But this time the dream had been different. Baedecker swings his feet to the floor, rests his head in shaky hands, and tries to find the difference.
And does.
The board is red, the stall buzzer is screaming, Baedecker feels the aircraft wallow belly-first toward the trees. There is no reprieve from this heavy pull, the earth is calling him down and under. But Baedecker pulls the stick back into his stomach, hunches and pulls the D-ring, knowing there is not enough time, seeing shattered branches fly up with the lifting canopy, but then — in slow motion — the familiar salvation as the ejection seat rises from the coffin of disintegrating fuselage, rises as slowly as a Victorian elevator in no particular rush to leave, and as his helmeted head passes the line of sight of the deflection mirror set above the cockpit instruments he sees himself for a second there, visor reflecting mirror reflecting visor, and rising farther he sees what he has forgotten, sees what he did not think about in the exigency of the survival instant — which, of course, he had always known, had never really forgotten only abandoned in the reflexive instinct of survival — he sees Scott in the backseat; Scott along for the ride today and still trusting, Scott, about seven years old in crew cut and his Cape Canaveral T-shirt, and his eyes in the mirror, still trusting, waiting for his father to do something but no fear there yet, only trust, and then Baedecker is up and out and safe — but such painful safety! — and screaming Scott's name even as he drifts slowly down to the churning waves of fire.
Baedecker stands and takes two steps to the window. He sets his cheek and forehead against the coolness of the rain-streaked glass and is surprised to feel tears streaking his cheek.
In the deep hours of the morning, Baedecker sets his face against the cold glass and knows exactly now why Dave had died.
Baedecker leaves before dawn so as to be in Tacoma by 7:30 A.M. Some of the members of the Crash Board are not happy to be there but by 8:15 A.M. Baedecker is sitting and listening to the six of them, speaking briefly when they are finished, and by 9:00 A.M. he is on his way south and east, crossing into Oregon above the Dalles. It is a gray, windy day with the smell of snow in the air, and although he scans the northern bluffs for some glimpse of the Stonehenge monument, he sees nothing.
It is a little after 1:00 P.M. when Baedecker looks down at Lonerock from the hilltop to the west of it. There are patches of snow on the steep incline, and he keeps the rented Toyota in second gear. The town seems even emptier than usual as he drives down the short main street. Solly's mobile home is closed up for the winter; Miz Callahan's school has heavy curtains pulled across the windows; and pockets of snow on the side streets have not been disturbed. Baedecker parks in front of the picket fence and lets himself into the house with the keys Di had loaned him two days earlier. The rooms are tidy, still smelling faintly of the ham they had heated up there after the funeral. Baedecker goes into the small writing room at the back of the house, gathers up the stack of manuscript and notes, packs them in a box that had held nine-by-twelve envelopes, and carries it out to the car.
Baedecker walks the hundred yards to the schoolhouse. There is no response either to his knock or to calls into the speaking tube. He backs away to look up at the belfry, but the windows are gray slabs reflecting the low clouds. The garden still holds brittle, broken cornstalks and a decomposing scarecrow dressed in a tuxedo.
He drives the short distance to Kink Weltner's ranch. He has parked the Toyota and is about to go up to the house when he catches sight of the Huey tied down in the field beyond the barn. The presence of the helicopter shakes him in some obscure way; he had forgotten that Dave had flown it there. Baedecker walks to it, runs his hand along the tie-down wires, and peers into the cockpit. The windshield is frosted, but he can see the Air National Guard helmet propped on the back of the seat.
'Hullo, Dick.'
Baedecker turns to see Kink Weltner walking toward him. Despite the cold, Kink is wearing only a dark suit, the left sleeve neatly pinned back.
'Hello, Kink. Where are you headed all dressed up?'
'Headed down to Las Vegas for a few days to get rid of this cabin fever,' says Kink. 'Fucking weather gets tiresome.'
'I'm sorry we didn't get to talk after the funeral,' Baedecker says. 'I had a few things to ask you.' Kink blows his nose with a red kerchief and slips it back into the breast pocket of his suit. 'Yeah, well, I had a lot of chores to finish up. Goddamn, I wish that hadna happened to Dave.'
'Me too,' says Baedecker. He taps the side of the fuselage. 'I'm surprised this is still here.' Kink nods. 'Yeah. I've called ‘em twice about it. Talked to Chico both times because nobody wants to take responsibility for a machine that's not supposeta exist. They're waiting for a patch of good weather, I guess. I'm not sure if nobody wants to drive this far or if they're afraid to fly it over the mountains. It's all fueled and ready to go when they want it. I'd fly it back myself, but it's sort of hard to handle a Huey with one arm.'
'I never mastered it with two arms,' says Baedecker. 'Kink, you talked to Dave when he got here, didn't you?'
'Just said hello. I was surprised to see him right after Christmas an' all. I knew he and Diane was comin' up sometime after the baby was born, but I didn't expect him before that.'
'Did you see him again before he left?'
'Nah, the weather'd already closed in when he landed, an' he said he had the Cherokee stored over to the house. He said he'd be back in a couple of weeks to get the Huey if nobody else picked it up before then.'
'Did he say why he'd come out to Lonerock?' Kink shakes his head and then stops as if he had remembered something. 'I did ask him how his Christmas was and he said fine but that he left one of the presents out here. That didn't make a whole lot of sense since they hadn't been out here — far as I know — since you was here with ‘em back before Halloween.'
'Thanks, Kink,' says Baedecker as they walk back toward the house. 'Can I use your phone?'
'Sure, just slam the door shut on your way out. Don't bother to lock it,' says Kink as he climbs into his pickup. 'See ya around, Dick.'
'So long, Kink.' Baedecker goes into the house and tries calling Diane. There is no answer. The afternoon light makes it seem like late evening, as if there is no energy left in the universe.
Baedecker drives back through Lonerock, passes the closed-up house, and turns right toward the school. He sees the curtains still closed, makes a U-turn in the snow out front, and is heading back toward Main Street when he sees the thin figure with its shock of white hair come around the building from the field behind. He stops and is out of the car jogging uphill toward her, thinking that in her long, dark coat, Miz Callahan resembles the scarecrow in her frozen garden.
'Mister Baedecker,' she says and takes his hand in both of hers. 'I was just getting my automobile ready for the trip. I have decided to drive to the coast and spend a few weeks with Mr. Callahan's sister's daughter.'
'I'm glad I caught you,' says Baedecker.
'Isn't it terrible about David?' she says and her hands clench with emotion. 'Yes, it is,' says Baedecker and watches the large Labrador — Sable — come bounding around the side of the building.