Chapter 15

Cindy’s turn:

Interesting day, today. Got off to a normal start, and then my phone buzzed. ID says “Jo”, so I answer. “Good morning, big sister! How are you today?”

“Umm. Good and bad, Cindy. Maybe it’ll get better as soon as I can get a few more crackers and ginger ale in me.”

SQUEAL!! I know. Terribly unprofessional, but this is my sister despite us having different parents. “Seriously, Jo?”

“Oh, yes. Here we go again. But I called to ask a favor: I need to run over to Atlanta today, to pick up Dad and Mom. I called them last night about the new addition to the family, and they’re headed this way now. Can you make the run over with me? I’m still not confident with commercial air-space.”

I know that when she says ‘not confident in commercial airspace’ and ‘Atlanta’, I have the needed excuse to go crank up the OLD Pilatus. Poor thing. She’s not a year old yet and she’s our ‘old Pilatus’. Or she will be in a month or so when I go pick up her baby sister.

“OK. What time?”

“I’m thinking about 2 pm. They’re due in at 3, so that would probably get it.”

“OK, Jo. Look, let’s meet at the airfield at one. Kinda takes a while to get the walk-around done and a flight plan into Atlanta’s always fun.

“And while we’re thinking, bring Stoney and Junior with you, and I’ll bring Mandy -- we’ll overwhelm them with redheads, don’t you think?”

“Sounds pretty good. We’ll see you at one.”

“Tell ‘em that we’ll be at Signature to get ‘em.”

And now a call to Mandy -- she’ll get a kick out of this, and learn some stuff. I’m liking this new ‘little sister’ thing.

So okay ... Stoney’s not available, but there’s me and Jo and Mandy and little Stoney. Jo elects to sit in the cabin, the better to take care of a very active and exploratory toddler, so that puts Mandy in the right seat of five million dollars’ worth of airplane.

Just as well get her some more exposure. Kind of like learning to swim by being unceremoniously dumped over the rail in the middle of the Gulf. She’ll either take to it, or be permanently scarred.

“You want ME up there?” she squealed as we were boarding.

“Yes. You don’t HAVE to. I fly this thing by myself a bit. Thought you might...”

Squeal! “I WANT to!”

So, okay, there’s a bit of data.

Sometimes I miss the juddering, stuttering starts of the engines on Songbird, our old Cessna twin. Lotte’s just so sedate and businesslike. “Like a Swiss accountant,” Mister Bjorn had said during a conversation about our upcoming adventure.

Atlanta’s main airport, where we’re going, has FIVE almost parallel runways. The flight’s a hundred miles, straight line, and yeah, they could’ve driven, but...

Cindy, pay attention. Make sure it’s YOUR runway, then get down and get off and get out of the way.

And if I can get in and out of ATL – the busiest airport in the world, arguably – then I can go anywhere.

Mister Anders wasn’t the only one shaking his head at the herd of redheads – me, Mandy, Jo, little Stoney, and he adds Mizz Bridgette to the herd.

I watched Mandy’s interactions with Jo’s parents – new faces to her. Mandy’s blossoming. Just a few days, she’s opened up like one of those flowers in a nature video, and it’s beautiful to behold.

“You’re the co-pilot?” Anders asked her.

Mandy beamed. “Yessir. Cindy’s offering. I’m accepting. Mizz Jo wanted to sit in the cabin with Stoneykins.”

“‘Stoneykins’,” Mizz Brigitte tittered. “Delightful!”

Yes. I’m watching my sister. ‘Delightful’ works.

Okay, Cindy, head back in the game. You have to get us home. ATL’s expensive for us little planes and this is an excellent example of frogs and ponds. Back at the 3Sigma field, Lotte is just a tad from being the biggest plane, in terms of weight. Here at Atlanta, her six tons (and she’s NOT even close to that today) is slightly more than a rounding error on the weight and balance sheets of jumbo jets.

It is incumbent on me, Cindy from a central Alabama trailer park, to snake my way through the madhouse that is Atlanta’s main airport and take a load of people that I love back to their home.

When I’m fifteen miles away from the airport I close my instrument flight plan. It’s a pretty day, I’m NOT going far, so I stay below ten thousand feet and zip along at max cruise, explaining my choices as we go. Mandy listens.

And in half an hour, we’re descending onto our familiar little strip of earth.

Alan’s turn:

Word spreads quickly around here, including the news of Jo’s second pregnancy, and the visit of Anders and Birgitta. Yes, I know her name is Bridgette, but she gets a delightful expression if I call her ‘Birgitta’, something I learned from her husband.

But I had a larger thought in mind, and I checked quickly with both Dans and Jason, and they quickly agreed. Let’s see how this goes -- I purchased a fresh bottle of cognac and some glasses for this.

So here we are at dinner, and two tables over are Stoney and Anders, and the mob of redheads. Gotta grin: In the entire world, about 2% of the populace is red-headed, and at that table, they’re the majority. Something is wrong there. They giggle, they laugh, and somehow they think it all makes sense. And Anders is uncomfortable, obviously.

Finally he (evidently) made some apology and rose, then headed toward our table -- me, the Dans, and Jason. As he approached, we all rose. Anders said, “Gentlemen, this isn’t the Army anymore. Please be seated.”

I said, “Sir, in some ways it is.” I motioned to Stoney, and he made his way over.

When Stoney was seated, I said, “Sir, we are all ‘Junior Officers’, and this effort has become entirely too complicated for us. We are in dire need of a Field-grade Officer here.” A little smirk from his son-in-law. “Will you help us?”

And from my bag, I pulled the snifters and the cognac.

Anders was silent for a minute. Then he said, “Look over at Johanna’s table. All the redheads, including my WIFE! They overwhelm me. I might decline your offer, but I cannot refuse theirs. I have little choice. What do you require of me?”

My turn. “Anders, we’re engineers. I’ve been trying to wear two hats – engineer and CEO – and I am uncomfortable. We talked with YOUR daughter and she seems to think it’s right up YOUR alley.”

He’s a big guy, and from my days as an Army lieutenant, I know he’s a full colonel and therefore somewhat of a minor god. And for the first time I saw one of those guys caught a bit off guard.

“Wow!”

First time I ever heard a colonel say ‘wow’.

“You have an MBA, sir...” Dan 1.0 said.

“You ‘sir’ me one more time, Dan Richards, and you’ll be standing at attention. Please ... we’re family at this table.” He leaned back.

“Cognac?” I asked.

“Why not?!?”

I poured everybody a glass. All of us, with the exception of Jason, were former military and we knew the convention for a toast, either the ‘dining-in’ rules for formal Army functions, or slightly less formal, more a German thing. Glasses raised. Jason’s, too.

“Colonel? A toast!”

He raised his glass. “To the United States of America!” and he tossed it back. We mirrored.

Glasses on the table. Another round. You DO realize that I’m not pouring full shots, don’t you?

“To the United States Army!”

And another round.

This time Anders surveyed the table, raised his glass. “To 3Sigma Engineering and their new CEO, and may God help us all!”

I stood up. “Folks, can I have your attention?”

Everybody turned.

“I have the distinct privilege of introducing 3Sigma’s new chief executive officer, Anders Solheim.”

Applause. Just as it should be. And Alan gets to be a bit more of an engineer and a bit less of whatever it is the CEOs do. I’ve never been really sure.

Oh, to be sure, there’s a geography thing. They have that wonderful home in the mountains of Montana.

“We’re keeping that. Summer home. Maybe winter home, too,” he said.

And at the big table with Jo and Stoney and the little Stoney, Bridgette announced to Jo, “You and your husband build YOUR house here. When you move in, we take over your apartment. It’s a beautiful place and we will enjoy grandparenting from it, correct, love?” And she turned those blue eyes on her Viking of a husband.

I think I saw him shudder under the impact.

“Correct, my dear...”

Bill Carmody’s turn:

I’m getting a little nervous here, but not much way to get around it. You see, when you bring a new student into the local school district, you must register her with the school board, even if she’s going to be home-schooled.

Alan gave me a business card with the name “Joellen Greybill”.

Yup. Made the call and the appointment, pulled the file (getting a little thick now) of all the official guardianship papers, home-school consortium papers, all that. Told Mandy, “Saddle up, honey. We have to take you over to the school board and jump through their hoops.”

“Umm. Dad, don’t you think I should dress up a little?” Mandy said.

I regarded MY daughter. Heaven knows, bopping around town, I get to see plenty of kids, many of them her age, so I can make a judgment. “Mandy, your shorts and polo shirt will work just fine. Don’t worry about it at all. This is more of a formality. And I suspect it won’t take too long.”

Have to chuckle a little. Khaki shorts and Navy polo -- we kinda look related, except that my trousers are longer, but the same 3Sigma shirts (mine’s about five sizes larger, of course.)

Anyway, over to the school board office, where the receptionist directs us back to Mizz Greybill, who’s standing in front of her desk.

I said, “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Bill Carmody, and this is my daughter, Mandy Simmons.”