Up In The Air – One Last Time

"Got it," Overton said as he got his head back in the cockpit. He scanned his instruments, double checked radio frequencies, tried to keep his mind on all the myriad things that made flying a 747 possible.

"United Two Three Heavy, clear for take-off. Contact departure on one one seven decimal zero five."

"Two Three rolling, departure on one-seven zero-five." Overton advanced the throttles slowly again and taxied to the runway centerline, then with barely a pause pushed the throttle levers forward gently to the stops. He felt the sudden acceleration in his gut, watched as speeds reeled by quickly, then he pulled back on the stick not even half way down the runway.

Two Three Heavy leapt into the sky with the vicious pull of a predator, and Overton almost smiled when he thought of the people behind who would gasp in wonder as this huge bird took wing so furiously.

Evans changed to the departure frequency while Overton handled leaving the pattern, and their long journey through the night, across the Atlantic, began.

Now, as they climbed to the northeast along the coast of Maine, he looked at Evans as the sun's last rays bathed the cockpit in fierce amber flames. She was fidgeting with a dial on the overhead panel, half her face suffused in honeyed-tones, half lost in shadow.

So much can lie dormant in the shadows, he knew from experience. Still, they were a practiced team in the front office; Evans as she always did worked beside Overton quietly, efficiently, with hardly ever a wasted word or motion that might take her away from the almost symbiotic relationship she had with the aircraft.

But not tonight.

She was all business on the outside, he saw, but some kind of smoldering anger hissed in the shadows, obscured all his understanding of her, his memory of the days in London. Finally Overton realized he simply didn't know her well enough to read her moods.

'Best to just give her some space,' he said to himself.

She handed him a sandwich as they passed Greenland, and he picked at the congealed rubber-chicken thing for a while, then lost his appetite -- for the first time in days. He felt acute loss now that she had pulled away from the world, bereft of the all-encompassing future he had constructed in his mind, and he was suddenly sure she had had a sudden change of heart. As Two Three Heavy bore onward through the night, he too grew stonily silent and preoccupied with his own vaulting fear. He sat in silence, terrified that the hopes and dreams of the past few days would evaporate with the coming of dawn.

___________________________________

Evans taxied off the runway, followed an America 777 to Terminal Five and brought the old girl in smoothly to the gate. Overton began shutting down engines, running through final checklists while Evans began filling out the endless reports that had to be dropped off at Operations on their way out.

"I'll do the 'Meet & Greet'," he said.

"Thanks. I don't feel much like it today."

He walked downstairs, stood by the doorway and talked to people, gave a few sets of "wings" to passing kids, then marched back upstairs into the cockpit, and was surprised to see Evans still in her seat, still working on reports.

"Anything wrong?" he asked.

"Hmm? No, just need a couple of signatures," she said as she handed him the clipboard.

He looked them over, made a couple of notes on one then signed them.

He helped her out of her seat and got her bag, she followed him down the stairs and up the Jetway, and they darted away from the gate without a word to anyone. They made their way through Customs and walked on to Operations. They dropped off their reports with no comments, then picked up their billets and chits, and Evans finally smiled at him.

"Looks like the Hilton," he said when they got outside. "Come on, we'll miss the shuttle."

She nodded, half expecting to get on the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station, but Overton was going to play it cool, keep his distance this trip, and it hurt.

What had she done? He's seemed quiet all night, and now this?

_________________________________________

Overton kept to his room, wanted to give her the space she needed, but when she checked into a single room and then didn't call him? Well, he just didn't know what to do.

After a few hours he called her.

"Are you okay?" he asked Evans.

"Yeah, fine. You?"

"I'm getting hungry, was going to run into town. Want to join me?"

"Yeah, sure, as long as you're not going out to that napalm palace on Brick Lane."

He laughed. "Shoot, and here I thought you liked that place..."

"Oh, the food was fine. It was sitting in the cockpit that got to me. Not sure I could stand another round of those fumes."

"Pick you up in a half hour?"

"I'm ready now, if you are."

"Be right over."

They rode down in the elevator a few minutes later, and were walking to the taxi stand out front when Kate Middleton and a bunch of her stews called out to Overton.

"Where y'all goin'," Kate asked when she got over to Overton and Evans. Kate was from east Texas, but had somehow never managed to shake the accent.

"Goin' into town, maybe grab some snails."

Evans' eyes went round with pure panic.

"Is there a good French place in town?" Kate cried. "I've been comin' here for five years and ain't never found a good place for snails. Girls? Y'all want some escargot?"

Evans groaned when she took in the unanimous assent of the group.

"If we got six or more, they'll take us into town in their shuttle," Kate added.

"Well, Hell, how can we resist?" Evans said, her stomach starting to churn at the mere thought of eating a snail.

The shuttle carried them in to The City, to Spital Square and Galvin La Chapelle, one of Overton's favorite places in Europe, and one chosen tonight because he knew they'd never serve anything as touristy as escargot, which, after seeing the look of pure fear in Evans' eyes, he knew was going to be vital. It was, he chuckled to himself when he thought about her eyes, a time to think fast or forever hold his piece...

"You've been here before, I take it?" she asked him as they took their seats in the elegant old dining room.

"Once or twice."

"Would you order for me? Nothing too off the wall, okay?"

"I can do that," he said softly. "Sorry about this," he whispered.

"I know."

He apologized to the girls for the lack of snails on the menu, and overhearing this, their waiter advised that they could of course provide a classic escargot if needed.

Overton thought Evans was going to let go right there on the table, but she heaved a sigh of relief when he ordered her a lasagna made with crab, followed by venison and a pear soufflé.

Everyone else had snails, of course, and some weird fish dish.

A dozen bottles of wine later, everyone was looped and Overton was horny as Hell. Overton picked up the check, the girls all seemed to want to take him to bed right then and there, and Evans sank deeper and deeper into a gloom.

Time for a little fancy footwork, Overton said to himself when he saw her eyes.

He called the Hilton, asked them to send the shuttle but it turned out the bus was already in The City and would be out front in a few minutes. They made their way down to the street then rode back out to the airport in blissful silence.

And that was when Kate Middleton leaned over and whispered in Overton's ear.

"I don't mean to be nosey, Captain, but just how long have you and Denise been together?"

Overton looked at Kate, Kate of the winsome eyes and utterly gorgeous legs, and he knew there was no need to evade.

"About a week," he whispered back.

"Well, it's about time, Paul. Welcome back to the world!" She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, took his hand and squeezed it sharply, then turned to talk to one of the new girls. When they got off the shuttle at the hotel, she leaned over once again and spoke to them both:

"Y'all don't worry about the girls talking. I got your back."

'The girls' disappeared in the general direction of the bar, and Overton grabbed Evans and made for the elevator, then just about dragged her to his room.

"I haven't been able to take my eyes off you all night," he said when they got inside.

"Paul, I've been so confused today. I feel like you've been so far away, almost unapproachable. And now, this. I just don't understand."

He looked at her, the uncertainty in her eyes was clear. He shook his head slightly, turned away and walked to a chair and sat.

"We better have a talk. Now. Because somehow, some way, we aren't communicating."

"I know."

"Knowing and acting on what you know are two different things, Denny." She came and sat by him, her head down, obviously still feeling lost in the events of the past few days. "I've been trying to give you some space, simply because I thought after all that stuff at your house you needed time to mend."

"I think all I need is you, Paul. Time IS you. You mend me. I really hate to say this, but it's getting to the point, when I'm away from you, I feel, well, almost like I can't breathe."

She was crying, and he felt her in the core of his being, felt her need, her sudden frailty. He got on his knees, on the floor by her chair and he pulled her close, held her head to his shoulder and let her go.

He carried her to bed a little later and without taking off her clothes he covered her, then slipped in beside her and held her until sleep came.

They didn't leave his room again until it was time for the flight back to New York, then she went back to her house to get some more of her things and drove back to the marina.

Like the seasons, the summer of their lives gave way to autumn, then winter, and they lived inside their little subterfuge, flying back and forth across the Atlantic and returning to the Peggy Sue to live and love a little, but for Paul Overton this new life was beginning to feel odd, a little bit hollow, and he didn't know why. Still, the weeks passed, leaves on trees that encircled the marina turned gold, then red, and then the limbs were bare, twisting in a winter gale.

_________________________________________

"United Two Three Heavy, number two to land on runway Zero Nine Left behind an Emirates 380, contact Approach Control on one-one-seven decimal niner-five, and Good Day."

"Two-Three to Nine Zero Left, and one-seven-niner-five." Denise Evans said to ATC, then to Paul Overton: "Landing checklist complete."

"Gusty as Hell out there!" he said as the left wingtip dipped down violently. He rolled in hard right aileron and a little left rudder -- and the 747-400 steadied up on it's final approach into London Heathrow. He could see the huge white Airbus A-380 about five miles ahead, saw it's pilot struggling to deal with the vicious crosswinds, so he gave the old girl a little more left rudder, crabbing her a bit to keep the localizer settled.

"What is that? Snow?" Evans asked as she saw the runway disappear behind a sudden curtain of white. "Approach, United Two-Three Heavy, at the outer marker."

"Uh, Two-Three, winds now three-four-five degrees at five-seven knots."

"Two-Three Heavy, got it, we're going for our alternate," Overton replied, then he applied power, pulled back on the stick. "Gimme flaps ten," he said as he watched his speed climb back to a hundred and ninety knots.

"Flaps ten," Evans said.

"United Two-Three Heavy, be advised Schipol and Birmingham are deteriorating, reporting heavy snow, winds gusting to 65. Paris CDG is marginal now, and deteriorating, but still open. Closest alternates are Frankfurt and Munich, both reporting light snow, or Rome. Rome reporting calm winds, visibility and ceiling unlimited."

"Uh, Two-Three, sounds like we're going to have some spaghetti tonight. Could you give us a vector while we do the numbers up here?"

The controller chuckled. "Two-Three Heavy, turn right heading one-one-zero, climb and maintain flight level two-two-zero, contact Departure Control on one-two-two decimal zero-five. If you could stop by and pick me up, I'd appreciate some sun and pasta tonight."

"Two-Three, right to one-one-zero, climb to two-two-zero, and Departure Control on two-two-zero-five, and we'll bring you a "to-go" box, Approach. Little too nasty down there for us right now."

Evans dialed in the new frequency, then called ATC and got the new flight plan to Rome filed; Overton pulled out his iPad and began entering their new waypoints into the Flight Management Computer, and then, when ATC cleared them to thirty three thousand feet, started a gentle climb just as the 747 slipped over the English Channel.

"Emirates 002, traffic your three o'clock is a United 744."

"002, got him."

Overton looked to his left, saw the Emirates 380 had aborted and was now climbing out of the cloud a few miles to his east, still well below, and he wondered where it was headed.

"United Two-Three Heavy, turn right heading one-two-zero."

"Two-Three to one-two-zero," Evans replied to ATC, then to Paul: "I've gotta hit the head. Now."

"Okay, got it." He checked the autopilot; everything looked good as he turned and watched Denise stagger into the little crew toilet and slam the door behind her. Moments later he heard her urping into the tiny basin and wondered how long they could continue to pull this off. It had been just a few weeks since he'd learned she was pregnant, but that was a few weeks more that they'd put both their careers in jeopardy -- by not reporting their relationship to the suits in management.

He turned and looked at the Emirates 380 level out several thousand feet below, and it was still moving away from his course -- more to the east, so he turned his attention to the panel and scanned his gauges. A moment later Evans climbed back into her seat and grinned at him, then rolled her eyes; he reached over and ran his fingers through her hair, smiled at her, then mouthed the only words that mattered to him these days:

'I love you.'

She nodded, shot him a 'thumbs up' while she strapped herself in.

"United Two-Three Heavy, unknown traffic your two o'clock, heading zero-niner-zero, flight level unknown, about five miles and closing on your position."

"Fuck," Overton said. "You see anything?"

Evans squinted down to her right; the sun glinting off a possible target revealed what turned out to be light reflecting off the suspect aircraft's windshield, and Evans shook her head. "Got him," she said to Overton, then to ATC: "Uh, United Two-Three Heavy, y'all might want to advise someone over in Paris they've got a Russian Bear-D going feet dry right now over Honfleur, looks like he's down around F-L 3-0 and descending, starting to weave through some cumulus. Looks like he's heading for CDG, and, oh boy, he's smoking bad and it looks like he's got an engine out."

"Understood 323, thanks."

"323, you betcha. He's crossing under us right now."

Overton looked out his side of the aircraft, peered down into the blue gray clouds below, saw the swept wings of the silver Bear as errant sunlight danced through gaps in the cloud and glanced off it's body.

"United Two-Three Heavy, this is Paris Approach Control, do you have a Russian military aircraft in sight?"

"Paris, Two Three Heavy, affirmative," Overton said. "He's at my eight o'clock now, descending, guess his heading now is about one-ten, speed in the low-twos, and looks like his number three is feathered, his number four is smoking badly."

"323, thanks. Should be a few fighters in your area any moment."

"323," Evans replied now, "have four fighters closing on the Bear at this time."

"Okay 323, thanks."

"Now that's not something you see every day," she said.

"Not since the bad old days, anyway."

"Yup."

"323, contact Geneva on one-one-niner decimal seven-five."

The rest of 323's flight into Rome was non-eventful, but the consequences of it's diversion were more long lasting. Weather closed many of northern Europe's airports and traffic returning to North America piled up in cities like London, Paris and Amsterdam, so Overton and Evans were stuck in Rome, and it appeared they would be for three or four days.

"So, been here before?" he asked as they walked out of the dispatch office.

She scrunched-up her nose a little, shook her head. "Nope. Always wanted to, though. You?"

"A couple of times."

"With...Peggy?"

"Yup. A couple of other times too, diversions like today. A day or two, we were on stand-by so stayed out here by the airport, hardly went into the city."

"Well, we've got at least three days. What would you like to do?"

He looked away for a moment, then turned back to her. "I kinda wanted to find a small church, maybe somewhere out in the country, away from it all."

"A church? You? Mr Agnostic? Why on earth..."

"That's where people get married, isn't it. Not before a bunch of lawyers and bureaucrats, but before God?"

"Oh? Who you gonna marry?"

"Oh, you know, Kate, or one of those new gals back in coach..."

"Kate? Not your type."

"Well, I dunno. She's got good legs."

"Too skinny. No meat on 'em."

"Well, what do you think?"

"But Dahlink," Evans said in a lilting, supercilious tone, "I haven't had time to register at Crate & Barrel yet!"

"Oh? I thought Bass Pro Shops would be more your style."

"What about Victoria's Secret?"

"That's more my style."

"I thought it might be."

"Oh?"

"You have a tendency to look at, well..."

"Legs. Yeah, I know. That obvious, huh?"

"No, not really obvious...but you sure stare at mine a lot!"

"Reckon you can't really blame me, Denny. You got about the best I ever seen, anywho!"

"Uh, you can stop with the hill-billy talk, okay?"

"So, I take it you don't want to?"

She hesitated, grinned, looked away.

So he looked away, then appeared a little unfocused to her.

"Are you serious, Paul?"

"Yup. Kinda thought I was, anyway."

She leaned into him. "Damn, I'm sorry."

"We shouldn't be doing this out here, ya know, in the terminal, Kate."

"Kate?! DID YOU CALL ME KATE!"

"Gotcha!" he said as he turned and darted away -- and out of reach.

"Ooh, you bast... I'm gonna git you!"

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There was a crew shuttle headed into the city so they hopped on and looked out the windows for the forty minute ride into Rome, then got off at the Grand Hotel Flora on the Via Veneto. He went to the reception, got a small suite on the top floor then carried their bags to the elevator.

"Pretty decent," she said when they got up to the room. "Look at that bathroom!"

"Not bad for a Marriott," he said as he crossed the room to the curtains and, opening them, looked out the window. "Son of a bitch! Would you look at those clouds?!"

He felt Evans by his side: "Yikes, those are evil looking monsters," she said as she looked at the slate colored wall north of the city, then the air shook with the rumble of approaching thunder.

"Thunder in November?" he almost whispered. "That can't be good."

She took his hand. "I hear there are lots of churches around here," she said gently, leaning close.

"I think they invented 'em in this town, darlin'. Least, that's the rumor."

"You hungry?" she asked.

"I could eat, yeah. You got any appetite?"

She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders in apology. "Sorry. Feels like Vesuvius down there."

"Let's shower and get out of these clothes. Better send 'em out to be cleaned while we're at it."

She nodded, "Yup. Good idea. You wanna go first?"

"Could, but remember, showering together saves energy..."

"Ah, another good idea..."

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By mid-afternoon they were walking around the Piazza Navona, looking at the dozens of tourist restaurants that ringed the oblong plaza, taking in Neptune's Fountain as cold breezes began funneling through the little streets around the area and into the flat, open space.