flight controls. I finally said, ‘If I hadn’t been out on my trip, maybe I could have saved them too.’
‘But you were, and they died and why did you go, Daddy? Couldn’t you have said ‘no’ just once?’
I bit back the truth and lied, ‘It was my job, honey. I had to.’
She folded her arms tighter. ‘If that’s what it’s like to have a job, I’m never going to have one as long as I live.’
‘What are you going to do to stay alive?’
‘Be like you and Uncle O.’ She patted the armrest. ‘Have my own airplane and fly lobsters and stuff.’
‘Then it’s time you start learning what it takes to do just that.’ I swung the controls back. ‘You have the aircraft.’
I expected her to smile, but she sat up and looked straight at me, her face serious, and in that instant I saw Estelle looking at me instead. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.
‘I have the aircraft, sir,’ she said.
After our Miami delivery, Abby slept all the way home to Key West, despite the constant engine roar. Been that way ever since she was a baby. Sleeps through anything. No need to tiptoe. Just bang and clang and she’ll snooze away. Her sleep, minus the serious face, seemed sweet and simple. I wished she could stay that way forever. But too much had happened in her short life to think that could ever be.
Had I been like this at ten? I think so. In fact, I think all kids are, but grownups don’t realize it. To them we’re in a state of unending bliss, when in fact we’re living in a jungle filled with wild beasts, and it’s up to the grownups to help us make it out alive. And if they can’t help us, then at least, please get the hell out of our way.
I tugged Abby’s seatbelt tighter and then and contacted Key West tower. As the operator rattled off the landing information, I throttled back and entered the downwind leg of the landing pattern.
As usual, I was the only thing flying in the sky, but not forever. I had twenty-nine days left on the Nazi’s ‘Limited Commercial Flying Permit.’ After that I had to come up with another thousand dollars up front, and five hundred more in under- the-table bribes to extend it another ninety days. The boys from Berlin were making a mint off private airlines like mine trying to make a living up and down the east coast.
I knew damn well that shipping Mike’s bi-weekly lobster catch was never going to keep Carter Aviation in the air. I had to hustle fishing charters and critical-cargo companies if I wanted to survive.
Thank God -- and thank Rosie for having taken out ads in the Miami and Jacksonville newspapers at her own expense - because she had landed a three-day, island-hopping, fishing charter for next week. Probably some real estate lawyer from Jacksonville and his cronies.
I could see them now: cigar- smoking, whisky-drinking, well-heeled ‘sport fishermen’ strutting their way onto the plane, all decked out in their outfits, ready to drink and cuss and lie like Hemmingway. Fine by me. I’d fly them to kingdom come if they wanted to, as long as they paid me for doing so.
Just as I began my final turn to line up with the runway, my heart stopped: a bright red, Beechcraft Staggerwing soared off the runway and headed straight for me like a rocket. For some inexplicable reason, the sleek, blunt-nosed executive biplane had taken off downwind instead of upwind and was on a direct collision course.
I firewalled the throttles, banked hard left and shouted into my mike, ‘Beechcraft, break right, break right!’
Abby woke with a start and started screaming as the high-powered airplane blasted past us in a shuddering roar, oblivious to my radio message.
Within seconds, nothing remained except its dwindling red and green wingtip navigation lights fading in the dusk sky.
A tight voice broke the silence. ‘Carter Air four-five, be advised aircraft your immediate vicinity.’
‘That bastard almost hit us. Which runway did you give him?’
A long
‘But you were, and they died and why did you go, Daddy? Couldn’t you have said ‘no’ just once?’
I bit back the truth and lied, ‘It was my job, honey. I had to.’
She folded her arms tighter. ‘If that’s what it’s like to have a job, I’m never going to have one as long as I live.’
‘What are you going to do to stay alive?’
‘Be like you and Uncle O.’ She patted the armrest. ‘Have my own airplane and fly lobsters and stuff.’
‘Then it’s time you start learning what it takes to do just that.’ I swung the controls back. ‘You have the aircraft.’
I expected her to smile, but she sat up and looked straight at me, her face serious, and in that instant I saw Estelle looking at me instead. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.
‘I have the aircraft, sir,’ she said.
After our Miami delivery, Abby slept all the way home to Key West, despite the constant engine roar. Been that way ever since she was a baby. Sleeps through anything. No need to tiptoe. Just bang and clang and she’ll snooze away. Her sleep, minus the serious face, seemed sweet and simple. I wished she could stay that way forever. But too much had happened in her short life to think that could ever be.
Had I been like this at ten? I think so. In fact, I think all kids are, but grownups don’t realize it. To them we’re in a state of unending bliss, when in fact we’re living in a jungle filled with wild beasts, and it’s up to the grownups to help us make it out alive. And if they can’t help us, then at least, please get the hell out of our way.
I tugged Abby’s seatbelt tighter and then and contacted Key West tower. As the operator rattled off the landing information, I throttled back and entered the downwind leg of the landing pattern.
As usual, I was the only thing flying in the sky, but not forever. I had twenty-nine days left on the Nazi’s ‘Limited Commercial Flying Permit.’ After that I had to come up with another thousand dollars up front, and five hundred more in under- the-table bribes to extend it another ninety days. The boys from Berlin were making a mint off private airlines like mine trying to make a living up and down the east coast.
I knew damn well that shipping Mike’s bi-weekly lobster catch was never going to keep Carter Aviation in the air. I had to hustle fishing charters and critical-cargo companies if I wanted to survive.
Thank God -- and thank Rosie for having taken out ads in the Miami and Jacksonville newspapers at her own expense - because she had landed a three-day, island-hopping, fishing charter for next week. Probably some real estate lawyer from Jacksonville and his cronies.
I could see them now: cigar- smoking, whisky-drinking, well-heeled ‘sport fishermen’ strutting their way onto the plane, all decked out in their outfits, ready to drink and cuss and lie like Hemmingway. Fine by me. I’d fly them to kingdom come if they wanted to, as long as they paid me for doing so.
Just as I began my final turn to line up with the runway, my heart stopped: a bright red, Beechcraft Staggerwing soared off the runway and headed straight for me like a rocket. For some inexplicable reason, the sleek, blunt-nosed executive biplane had taken off downwind instead of upwind and was on a direct collision course.
I firewalled the throttles, banked hard left and shouted into my mike, ‘Beechcraft, break right, break right!’
Abby woke with a start and started screaming as the high-powered airplane blasted past us in a shuddering roar, oblivious to my radio message.
Within seconds, nothing remained except its dwindling red and green wingtip navigation lights fading in the dusk sky.
A tight voice broke the silence. ‘Carter Air four-five, be advised aircraft your immediate vicinity.’
‘That bastard almost hit us. Which runway did you give him?’
A long
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