had, using basic road maps. Jack didn’t see this as an obstacle.
He was pleased to fly in the same manner and got a kick out of watching his responsible young
daughter painstakingly chart distances and locations on the map, though he had done this himself
several times before they’d taken off.

Jack took a long look at his little girl. She was growing up fast.
He knew it was a cliché, but wondered where did the time go? She was twelve years old,
but in his eyes she was still much younger. He thought about the time in her life when she
couldn’t go to sleep unless he read her a bedtime story. He recalled the time he accidently caught
her little finger in the car door on her seventh birthday, relieved to find it wasn’t broken. He
smiled remembering the time he took her to the father/daughter Valentine dance at her school
where she tried, unsuccessfully, to teach him the latest steps. Now, here they were, just the two
of them, flying across the country cruising at almost 5000 feet.
“Why don’t you reach behind you and open my blue bag,” Jack said, approaching a
mountain range.
Amy opened the bag, discovering a new digital pocket camera.
“I thought you might want to take a few pictures along the way.”
“Cool! But, Dad, you know I have a camera on my phone, right?”
“Sure. I know. But this will be a different experience. Give it a try.”
“Thanks, Dad. I get it. You want me to focus on our trip and not be on my cellphone so
much.”
“Think what you want to think.”

115

Amy popped the lens cover off, aiming the camera towards her dad.
“Smile,” she said, snapping a photo.
Jack pointed out the snow-capped mountain, which he suggested to be a far more
interesting subject than himself, then took the Baron up another thousand feet.
Amy spent the next half hour tinkering with the camera, then for something else to do
besides stare out the window she read the camera manual cover to cover, two or three times.
After another hour, Amy set the camera down by her feet and reached inside her bag,
pulling out a few magazines she had brought along, then a book, then another book. Eventually
she settled on her iPod and drifted into her own world.
Jack had a feeling she might get bored at some point. Even with scenic views, sitting in
an airplane for hours would eventually be a little monotonous, but he didn’t expect it so soon. He
was grateful their first stop on Merritt’s map was coming up.

###########

Jack was amused he’d found a private airstrip smaller than his own. He was eager, yet
cautious to take on the challenge of such a strip, circling three times before committing to a
landing.

He prepared for his approach following a standard rectangular pattern. He noted the
Southwesterly wind direction and speed, visualizing how they would affect the aircraft on his
final approach. He began his downwind leg, slightly reducing power and extending the flaps by
five degrees before turning onto his base leg, and then trimmed the elevators to hold altitude.

116

Jack aligned the Baron to the narrow runway, extending the flaps to landing position, closely
keeping his eye on the airspeed indicator while maintaining approach speed.

Amy had her nose to the glass, her heart pounding.
When Jack was satisfied he would reach the runway he closed the throttle completely. He
maintained a shallow glide slope, keeping his eyes sharply focused on his airspeed until crossing
the runway threshold. He flared the Baron five feet above the ground, holding the nose steady
until he felt the wheels touch down.
Jack exhaled.
“Now that was fun, Dad!” Amy said loudly. “I can’t wait to do that again!”
Distracted by the numerous artistic sculptures lining the airstrip, Jack taxied the Baron to
the designated mound of red clay in front of a colorfully painted hanger, then switched off the
main power.
“Good afternoon,” Jack said, tipping his hat to the busy longhaired man standing just
inside the open hanger.
“Afternoon,” the man replied, casually setting down his welding torch. He pulled back
his dark safety goggles, then fixed his stringy gray hair into a ponytail.
“Would you mind if we stretch our legs, and use the facilities?” Jack asked, guessing the
slender man to be an artist in his mid-sixties, maybe less, maybe more.
“Don’t mind at all. The toilet is in the hanger on the left. It’s a hot day,” the man said,
wiping his forehead on his sleeve. “I’ve got some regular Cokes in the cooler if you’re thirsty. I
stay clear of the diet. There’s water too.”
Jack nudged Amy to the left and she took off running.

117

“This piece of heaven belongs to you?” Jack politely inquired.
“It’s all mine till I take my last dying breath,” the artist answered, slipping on his
sunglasses and stepping outside the hanger into the hot sun.
Jack gave the property a once over. The runway was a short stretch of manicured bright
green grass, like a long miniature golf course hole. Taking a closer look, he noticed the odd
shaped metal sculptures lining the strip were made from used airplane parts. The strip led
directly to two larger sculptures made from the wreckage of unidentifiable airplane fuselages
positioned like bookends, or gargoyles in front of the paisley painted hanger. The man’s amiable
house was precisely centered in a beautiful English garden, set further up on a splendid hilltop
just far enough away from everything else as if to say, stay away. With artwork of every kind,
and more sculptures scattered everywhere, the place looked like a roadside attraction without
customers.
The man approached the plane and ran his index finger inside the line of the Baron’s
distinctive red thunderbolt. “I’ve seen this plane before. A hot shot pilot, big in his boots, greased
her in here.”
“Is that right,” Jack said.
“That’s right. You wouldn’t know where that ace might be, would you?”
Jack checked his watch. “Right about now I’d say he’s laid out on my porch, drinking my
beer, counting the clouds floating by.”
“That wouldn’t be such a bad idea in this heat.” The artist said, extending his right hand.
“I’m Ernie, Ernie Meirs.”

118

“I’m Jack Kelley,” he said shaking hands, then nodded towards the hanger. “That was my
daughter, Amy.”

“Why don’t we step back inside where it’s cooler,” Ernie suggested.
Ernie’s gray stubble matched his shoulder length ponytail. He was wearing a white lab
coat spackled in multi-colored paint, over a plain brown tee, faded blue jeans with holes in the
knees, Birkenstock sandals and aviator sunglasses that fit just right with his square jaw.
“I don’t get too many visitors. Not as many planes in the sky as there used to be.”
Jack agreed.
“Why do you suppose that is?” Ernie asked.
“That’s a good question. Wish is wasn’t the so.”
“Here, try these on,” Ernie said, passing Jack a pair of heavy-duty work gloves and safety
goggles.
Jack curiously complied.
“Now hold out your hands.”
“What?”
“Hold out your hands,” Ernie repeated.
Jack held out his gloved palms and Ernie placed a metal cylinder in one and rectangular
piece of metal in the other.
“Where are you headed?” Ernie asked, tinkering with the objects until he was satisfied.
“That a way,” Jack tipped his nose East.
“Anywhere in particular, that a way?” Ernie asked, igniting his welding torch and aiming
it towards the cylinder.

119

Jack backed up just a little. “Michigan.”
“You’ve got a long way to go. You better take a couple of Cokes or water with you. I’ve
got both.”
“Appreciate it.”
In three minutes Ernie masterfully sealed the metal together and cut the flame. “There.
You can put it down now, and take it with you when you leave.”
Jack curiously stared at the object.
“It’s a lamp, made from a Pratt & Whitney piston out of a 1940 Boeing Stearman trainer.
I make furniture out of old plane parts. It’s a hobby of mine,” Ernie said, taking off his gloves.
Jack held it up, taking a second look. “I know just the place for it.”
Amy returned and Jack introduced her, then he craned his neck outside the hanger
searching for a pump. “Say, Ernie, we’ll need to buy some gas?”
“It’s not that kind of an airport,” he said curtly.
“What kind of an airport is it?” Jack inquisitively asked.
“The kind where I don’t charge money. I don’t feel the need to sell gas or anything else
for that matter. I do however have a few extra gallons I keep in case the occasion is called for.”
Amy pointed outside to sculptures made of wreckage. “What happened to those planes?”
“Those?” Ernie chuckled. “Bad landings.”
“I hope nobody got hurt,” Amy said.
“Nobody did. I’m standing here, living proof.”
“YOU CRASHED in BOTH of those?”

120

“Let’s just say it took a few tries to come to a reasonable conclusion that I was better at
taking off, than I was at landing.”

Amy took a few steps towards the sculptures for a better look. “My grandpa and uncle
died in an airplane crash.”

”Is that so?” Ernie said, turning to Jack to elaborate.
“It’s so,” Jack confirmed.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It happened before I was born.” Amy said. “I never got the chance to meet them. My
dad and I are flying to Lake Michigan to find out what happened to them.”
“What do you mean?” Ernie respectfully asked.
“They never made it across,” she said with such heartbreaking delivery, Jack thought she
might tear up.
“They tried to fly across?”
Jack nodded.
“Was that a ways back, say, twenty years ago, or so?” Ernie asked, trying to pull things
together.
“Close enough, twenty-five,” Jack answered.
“If my memory serves me they dropped by needing a stretch and to use the hanger. Just
like you.”
“That was them,” Jack said, slipping his father’s map from his back pocket. He unfolded
the map and pointed to the small red circle indicating Ernie’s field. “We’re following my dad’s
directions.”

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“X marks the spot,” Ernie said, handing the map back. “I heard what happened to them.
I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”
Ernie hospitably directed them to a blue metallic sofa that looked like it was made from
an airplane wing. The sofa was facing the open hanger door, allowing a panoramic view of the
property.
“I remember both of them very well. Your dad was the real deal, a real airplane nut if I
ever saw one. While he was here I had the engine to my Cessna 150 all torn to pieces. That one
right out there,” Ernie said, pointing to the wreckage on the right. “I couldn’t figure out what the
problem was. It didn’t matter to your dad if he was on his way somewhere or not; he wasn’t
going to leave until my Cessna was back in the sky. He spent two whole days and nights helping
me out. I just backed out of the way and let him to it. Your dad and I hit it off right from the
get-go. We talked about airplanes nonstop. I’ve never met a guy who knew so much about them.
He said it took seven years to build that one airplane of his, a Cougar, I think it was? Seven
years!”
Seven years indeed. Jack recalled sharing his cramped bedroom, not only with Kevin, but
also with a wooden sparred airplane wing that practically ran from the door to the window. The
Cougar was a homebuilt airplane designed in the early sixties by Robert Nesmith, named after
the University of Houston’s mascot where his daughter was going to school. It was a
conventional high-wing, two-seater monoplane built with metal tubing covered in fabric. The
plane was only a little over eighteen feet long with a wingspan of just twenty feet, and held a

122

redline speed of 195 miles per hour. Merritt painted his Cougar bright yellow on the lower half,
white on the upper, with a streamlined black stripe striking straight through the middle.

Ernie continued. “I’ve seen airplanes from all over the world. His was the most
magnificent machine I’d ever seen, a real piece of art. Poetry in motion is what it was. It’s a
shame it ended up at the bottom of a lake. That goes for your dad too. I can’t remember; did they
ever find him, his body I mean?”

Jack shook his head no.
“And the plane?”
“Never did.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Do you remember my Uncle Kevin?” Amy asked.
Ernie meandered over to the refrigerator. “Uncle Kevin, the boy you mean. Sure I do. He
was different than most boys his age. He was a gentle soul, rare to see in someone so young.”
Amy sat up straight, hanging on Ernie’s every word.
“I’ll tell you something about your uncle. My son was as sick as could be, confined to his
bed. He was the same age as your uncle, about the same age as you now I’m guessing. It was this
time of year, real hot and muggy. You can imagine being cooped up in a small bedroom on a
nice summer day. Not too much fun. Your uncle…”
“Kevin,” Amy interrupted.
“Kevin,” Ernie repeated, setting a tray of assorted fresh fruit down on the airplane tire
coffee table. “While your grandfather and I were working outside on the engine with a cool

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breeze to our backs, Kevin stayed inside the hot house with my boy and kept him company. He
didn’t have to do that. We didn’t have air conditioning back then, not like I do now.”

“What’s his name?” She asked.
“Art, short for Arthur,” Ernie answered. “It gets lonely here sometimes, most times,
especially for an audacious boy, like Art was. This is a small farming community, not a lot of
people. Art never had too many friends to begin with. When he got sick, the friends he did have
stopped coming around to play, like they were afraid of catching something wicked from him. It
had been a long time since I’d seen Art truly happy, enjoying his time. Your uncle, Kevin, found
a way to put a smile back on my sick boy’s face. We have a crick runs down the backside of
Hawk Hill,” Ernie pointed to the East. “Art used to spend all his free time fishing. Your uncle
said he did the same. That gave them something special to talk about. The big boys talked
airplanes while the little boys talked fishing. It was a good couple of days.”
Amy happened to glance over to Ernie’s charming house on top of the hill, noticing the
fine detailed lace curtains hanging in a window on the upper floor. She sensed something was
missing. “The curtains in your house are very pretty.”
“Belgian made. That was my wife’s touch. She’s passed on now.”
“Oh no. I’m sorry.”
Ernie turned his gaze from one end of his land to the other. “It happened two years ago,
February. Alice was her name. She was my wife, my best friend, and my muse. She could have
had any man in the world and she chose a dreamer from the Big Apple who only wanted to get
away and live the simple life in the country, with a simple garden and a simple place to park an

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airplane or two.” Ernie sighed. “It’s only me now to take care of the garden.” He pointed to the
flowered slope near the house. “She’s buried right up there on Hawk Hill next to Art.”

“Your son died too?” Amy sadly asked, struggling to get the words out.
Ernie nodded. “He passed three months after your family was here. It was cancer.”
Ernie turned to Jack. “Spending time with your brother was one of the last happy times
he ever had.”
“I’m glad they stopped here, Ernie,” Jack said.
“So am I, but there’s something I just can’t seem to shake out of my head when I think
about that time.”
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“Why did he do it? Why did your dad fly across the lake and not around? It doesn’t add
up.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jack solidly agreed.
“I remember him saying they were on their way to see his family in Michigan. I don’t
know why, but out of the blue I asked about the lake. What he was planning to do once he got
there. I asked him point blank. I said you’re not intending to fly over it, are you? He said, no
way, that would just be reckless. I remember him saying that exact haunting word, reckless,”
Ernie paused, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do it?”
“I wish I knew, Ernie. I wish I knew,” Jack said.
The conversation became a little too much for Amy and her mind began to drift. She
remembered her new camera, and had an idea. “Ernie, could I please take your picture?” She
asked, unintentionally changing the subject.

125

“I don’t see why not, as long as I can take yours before you leave. I like to take photos of
all my visitors. It helps me keep track of how many people have dropped in. It’s more fun than
signing a register, don’t you think?”

“You have pictures of everyone who’s landed here?” Jack attentively asked.
“It sounds like I must have a pile floating around, but I don’t. Truth be told, I don’t have
many at all. Let’s face it; you wouldn’t have stopped unless it was on your dad’s map.”
“Probably not,” Jack admitted. “Do you think you’d have photo of my dad and brother?”
“You know, I just might,” Ernie keenly said, then led Jack and Amy past his antique
Coke machine, past his paints and easel, and past a blue two-seater biplane to the oak file cabinet
next to his workbench. “Okay, that would be June, wouldn’t it?”
Jack nodded. “June 30​th​, 1987.”
“That does go back a ways doesn’t it?” Ernie bent down and opened the bottom drawer
and shuffled through his files. “Here it is.” He dropped a thin red folder on the workbench, then
turned to Jack. “Go ahead, open it.”
The folder held less than twenty photos, mostly black and white.
Amy squeezed in beside her father to take a look.
Jack sorted through the pile of photos he’d spread out on the workbench, eventually
finding a faded Polaroid of Merritt and Kevin. He raised it into the light for closer inspection.
Merritt was wearing his hair in a crew cut style, dressed in a yellow V-neck tee,
comfortable olive green slacks and Wayfarer sunglasses. He had his right arm proudly draped
over his teenager’s shoulder. Kevin’s brown hair was cut short on the sides and left longish in the

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front. He wore a navy blue and white striped surfer shirt and blue denim cut-offs. Both of them
were smiling like circus clowns in front of the Cougar.

“This must have been taken only few days before the crash,” Jack pointed out, glancing
from the photo to Ernie. “It could be their very last photo.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be true. If it makes any difference to you I can tell you they
were very happy being on an adventure together,” Ernie compassionately reported.

Jack was grateful to learn this. It was the part of the trip he’d hope for.
“You can keep that, of course,” Ernie said, pointing to the photo. “I’m going to go and fix
up a room for you two.”
“You don’t need to do that, Ernie. We’ll fill the tanks and be on our way,” Jack replied,
slipping the photo in his shirt pocket.
“It will be dark soon enough. You’ll need to sleep somewhere. The closest airport with a
motel nearby is Washburn, that’s more than an hour flight time from here.”
Jack looked to Amy.
“I’m okay staying,” she cheerfully said. “I don’t think I could sit for another hour, Dad.”
“Then it’s settled,” Ernie said.
Jack saw how happy Amy was. “It looks like it is,” he said.

#########
Jack checked to see if Amy was comfortable in the single bed that once belonged to Art
Miers, the young fisherman.

127

The room was cluttered and untouched; just as Art had left it. Photos and posters of race
cars, baseball players and movie monsters were tacked to all walls, but the majority of the items
in the room were fishing poles and tackle.

“Kevin must have gone crazy in this room,” Jack said, as he turned off the light and
crawled inside the sleeping bag on the floor.

“Dad?”
“Yes, Amy.”
“Thank you for the best day of my life.”
“I was about to say the same to you.”
“You were?”
“Spending time with you means everything to me.”
“Me, too. Good night, Dad. Roger, over and out.”
“Roger, over and out.”

#########
In the morning, Ernie served up stacks of hot buttered pancakes with fresh picked
strawberries from his garden. Then showed his guests around the property including the crick Art
had fished, and Hawk Hill where he was buried beside his mother.
Amy called her mother as promised, once again putting her at ease, while Jack checked
the weather and prepared the plane for the next leg of the trip.
Ernie centered his new friends in front of the nose of the Baron and with the same old
camera he’d had for decades, took a Polaroid for his folder. The photo turned out eerily like the
one he’d taken of Merritt and Kevin, the one Jack now held in his right hand.

128

##########
They’d been flying close to two hours since they said their goodbyes to Ernie.
The novelty of flying was not only wearing off for Amy, but for Jack as well. Boredom
hadn’t quite set in, though one mountain in the distance did start to look like another. He
followed John’s instructions holding the yoke lightly, allowing the plane to fly itself, giving Jack
very little to do.
Amy had fallen asleep, hypnotized by the monotonous steady hum of the engines.
To stay awake, Jack again directed his thoughts towards his daughter sitting beside him;
thankful for the time he was now spending with her. He thought what life might have been like if
he had her in his life every day instead of being a ‘weekend dad’. Sometimes that strained their
relationship and reduced their conversations to superficial small talk. He thought about his visit
with his mother and Jeffrey, wondering what life might have been if he hadn’t kept them at a
distance. Then he thought about his father’s adoption, what a shocker that was. He studied the
photo Ernie had given him, taped to the instrument panel, searching for a family resemblance. He
was the same age as his father when the photo was taken; Kevin was thirteen, Amy twelve.
Jack reached to the instrument panel drawing the photo nearer, his mind racing to piece
the past with the present.
He thought about the email, wondering if any more had been sent since he’d left,
reminding him to call John for an update.
Amidst the steady, dull hum of the plane and the seemingly endless farmland below, Jack
felt the pendulum swing between perfect solace and total confusion.
He took the photo and flipped it over, then scribbled on the back.

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KEEP HER COOL IN THE MOTOR POOL
RHODERDENDREN
N
JUNE 30
I’M HERE
ARE YOU COMING

They were clues, along with the two keys and Kevin’s green fishing pole, to not only
raise interest in his father’s accident, but to get him off his property and to actively do
something, sending him on the journey he was now taking.

Jack checked the map for the fifth time in as many minutes.
The next stop would be another small airport, but undoubtedly larger than Ernie’s.

############
The Sky Scraper Motel and Cafe was originally a coffee and waffle truck stop, until the
airport was built nearby in the early sixties. Then it quickly turned into an airplane-themed
hangout for spirited pilots.
The pink and turquoise Sky Scraper wasn’t much to look at, having seen better days, with
forty rooms, on two split-levels, seven palm trees, and an empty Empire State building shaped
swimming pool. There was no cable, no Internet, but it boasted an incredible reputation for
having a great Tiki Bar.
“Dad, we’re not really going to stay here.” Amy mildly protested, tossing her new camera
and iPod on the uncomfortable looking, blue bed with cloud shaped pillows.

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“This is where your Grandpa Kelley stayed. The idea was to follow his plan as closely as
we could.”

“I wished he would have stayed at a Four Seasons.”
“It’s not too bad,” Jack said scanning the room. Something about the place felt strangely
familiar, besides the cheap airplane décor that could rival his mother’s.
“No, I guess not. As long as I keep my eyes closed,” Amy brooded, making one of those
‘I’m not touching anything,’ faces.
“It’s just the one night.”
“Can we leave in the morning?”
“First thing.”
“Do you think it’s safe to take a shower?” Amy asked, half joking, half serious.
“You’ll be just fine. When you’re done we’ll go to the café and get a bite to eat.”
“Can’t wait to see the menu,” she moaned, closing the door behind her.
Rather than use his cell, for the fun of it Jack picked up the motel’s retro sky-blue rotary
phone and dialed long distance, and listened to John’s peppy voicemail greeting. “Stay right
where you are. I’ll call you when I’m good and ready.”
“John. Answer your phone. I know you’re there.” Jack hung up and hit redial.
“Of course I’m here. In case you’ve forgotten, I have a boo-boo on my leg. It takes a little
longer to get to the phone. Not to mention I didn’t recognize the number. You could have been
spam.”
“Are you doing alright?”

131

“Never better. How about you, she treating you like a king?” John asked, referring to the
Baron.

“Like you said, let her do the work and I’ve got nothing to do but sit back and enjoy the
ride.”

“Yep, she’s like that, real smooth.”
Jack settled at the foot of the bed, bouncing up and down a couple of times, testing the
mattress. “Have you been checking the computer?”
“I might have checked once or twice.”
“And?”
“Yeah, you got another one. I wrote it down.”
“What does it say?”
“Let me find my notes,” he said, and briefly put the phone down. “Here it is. It says
HURRY.”
“That’s it? That’s all it said?”
“Yep.”
“You had to write that down?”
“I wanted to get it exactly right. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, but I can guess. The first couple of emails were sent to let me know they
knew details about my dad, information he kept from my mother, like being adopted. The last
couple of emails were baiting me, trying to get me to Michigan. Now, we get one that says
HURRY.” Jack took a moment to mull things over, then raised his brow. “I think they want me
there by a specific date.”

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“The 30t​ h,​ ” John said, playing Watson to Jack’s Sherlock.
“It’s a stretch, but it’s the only thing I can think of.”
“Because the crash happened twenty-five years ago. A milestone?”
“That’s right.”
“Then why don’t they just call and invite you? Why the cloak and dagger routine?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you contacted Merritt’s relatives in Michigan yet? Barbara gave you a phone
number, right?”
“Yes. Aunt Betty’s.”
“What are you waiting for? Give her a call.”
“No, I’m going to hold off on that for the time being, until I’m there. Mom tried to get a
hold of her right after the accident, never had any luck. Besides, she also thinks Aunt Betty must
have passed on by now. It’s been a long time; she must have been pretty old back then.”
“I wouldn’t let that stop you. Haven’t you heard? People are living longer these days,”
John said. “Look at me.”

##########
“This is really good, Dad,” Amy said, inhaling her strawberry milkshake through a pink
and turquoise colored curly straw.
Jack scanned the impressive photo collection of pilots and their airplanes tacked to the
Sky Scraper’s café walls.
“Will there be anything else?” The sun-dried waitress bellowed, while clearing the table.
“We have pumpkin pie, best there is.”

133

Jack guessed the redheaded waitress’s age to be roughly in the same neighborhood as his
mother’s. “I’m sure it is, but no thank you.” He took his wallet out and laid down a generous tip.
“I do have a question, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Go for it, Honey.”
“Have you worked here long?”
“Damn, here I was, hoping you were going to ask for my phone number,” she said, with a
smirk seeping through her Mick Jagger wrinkles. “Me, I came with the place,” she gladly
answered, stuffing the tip into her apron pocket.
“Is that so?”
“The Sky Scraper used to belong to my father, Bud Cooper. He died the same day George
Bush, the second one, took office. I’m not saying that’s what killed him, though who knows, it
may have. Anyway, he left the irresistible, cozy and affordable Sky Scraper Motel and Café, to
me.”
“Yours?”
“Don’t let the apron fool you, Honey. It’s mine all right, for better or worse. Just because
I’m the owner doesn’t mean I stop working the tables from time to time. I like to talk to my
customers. Mingle.”
“I bet you’ve heard some wild stories working here?” Jack asked, acknowledging the
handful of patrons, mostly all pilots.
“Honey,” she said loudly, intentionally catching the attention of other customers. “Let me
tell you something, and it’s the truth, so help me. Pilots have more outrageous, stupefying stories

134

than fisherman. The only difference is pilots don’t fib or exaggerate, not as much anyways,” she
winked, then turned to Amy. “How’s your milkshake, darling?”

“It’s really, really good.”
“Glad you like it. If you want another one, dear, just say the word. It’s on me, Ruth
Cooper.”
“Thank you!”
Jack took note how quickly Amy warmed up to the animated waitress, figuring the
possibility of another milkshake may have tipped the scales.
“Ms. Cooper, I know it’s been a long time, but have you ever heard of a pilot by the name
of Merritt Kelley?” Jack asked. “He might have stayed here twenty-five years ago or more.”
Ruth’s chipper smile all but disappeared. “I knew Merritt.”
Jack tapped the menu. “How about I order a slice of that pumpkin pie I’ve heard so much
about, and you tell me a story or two about him?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because, I’m his son.”
“You don’t say. Which one?”
“The oldest.”
“Okay, Jack.”
Jack flinched. “Do you know me?”
“Let’s just say this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve met. My, my, you have grown,” Ruth
winked. “I’ll be right back with your pie. Did I mention it’s the best there is?” She said, making
her way to the kitchen.

135

Amy tugged on her father’s shirtsleeve, and whispered. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered back.
“She knows who you are, Dad.”
“I heard.”
“Weird, borderline creepy. Do you know her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Dad, how could you forget somebody like her?”
Ruth returned with a big piece of pie and another strawberry milkshake with sprinkles for
Amy.
“I’ve had a feeling I might be see you someday if I lived long enough. Looks like I made
it, praise the Lord,” Ruth said, squeezing her bony figure into the booth beside Amy.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” Jack said, more confused than ever.
Ruth pointed her finger to the wall Jack had eyed when he first sat down. “I want you to
walk over to that wall behind the bar. See if you can’t find the photo of Barry Goldwater.”
“Who’s that?” Amy asked.
“A pilot who also did a little politicking on the side,” Ruth answered with a smile.
Jack did as Ruth asked, running his finger across hundreds of photos tacked to the
sky-blue wall with painted fluffy clouds that matched his motel room until he found a photo of a
very old Senator Barry Goldwater from the state of Arizona, toasting martinis in the Sky
Scraper’s luxurious Empire State Building swimming pool with Merritt Kelley. Standing in front
of Merritt was a young boy who looked to be about ten or so.
Jack froze, captivated by the audacious eyes of the boy in the photo.

136

“Jack, you better sit down, you look like you might faint,” Ruth said, gesturing to the
booth. “Take the photo off the wall and bring it back to the table.”

Amy set aside her milkshake and seized the photo from her father to see what the fuss
was about.

“Amy, see that boy in the pool right there?” Ruth pointed. “That one with his hair all
messed up is your father.”

“It is?”
“It sure is,” Ruth turned, patting Jack’s hand. “I’m disappointed you don’t remember
me,” she said, cracking the same wily grin he’d seen John wear from time to time.
“He does look like you, Dad,” Amy said, looking back and forth comparing the photo to
her father.
Jack took a long, hard look at Ruth, recapturing a moment in time.
“We used to take these long trips in the Delta 88,” he said, reminiscing.
“The what?” Amy asked.
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “Oldsmobile, our car. We’d go on these vacations.
My dad called them vacations, but in the end it was more like shopping. Dad would pack the
family into the Delta 88. Sometimes we’d travel for days. He’d be all excited, and never tell us
where we were going. He always kept it a surprise till we got there. My brothers and I would
guess we were on our way to see Mickey Mouse, or some place fun. I should have known by the
look on my mom’s face we were far from Disneyland. We’d always end up at some small airport
or a pilot’s house where Dad would buy a part for the airplane. A propeller, or a strut, or … Wait

137

a minute! I do remember staying at a place with a long pool. I remember there was a big party
and everyone acted like they were my dad’s best friend.”

“We did have the best parties,” Ruth beamed, glancing at the photos on the wall. “Pilots
would fly in from all over the country. They’d spend all day at the airport, flying, admiring each
other’s planes, one trying to impress the other. Come five o’clock they’d all be at the pool,
cooling down with one of Bud Cooper’s famous Mai Tai cocktails, fabricating stories. It was the
best of times.” She turned her head, locking eyes with Jack’s. “Your father used to come here
with Barb and you kids. Merritt, he was something special. Everyone adored him. He was an
extraordinary man who made everyone feel like they mattered. And what a great sense of humor
he had. He made me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants every time he’d open his mouth.”

“My dad was funny? It never occurred to me that dad might be, of all things, funny.”
“Oh yes, not the ‘telling joke’ kind of funny. It was more in the way he said things. And,
he was so handsome too.”
Handsome? Again, Jack was thrown off balance. If he weren’t already sitting, he’d have
fallen out of his chair.
“Oh yes, extremely handsome. All the ladies thought Merritt was a dreamboat. Barbara
was very lucky to have landed him.”
“Dreamboat,” Amy giggled, reaching for her milkshake.
“I am dating myself, now aren’t I?”
“You knew my mom, then?” Jack asked.
“Barb? Of course I did. I miss her company. She stopped coming around after the
accident. I don’t blame her, too many memories I suppose. I’m sure it would have been hard to

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see everyone without having Merritt beside her. In a way, and I don’t mean this in a bad way, he
was her identity, or maybe it was the other way around? Those two, your mom and dad, they
were inseparable. They didn’t like being apart for one single second. After the accident I was
worried she’d follow him straight to the grave with a broken heart. You and the little one,
Jeffrey, gave her a reason to continue, the will to live and move on. I’m sure of that.”

“Ruth, do you remember why my dad came here? What reason did he have? Was it to
buy a specific part for the plane or to meet someone? The Sky Scraper was too far from our
home for a routine Sunday drive, so he must have had a significant reason to make such an
effort.”

“Your answer is yes, and yes. Merritt was here to learn. That was his only reason. Like I
said, not only did he start passing through here before his plane was finished, but before he ever
started building it. I remember the very day he rolled out the plans to his airplane, right over
there on table five. He went over and over the plans with every pilot who’d walk through my
door wanting a piece of pumpkin pie, or a Jack Daniels. Merritt didn’t just want to build a plane.
He wanted to build a plane that would be noticed. He succeeded. That plane of his was so
gorgeous. Everyone had to take a look, then take a second look, then meet the man who built it.
You might not have known but Merritt, he was a rising star in our small circle in the sky.”

“I’m finding out there’s a lot of things I didn’t know about my dad.”
Ruth took a cleaning towel from her apron and began to wipe the crumbs from the table.
“Okay, now it’s my turn,” she said to Jack. “What are you doing here? Like you said, it’s too far
to come for a Sunday drive.”
He had nothing to lose, so he spelled it out for her.

139

“A few weeks ago I started receiving anonymous emails specifically intended to pique
my curiosity about my dad and his accident.”

Amy curiously turned to her attention away from her milkshake to her father. This was
the first she’d heard anything about email.

“And it worked,” Jack continued. “I figured it was finally time I tried to better understand
what happened. My mother gave me a map and a list of places my dad stopped. The Sky Scraper
was on it, so here I am. Meeting you only reinforces I’m doing the right thing. It sounds like you
knew him pretty well. Well enough he might have told you things, personal things?”

“I didn’t send you any email, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“No, I didn’t think you did. Sorry, I had to ask. To be certain.”
“I suppose you did. What are you going to do next? Do you have a plan or are you
winging it?”
“I’m going to try to find the pilot who said he was an eyewitness to the accident. He said
he actually saw it happen.”
“Oh,” Ruth said, backing away from the table, failing to mask her concern.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“No. It’s something. What?”
“Let me ask you something. How many other pilots have you talked to so far? Who were
friends of Merritt’s from that time? Besides your buddy, John.”
“None,” Jack answered. “Why are you asking?”

140

Ruth leaned in closer to Jack, lowering her raspy voice to a whisper. “I’m not sure you
want to go around asking questions if you’re not prepared to hear the answers.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ruth cautiously nodded at Amy.
Jack put his hand on his daughter’s hand. “Amy, Ruth has something she’d like to say to
me in private.”
“You want me to take a hike, right?”
“Just for a minute.”
“That’s okay. I get it,” she said, gravitating towards the rickety postcard rack.
Ruth picked up where she left off. “Merritt built a plane that could take your breath away,
splendid in every way. He was always working on it to keep it running in top performance. As
you can imagine after the accident a lot of pilots, a lot of his friends began to gossip. You know,
why did Merritt suddenly decide to fly over the lake and not around it? How could he possibly
have engine failure when he worked on the damn thing practically every day? He never had a
problem with the engine before. The day he decides to fly over a lake, then it conks out? It
sounded fishy to some pilots.”
“What exactly are you saying? Are you suggesting my dad deliberately nose-dived into
the lake? No way!”
Jack could barely contain his resentment.
“Honey, settle down. I’m not suggesting anything. If I heard you correctly you said you
were in search for the truth. I’m telling you what happened after the accident, what I heard, and
what you might expect to hear if you start poking your nose.”

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He had to be honest; the notion of his father taking his own life had crossed his mind,
early on, but he never gave it serious consideration. Hearing it from someone else, a stranger,
made the idea seem more plausible.

“There was other talk. It won’t make you feel none the better,” she added.
Jack motioned her to continue.
“Foul play.”
“What? That’s ridiculous!”
“I’m not saying I thought that. But it seemed that a few pilots needed to find an answer
for their own sake to make sense out of it. They couldn’t accept the perfect airplane Merritt had
built could have malfunctioned, because if it could happen to him then it could happen to them.”
“But that’s what it was, right, an engine malfunction?”
“You’re asking me, my opinion?”
Jack waited for her answer.
“Yes, Jack. That’s what I believe, that it was engine failure. But in my book that still
doesn’t get him off for being stupid enough to fly over that lake.”

#########
“Okay, Mom, love you,” Amy said. “She wants to talk to you, Dad.”
Jack dropped the jug he was filling from the airport’s water fountain and waved both
hands in the air like he was being held up.
“Take it. She swore she’d play nice,” Amy whispered through a devilish grin.
Jack promised Sharon he’d have Amy call every day. He did not make that same
promise for himself.

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“Take it,” Amy repeated.
Jack unwillingly accepted Amy’s cell. “Hey.”
“Amy says everything is going well.”
“Couldn’t be better,” he said to Sharon, motioning Amy to get inside the Baron. He
pressed the cell to his chest, whispering to Amy. “I’ll get you later for this.”
“Got to catch me first,” Amy giggled, bolting towards the airplane.
“Good,” Sharon was saying. “You know I wasn’t completely sold on the idea.”
“Uh, yeah, I know you weren’t,” Jack said, picking up the conversation. “Thanks for
taking a chance on me.”
“What can I say? You made a believer out of me.”
Jack glanced at the sky. “I hate to cut this short, Sharon, but I still need to double check
the weather forecast. We’ve got a good ten hours in the air before we call it a day,” he said, eager
to make one other call before they took off.
“You’ll have Amy call when you land?”
“Will do.”
Jack hung up. He pulled out his cell and the envelope Barbara had given him from his
front pant pocket, scanning five phone numbers she’d written down. She had scratched off four
of the numbers. Though she never mentioned it, it was clear Barbara had been closely following
the whereabouts of Tony Henderson, the pilot who alleged he’d seen Merritt’s plane go down
with his very own eyes.
Though he’d briefly considered Ruth’s point, Jack wouldn’t accept the gossipy notion of
some jealous pilots that his father would take his own life. Not to mention Kevin’s. Nor could he

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accept someone wanting his father dead. At least that’s what he wanted to believe. If Tony
Henderson’s claim panned out he would confirm Merritt’s crash was indeed an accident, and as a
bonus, locate the exact area of the lake where the plane actually disappeared.

Jack dialed.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Henderson?”
“Yeah. What do you want?” The man growled, immediately rubbing Jack the wrong
way.
“Tony Henderson?”
“Get to the point, man. You woke me up. You got any idea how early it is?”
Jack didn’t need to check his watch to know there was never a right time to call this hot
head.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Henderson. Please don’t hang up,” he urgently prompted.
“Who is this?”
“Mr. Henderson, my name is Jack Kelley.”
Silence.
“Mr. Henderson, are you still there?”
“You’re the son, right?”
“Right. I’m the son.”
“It’s almost that time of year isn’t it, Mr. Kelley? June 30​th​”
“Nice of you to remember.”
“I don’t see how I could forget.”

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“Mr. Henderson, I’d like to meet with you to talk about the accident.”
“You want to talk to me about the accident? A little late isn’t it? Like about twenty-five
years late?”
“I know how long it’s been.”
“Nobody wanted to talk to me about it then. Why should I talk now?”
Jack heard the bitterness, loud and clear, then took a gamble.
“Because we both know you want to, Mr. Henderson.”

##########
Just to keep his mind active Jack took the Baron up another five hundred feet.
Amy was listening to classic Bob Dylan on her iPod. They hadn’t spoken to each other
for more than an hour.
“Are you busy?” he asked, attempting to say something funny.
“What?” Amy said, tugging one ear bud out.
“Do you want to talk?” He asked, off to an awkward start.
“About what?”
“I don’t know? Anything.”
“Dad,” she moaned, like he was telling her to clean her room.
“Come on, it will kill some time. You can ask all the questions you’ve always wanted to
ask.”
Amy reached into her pack, pulling out a colored pen set and a writing pad. “Can we talk
later? There’s a project I want to get started on,” without waiting for his answer, Amy dropped
her head, flipped a few pages in the pad and began to draw.

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“Sure,” Jack said, dumbfounded by how well she successfully ducked his suggestion.
Amy plugged her buds back in, returning to the Dylan song, and tuned her father out.
Another humdrum hour went by. Jack tried a different approach. “I’m getting a little
tired. Would you mind taking over?” He asked, nodding at the airplane’s yoke.
“Really, you want me to fly?” Amy asked, quickly tossing her pad to the back. Two
points for Team Dad!
“I wasn’t much older than you when I started.”
“Grandpa Kelley let you fly his plane?”
“No, he didn’t. But John did,” Jack answered, clearing away his things. “Here, get ready
to take the yoke, lightly, no big motions. You don’t need to do much. Let it do the work for you.”
“You’re sounding like John.”
Amy reached behind her seat and found the Pendleton pillow. She slipped it beneath her,
lifting her higher for a better view out the front windshield. Nervously, she wrapped her tiny
fingers around the steering yoke, as if she were stepping onto a frozen lake.
“Don’t be nervous, Amy. You can do this.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Now look right here,” Jack said, tapping the horizontal gauge on the control
panel. “Try to keep the picture of the airplane wings level with that line there.”
“Like this?” she asked, concentrating on the horizon.
“Just like that. You’re doing fine.”
Jack double checked the map, then slowly raised both hands in the air, letting go of the
controls.

146

“Okay, it’s all yours. You’re the pilot, Amy.”
“I’m flying!” She laughed so hard she accidently bit her lip.
Jack joyfully watched his daughter for nearly a half hour before taking back the controls,
and, just like John had said about Jack, she never had a better time.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Who do you think was the most famous female pilot?”
“Amelia Earhart, I suppose.”
“Yeah, most people would probably say her. Can you name another?”
Jack gave it a minute. “No, I don’t think I can.”
“There were a lot of other women besides Amelia Earhart who were brave enough to start
flying back in the golden age of aviation. There was Harriet Quimby. She was the first woman to
ever get her pilot’s license. In 1911.”
“You don’t say.” Jack guessed his inquisitive daughter had been busy looking up a few
facts on the Internet.
“I do say. But, guess what? In 1912 she was performing a publicity stunt in Boston and
fell out of her airplane.”
Jack looked down to Amy’s waist.
“Yes, Dad, I’m buckled.”
“It doesn’t hurt to check.”
“Want to know something else about Harriet?”
“Sure, why not?”

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“You better sit down because I’ve been saving this one for just the right time.”
Jack jiggled his own safety belt. “I’m sitting down and buckled up.”
“Very funny,” she said. “Okay, here goes. Where did you say we’re flying to?”
“Michigan.”
“And where in Michigan?” Amy asked, barely containing herself.
Jack was dying to find out where she was heading. “Manistee. Manistee, Michigan.”
“That’s right. Where was Harriet Quimby born?”
Jack’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”
“No sir, I am not. How’s that for a coincidence?”
“They don’t come any bigger!”
“Okay, I’ve got another story.”
After the long silent spell, Jack was thrilled to have his daughter chatter away.
She continued. “Bessie Coleman. She was a poor girl from Texas who became the first
African-American woman to get her pilot’s license. She wanted to fly so much she had to go all
the way to France to learn because she was black, and a woman. She came back home to the
United States performing in a whole bunch of air shows, just like John did. And, guess what
happened? In 1926 she was practicing and fell out of her airplane, too!”
“Amy, why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying.”
“Just saying what?”
“Well, Dad, I am a woman.”
“Not yet, you aren’t.”

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“Soon enough,” Amy grinned then went on. “I was thinking I might want to get my
pilot’s license and keep the Kelley family tradition going. Would you be okay with that?”

“I’m not even okay with you getting your driver’s permit. Luckily that’s still not for
another three years.”

“You better make some changes, Pop. I’m not going to be a little girl forever.”
“No. But, you’ll always be MY little girl. That’s non-negotiable,” Jack said, giving his
little girl a hug.
“Dad?” Amy said, hesitating.
“Yes.”
“I saw Uncle Kevin last night.”
“You saw Kevin?” he said, bewildered by her announcement.
“In my dream, I saw him in my dream. I never met Uncle Kevin did I?”
“You know you didn’t.”
“I know, but it feels like I have.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Amy turned her head and stared blankly out the Baron’s window. “I was at a river
picking blackberries and this boy about my age walked up and told me I was standing in a real
dangerous spot. He said I was on soft ground where the current was super swift. I thanked him
for the warning, then asked his name. He looked at me like I should have known all along, and
said his name was Kevin. I said I thought so, but I wanted to make sure. I told Kevin you missed
him a lot. He said he knew that. He said he missed you too. Then I told him you missed Grandpa
Kelley because I thought you’d want me to say that, and he looked at me kind of funny. I asked

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