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He nodded. "I like them. Good people."

"You had a thing for their daughter, didn't you?"

"In junior high, yes. When I was twelve, I think."

"She remembers you. Divorced recently. She wanted me to make sure I told you that, for some odd reason."

"She was always a cute."

"She's not cute anymore. She's what I would call drop dead gorgeous."

His father was walking back from the kitchen -- but he stopped at the entry table. "What's this?" he said, picking up the envelopes. "Not even opened yet? Deb? Here, please!"

She scrambled over, took the envelopes and carried them into the living room while he brought their drinks in.

"Not even opened? What the hell is wrong with this picture?"

"Just brought 'em in, Dad, when you guys pulled in."

"Uh-huh. You gonna open them, or shall I?"

"No, you go ahead."

Father looked at son, shook his head just so -- to indicate mortal disgust -- then he ripped open the one from American and shook his head, frowned. "No go," he said -- tossing the envelope aside -- then he opened the one from TWA. "Report first May, Kansas City, for First Officer training on L-1011s," he said, and he stood, came over and pulled his son up into his arms, hugged him for what felt like hours. "Well, I guess that interview went better than expected!"

"Maybe, yeah."

His old man stepped back, concern in his eyes. "You're going to take it, aren't you?"

"It'll mean moving, Dad. Maybe LA, probably Boston. I'm not sure I want to do that. Be away from you two."

"Take Boston. I've been wanted to buy some property up there, maybe retire on Nantucket, get a big fucking sailboat."

"Well then, Boston it is," he said glumly.

"So? You're gonna take it?"

"Yeah, you know, I'm gonna think about it. How long do they give me to confirm?"

His old man read through the letter again, looked up. "Next Friday; a phone call will do." He looked at his son, saw indecision in his eyes and frowned, then he looked at his wife, saw the tears in her eyes and grumbled. "I think you need a swift kick in the ass, but in as much as I can't kick worth shit these days, why don't you let me take the two of you out to dinner. Maybe a swift kick of bourbon will do the trick?"

"Is Edelweiss open on Sunday?" Deb asked.

"Yeah," he said. "At five."

"Could we go there tonight?" she asked. "Does that sound good?"

He looked away as the phone rang, and he went to the study and picked up the handset. "Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Hello, you."

"I don't feel good."

"Oh?"

"About all this. About -- everything."

"What's on your mind?"

"You. You're on my mind. I can't get you out of my mind. Not all week long."

"And?"

"This is all wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen to us."

"No, it wasn't," he said, and he felt his eyes filling with tears. "No, it sure wasn't."

"I've been talking with Carol all afternoon. About my feelings for you, for us. She says she can't be the one to come between us."

"Well, God bless Carol."

"Look, don't be trite..."

"I'm not, I mean it. God bless her. You tell her I just fell in love with her, too."

He heard their laughter.

"Don't tell me...she heard that?"

"Yup."

"Hey, Carol! I love you!"

More laughter.

"I was wondering. Could I come over? We need to talk."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Dad and Deb are here, we're going to run down to Edelweiss. You wanna join us, or come by later?"

"We're close. Could we just drop by now? Say about ten minutes?"

"You live here. You don't have to ask for permission to come home."

Her's was a long pause. "You're right. And thanks for understanding. We'll be there in a few."

"Yeah." He hung up the phone and went into the living room...

"Did I hear that correctly?" his old man asked. "Second thoughts about all this nonsense?"

"She wants to talk. Coming over now, or so she says. About ten out."

"Well, hell, we better get this road on the show..."

"Nonsense. I told her you both are here, and that we're going out to dinner. Asked them to join us, as a matter of fact."

His father looked at Deb and grinned. "Always spending my money for me."

"Like father, like son," she said to him, grinning.

And he kissed his wife...hard.

"Y'all go get a room, wouldya?"

He heard a siren in the distance, saw a dirt bike running up the fairway out back, chewing up the grass -- and they all went over and watched as an Addison PD patrol car chased the bike up the fairway.

"Shit, not again..." he said.

"Is that the same kid as last summer?"

"Yeah, the Andrews kid."

"Thought they caught him?"

"His father's a big deal with one of the oil companies downtown, a lawyer, I think. Got him off with a slap on the wrist, paid for all the damages."

"Live around here?"

"Yeah, just up the street."

"Well, come on, Doll. Let's give these two have some privacy. You finish up early just give us a ring, we'll meet you at the restaurant. We'll shoot for five, maybe a little after. That okay with you?"

"Yeah, sure, but you ought to stay..."

"Bosh..." he said, standing. "You two have some serious talking ahead of you. Don't need me looking over your shoulders..." He reached out and Deb took his hand. "Come on, darlin', let's hit the road."

He walked out with them, heard the siren and the revving engine a few blocks away, and he helped Deb in her seat while his father opened his door -- but he stood there, waiting -- and he walked around, took his old man's hand.

"A year ago and I wasn't even sure I'd see you walk again, and now this. TWA. I'm so proud of you I could bust."

"Thanks, Dad."

"And I'm married to the sweetest gal that ever lived...thanks to you."

"To me?"

"She told me, a long time ago, how you two feel about one another."

They looked at one another for a time, and he nodded.

"Anyway. I thought my life was just about over, only now I find it's simply beginning again. The next chapter. And you got me there, son."

They heard it then, getting closer. The siren, the Andrews boy on the dirt bike, then he saw her car, a bronze BMW 325 convertible, coming up the street. They turned, saw the dirt bike roaring down the street, the Addison police car a hundred yards behind -- and everything went into slow-motion...

His wife, turning into the drive, her eyes looking at him, then at the dirt bike.

The kid, paying attention to the cop behind, not the road ahead.

The last minute reaction, then the bike slamming into her door. The BMW lifting, rolling -- and his eyes are locked on hers.

Then she's gone and only a haze remains. He's on his knees, sliding into the ruins trying to get to her, and he sees his father and Deb pulling Carol out of the gasoline soaked wreckage, people running from houses standing and staring, women crying, children peeking out from behind skirts, mother's shepherding their kids inside.

He has her hand, can feel her trying to squeeze his hand. Her face is intact, but her chest is torn apart and she's bleeding out -- her blood falling down on him as he looked up at her.

"Love you," she whispers, and he pushes up through the twisted metal, kisses her -- then people have his feet, his ankles, and they are pulling him away from her, away from the sudden fire that is engulfing the wreckage. He stands and watches for a moment, then dives for the pavement, for a way back into Hell -- but strong hands have him again, pull him from the brink.

His father. He's beside him, holding him, crying with him. And Deb. She has him now and he looks at her, not knowing where love is anymore. Where one love ends and another begins. Where life stops for a moment, and changes, moves to a different beat -- like a broken heart, he imagines.

And his father fixes broken hearts, doesn't he?

He breaks away, walks down the street -- then turns and looks up at the sky. He shakes his fist at God and screams "You mother fucker! You Goddamn mother fucker!" -- then he falls to his knees, crying.

Coda

He's at Central two weeks later, cleaning out his locker, going over memories of the last nine years. The walls in this room so familiar, even the smell of the place. Almost like home, yet anything but. He has boxes filled with ticket books, hundreds of them, each ticket a memory -- some good, some bad. Folders full of incident reports, reports he wanted to keep for one reason or another. Hundreds of photographs, most from wrecks, a few of fallen friends, all neatly labeled and catalogued in the boxes now, ready to go home with him. Letters of Commendation, diplomas, training certificates, all filed away, meaningless now to anyone but him. He carries a couple of boxes out to his car, then goes in to get the last one when he sees her, standing outside the locker room, waiting for him.

"I guess you thought you could just slip away," she said, "like a thief in the night."

"Worth a try, I guess."

"No," she said, shaking her head, "it wasn't."

"One more to get," he said as he walked past her. He came out a minute later and walked past her again, kept on going through the station, out to his car. He put the box in the trunk and turned, looked at her. "What's up?" he asked.

"When are you leaving?"

"Now."

"Why won't you answer your father's calls?"

"I'm not ready for that yet."

"And you're ready to fly?"

"I am."

"Presto, ladies and gentlemen, and the Wall--Comes--UP! Just like that, huh?"

"Just like that."

"And what happens when the wall breaks?"

"It won't."

She looked into his eyes, searching for something, anything to hold onto -- and not finding it. "Yeah. Who knows, maybe it won't. So, this is it?"

He nodded his head, looked away and she watched him for a while, then took his hand.

He responded to her touch, closed his eyes and saw her in the wreckage, the fear in her eyes, the words forming on her lips.

"What are thinking?" he heard her ask.

He turned, looked her in the eye. "Life is but a dream."

"Yeah, row, row, row your boat. But what about me? What about us? Were we a dream, you and I?"

He leaned over, kissed her on the forehead, then looked around and sighed. "I'm gonna miss this place, you know? I'm going to miss every mother-fuckin' moment of this place." He opened his door and got in, started the motor and backed out of his parking space, then he rolled the window down and looked up at her.

"I'll see you around the campfire, darlin' -- " and he looked at her once again, then slipped away into midday traffic and was gone.

She watched for a while, for an hour or so, and in the end she smiled a little, wiped away a tear or two.

"Yes, you will," she said, as she walked back into the station.

*

© 2017 Adrian Leverkühn | abw | Part 4 of 4