Clear to Lift (19 page)

“Shouldn't, but are.”

A silent, yet booming, exclamation point, hitting exactly on the problem.

But he's leaving. Up and gone! Just like someone else …

“No,” I say. “I'm engaged to Rich. We're getting married in May. I'm happy. And that's it.”

He unfolds his arms, standing taller. And while repositioning, has also moved closer.

“You missed something,” he says.

I step back. “What do you mean?”

“In that list just now—engaged, getting married, happy—those are big-ticket items. I'd think you'd have included the word ‘love' in there somewhere, just to hammer down the point.”

I shake my head, backing away. I don't have a response for this.

“‘I'm engaged, I love Rich, we're getting married.' Is that what you meant to say?” he asks. “Or was that an intentional omission?”

I continue moving my head from side to side, three yards away now and continuing to move backward.

“You're leaving,” I say. “You're leaving on Monday.”

“What does that have to do with anything? You're avoiding my question.”

Five yards … backing away. “I can't do this. I can't.”

I turn and run.

 

20

As I drive home on Interstate 80, light shines upward from beyond the foothills of the Sierra, like something from a UFO movie. Tucked out of sight, Reno burns with its trademark 24/7 energy, only forty minutes separating the casinos, the neon, and the artificial from the mountains, the rugged, the real of Donner Lake.

I would have said five minutes, though. My mind has kicked into overdrive since I left Will, his question turning somersaults, battering my brain. “Do you have fun with Rich?” “Do you have
fun
with Rich?” “Do you have fun with
Rich?
” The accent drops in different places depending on which piece of the question I'm attempting to untangle.

Do we have
fun…?

We have a nice time together.

It's a yes-or-no question, Ali.

Well, how do you define “fun”?

Oh, Christ! Might as well ask what the definition of “is” is. Is that the game we're playing?

No.

Fun is something that provides mirth or amusement. It's whimsical, even frivolous.

I'm not frivolous.

That's an understatement.

So what was that today, then?

I don't know. You tell me.

I stare into the lights of downtown Reno. The lights.
Light …

Climbing today was light. Unburdened. Free.

My life, in general, has not been. And this has been of my own doing. My father's abandonment has been my excuse. Nobody loves you, boo hoo, can't have fun, can't be happy. But if you're not happy, you can't get hurt, not the real kind of hurt.

Since my father left my mom and me, I've employed Self-Defense 101—you are neither high nor low. Allow yourself to get too high and you get hurt. Simple.

Using the hands-free on the steering wheel, I make the call to my mom.

“Hello?” Celia answers.

“Celia? I thought I dialed Mom's number.”

“You did. She ran out to buy us a bottle of wine, bless her, but she left her phone. But when I saw the caller ID…”

“Actually, I'm glad you picked up. Have you … I was just wondering … has my mom started opening up with you at all? About anything?”

“She has. Finally.”

“Are we allowed to compare notes?”

Celia chuckles. “Ali, honey, I don't know. But what I do know is that I've learned more about your mother over the last month and a half than I've known in a lifetime. God, I feel like
I'm
the one who needs the therapist. Where
was
I when she was going through all this with your father? When she needed someone the most?”

“You were in medical school, doing your internship, your residency, setting up a new practice, beginning your life in New York. You can't beat yourself up over that.”

A heavy sigh resonates on the other end. “I was so out-of-touch. So self-absorbed.”

“You weren't self-absorbed! You were
absorbed
in medical school! You had to be.”

“Right. Wanna know how I found out about your birth? It was by accident. By
accident.
I hit Candice's number on speed dial by accident! I mean, what the hell? I had her number programmed on the speed dial, but did I ever bother to punch the damn button? Some older sister.”

“You
are
some older sister. Let me tell you, Celia, you've made a huge difference in her life since you moved back.”

“But it's not like I came back for
her.
It was for Dad. He was gonna lose the lodge, if I didn't come back.”

“Regardless, you came back. And when you did, you connected with her again. Brought her to the lodge for Thanksgivings. And then when you hired Roberto to look after the place, you could have gone back to New York, but you didn't. You opened your practice in Sacramento to be near her.”

“And you,” she says. “Please don't forget, I did it to be near you, too.”

“Okay, me, too. And then, you were there for her after Nick died. And of course, now, you're closer than ever.”

“But I'm just getting to
know
her. How could I not know that this sadness she's carried since forever—and you know the sadness I mean—”

“Yeah, I know.”

“… is due to a breakup that happened twenty-five years ago!”

“Actually, I just realized that myself. So has she talked to you about him? My father? Anything?”

“She loved him. Still does. Deeply so.”

“I know. I mean, now I do.”

“Lisa—Dr. Grant—says Candice is breaking new ground every time they meet. She's getting out, she's just … it's been amazing. She reports to me now, like a kid telling her mom how her day at school was.”

“So you learned that my father loved me, too.”

“He did. She talks about that a lot, you know.”

“But what was he
like?
What did he
look
like? What—?”

“I'm so sorry, Ali. I don't know. She hasn't told me much yet—that area's really raw. And it blows my mind that I can't tell you what he looked like. I know you've asked me in the past and my excuses were pretty lame. The truth is I have no idea. I know just as much as you do, probably less, at this point.”

“Well, she
is
bringing wine home with her…,” I say.

“True. And she had a productive session with Lisa today—that's what she said before she left—so yeah, we'll see.”

A door slams in the background.

“She just walked in,” Celia says. “Oh, before I forget, were you able to switch your duty? I
really
want to make Thanksgiving work at the lodge. I don't know why, but it seems important to your mom. It's important for her to go there, I think.”

“Oh, I wondered where I'd left my phone,” I hear my mom say. “Who are you talking to, Cee?”

“It's Ali. We're talking about Thanksgiving.”

“Sure you were,” she says. Paper rustles in the background. Wine out of the bag?

The phone clicks to speaker. Refrigerator door opens, closes. “You're on speaker, Ali,” Celia says. “Weren't we talking about Thanksgiving?”

“We were. And no, I haven't been able to get my duty switched yet. I'm gonna hit up one of our new pilots, Danny, on Monday. I'm pretty optimistic.”

“Excellent,” Celia says. “All right, I'm switching off the speaker and giving the phone to your mom. I've hogged it long enough.”

“Okay, bye, Celia.”

“I'm going back to the bedroom, Cee,” I hear my mom say. “I need to get out of these clothes.”

“Okay, I'll fire up the grill,” Celia says. “Here, take the phone.”

“Hi, honey,” my mom says.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you a lot today, and I think we need a visit. Just you and me. And soon.”

A visit. Which could mean a talk. Which could mean more information about my father. I would want to see my mom anyway, of course, but with her revelations of late, it can't happen soon enough.

“Yeah, definitely. When were you thinking?”

“How about this weekend?”

Shoot, shoot, shoot. “Mom, Rich is coming this weekend. Remember?”

“Oh … that's right. How could I forget?”

“Well, how about next weekend?” I ask.

“I'll make that work. We need to talk.”

“Mom, I desperately want to talk. I have so much to ask. There's so much—”

“I know, I know. But Ali, remember, honey, I need to take this slow. I'm working through a lot, and I'm getting there. But just … slow.”

“Okay…”

God, so many things to ask. About my father. About what the heck I'm feeling right now with—

“Mom, can I ask you just one thing right now, though?”

I can feel her bracing on the other end.

“Did you know … I mean, did you have any idea he might leave? Was it sudden or was it…?”

“It wasn't a surprise, no.”

Not a surprise …

“Why not?” I voice with restraint. Only two words leave my mouth, but it takes all of my willpower to stop there. In my head, the questions continue.
Had he talked about leaving? Was there a disagreement? Did you wake up one morning and he was gone? Or did he tell you in advance—

And with a suddenness that leaves me near queasy, I realize that not only has Will told me he's leaving, I probably won't see him again before he departs for South America. I'll be spending the weekend with Rich, and then Will leaves on Monday.

He's leaving.

“… Your father wasn't much for staying in one place. He liked to roam. To explore. If he was home for too long, he would get—what's the word…?”

“Antsy?” It pops out of my mouth, no thought required.

“Yes! Antsy.”

You see, Ali. You can't go there.

 

21

Mushroom-shaped, bulbous clouds build up behind me, shifting into ominously darker shades of gray. I have a close-up view from my perch on Basin Mountain, elevation 13,240 feet. Actually, I'm not that high. I'm positioned on “the Notch,” located at the upper end of Basin Couloir, which is probably closer to twelve thousand feet.

I enjoy a rather grand view from my position high in the Sierra, including the Bishop airport—tantalizingly close, and yet impossibly out of reach.

I was playing victim for training purposes with Clark and Danny—no issues with power at this altitude today, since it's so cold—and they dropped me here with the intention of returning in less than five minutes to effect my “rescue.” But a sudden loss of oil pressure in the number-one engine changed all that. They were forced to depart to make an emergency landing at the Bishop airport.

So now I'm waiting for Boomer, Tito, and the crew of Longhorn 06 to come retrieve me. Fortunately, I brought a small backpack containing a fleece sweater, a windproof shell, and a fleece ski hat. I donned them as soon as Longhorn 07 departed, knowing that my pickup would be delayed. It's probably in the low twenties up here, and Longhorn 06 is still an hour away—they're coming all the way from Fallon.

Stranded up here, I realize I'm going to be late picking Rich up at the airport. Why? Because today is Monday, and we had
this
conversation on Saturday.

“What do you mean, you can't come?” I asked, throwing my hands in the air.

“I know how it sounds,” Rich said. “But Monday. I can be there on Monday.”

“But I'll be working on Monday. I … I cleared this whole weekend for you.”

“It's lousy timing, but it's just a few days, and it's beyond worth it.”

“Why? What's so important?”

“We're finally closing on that deal I told you about. The investors are flying in tomorrow. Ali, this is huge. We're talking a multimillion-dollar deal here.”

“But—”

“There's no way I can't be here for this. We've worked this deal for two years.”

I stared, appalled, at the grooves I'd just cut into my wooden kitchen table with a paring knife. I'd been cutting apple slices during our conversation, popping them into my mouth at intervals, but once the subject turned to another postponement of Rich's visit, my knife turned its attentions to the wood grain, carving checker patterns among discarded apple seeds.

“When I get there on Monday, I'll take you out to celebrate,” he said. “Wherever you want, okay?”

That conversation happened just an hour before I was to leave for the airport to pick him up. I had felt so guilty about pulling myself from the duty schedule, just when the air wing's op tempo was picking up, just when Stage Three training was getting under way.

If there's ever a week during the course of an air wing's training when the SAR team might be needed, it's this one. The exercises flown in the last stage are always the trickiest and most complex, involving almost every aircraft they bring. They're also the most dangerous, because they're flown at night.

But it was going to be worth it. A weekend alone with my fiancé was absolutely going to be worth it.…

Thankfully, the air wing's exercises have progressed like a dream over the weekend. But for me, I've been left to replay my conversation with Rich, just as I've done countless times this afternoon, while the wind picks up, the temperature noticeably dropping.

An hour in these conditions would be doable—not comfortable, but doable—on most days, but the mountain has other ideas. I know I need to leave this exposed position and move lower.