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.”
She checked the kitchen while I went in search of the thermostat. The place had an old furnace that didn’t look too reliable, but also a wood-burning stove in the living room. The main level boasted a full bathroom, a dining area, and a ladder-like set of stairs that led up to the second floor.
The master bedroom was nice but small, although it had the only upstairs bathroom, a cubbyhole with a sink and toilet. The guest bedroom was quite a bit bigger, with a cozy little window nook on one side and an extra sleeping alcove on the other. The window over the bed overlooked a small patio with the snow-covered hot tub.
Downstairs I found Christy in the kitchen making a grocery list. While she finished, I took my backpack upstairs, emptied its contents on the guest bed, and returned to the main level.
“You about ready?” I said.
“I don’t know how Wren or my mom or Marianne do it every week. I can barely feed myself, let alone a whole group of people.”
“Well, they’ve had a lot more practice than you have. Here, let me see.” I scanned the list and added several things.
“See? I can’t even think of basics like coffee and sugar.”
“That’s because you don’t drink coffee. But Trip does, and I’ve lived with him longer than you. Don’t worry about it.”
She didn’t seem convinced, but she put on her gloves and followed me out. I looked at the sky and then my watch and figured we had about an hour of daylight left. We started down the road toward the village and said hello to a neighbor out walking his dog. A few minutes later I chuckled when I saw
the name of the street we were on.
“Christy Lane,” I said, and pointed at the sign.
“Oh, cool! I’m famous.”
My forehead wrinkled. “I thought you’d been here before.”
“Not up here. We usually stay down at the lodge.”
We kept walking and she began to recognize landmarks. We asked directions from another local and eventually found a little market, where we loaded our cart with enough food to last a couple of days. Christy added two bottles of wine and a bottle of Jameson. The clerk checked us out at the single register, while I loaded the heaviest things in my backpack and then double-bagged the rest.
The sun set before we made it back to the house, but we had enough light to see. Christy started unloading groceries and putting them away, while I hauled in firewood for the wood-burning stove. I soon had a nice little blaze going, so I took off my coat and gloves. Christy joined me a few minutes later and I put my arm around her.
“Mmm, you’re warm,” she said as she pressed her face to my chest.
“I have made fire,” I said in my best caveman voice. “Now I take woman to bed.”
She swatted me playfully.
“Are you really okay being alone with me tonight?”
She nodded. “I’m a little worried about Trip’s father, though.”
“Oh, crap! We forgot to call your parents.”
So we took a few minutes and called them collect. Then we called Trip’s house, also collect, and Christy spoke to Wren for a few minutes. She started blushing furiously before she said goodbye and hung up. I grinned and gave her time to collect herself.
“His father’s fine,” she said at last. “They’re keeping him overnight. His stepmother’s going to spend the night with him, so it’s a good thing they stayed to watch the boys.”
I nodded. Trip’s little brothers were barely school-aged.
“Wren’s pretty sure they’ll release him tomorrow, but they want to get him settled before they leave. So it’ll probably be the day after tomorrow.”
I nodded.
“I told her we’ll have everything ready for when they do.”
“What did she say at the end?”
“What?”
I repeated the question.
“None of your business.”
“I bet I know what it was,” I said with a grin.
“It doesn’t matter, ’cause it isn’t going to happen.”
“What isn’t going to happen?”
“What Wren said.”
“Which was…?”
“I told you, none of your business.”
I backed her into the kitchen counter and then lifted her onto it.
“You know, sometimes I really hate being small,” she said faux-petulantly.
“I kinda like it. Besides, not everything about you is small.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Your eyes, for one.” She closed them when I went to kiss her eyelids.