Chapter 22

Haley’s turn:

This is new. The party I just left ... Nothing like it before in my life. Sure, I’ve been to big gatherings like family reunions and such, but I was just one of the kids. Here, I was treated like an adult, like part of the middle of it. People treated ME like I was something other than another stupid kid.

This life. I AM somebody. Mizz Tootie, that’s Cindy’s sister-in-law, treats me like an adult. Maybe it’s because I’m doing ‘adult’ things, offering to pitch in, setting up tables and chairs, talking with her about her husband’s crawfish boiling, asking about kids. Or maybe it’s because after Cindy, paying attention to calendar ages sort of loses validity.

“I don’t know where girls like you ‘n’ her come from,” Tootie said. “But Dan brought home a HERD of ‘em – Cindy, HIS wife. Nikki and that other Dan...”

“They just had a baby,” I said.

“Really? You got pictures?”

“Nikki’s my sister. Sure I do...”

“And Susan and Jason...”

“Baby. Going on three years old...”

“And Tina and Alan...”

“His daughter lives with ‘em, and they’ve got a toddler...”

She eyed me. I know her age, her background. The clock’s ticking on her impending granny-hood and I can guarantee you she’s not one of those ‘narcissistic ‘me, me, me’ types. If you’re raised with family, family stays important.

“Jessica’s talking about getting married,” Tootie sighed. “Grandbabies are in my future, but I don’t know when. I guess I should count my blessings that I don’t have three, all with different daddies...”

“I know that happens. Best thing Maw-maw can do then is be all the stability she can for ‘em. Somewhere they HAVE to see what a family’s for...”

“There it is,” she laughed.

“What?”

“The maturity. That’s ONE thing that you and that bunch have – maturity.”

“Thank you.”

Deena plopped down. Whispered, “Save me.”

“Huh?”

“Matt thinks that I was put here, this time, this location, just for HIM.”

“Oh, he’s just bein’ friendly. Y’all’re the same age.”

“I’m a girl and he’s a boy and...” She looked at Tootie. “YOU know...”

“Just be nice,” I said.

She snorted. “I think I KNOW what his definition of ‘nice’ is...”

“He’s fourteen,” I batted back.

“Cecilia’s fourteen at school and she’s nine months pregnant.”

“She’s got a point,” Tootie inserted.

“Okay. Be as nice as you can be with no genitalia involved,” I said. “His dad supplied the crawfish...”

Deena’s got that flair for the dramatic. “Oh, sure, trade my tender young body for crawfish...”

“Smell that? Your body might be a fair trade.”

Got a tongue stuck out at me. She bounced up to go look at something else.

“How’s that working for you?” Tootie asked. “Step-daughter almost your age.”

“Like we’re sisters or school friends. It really works out well. College ... We’re both...”

“It’s just that it – well, it looks so strange ... Sorry,” Tootie said.

“I know it looks strange. Nothing to be sorry about...”

“Personal stuff.”

“Stuff that’s out there for the world to see.” I smiled. “I know ... the age thing. Before I married ‘im, we’d been friends. He’d been my go-to for scholastics. He was a window on the world that Mom, bless her – really wasn’t in a position to give me. Just made sense for us to be married.” I smirked. “Got to the point that SOMETHING was gonna happen, the two of us dancing around trying NOT to have a physical relationship.”

“So you were sixteen and your mom signed.”

“Said it was so she could sleep at night. But all along I was friends with Deena, and after Bill and I got married, she asked ME if it was okay if she came to live with us. One of those things that makes sense. Bill’s good for people. They do better around him. So here we are, me, short, kinda mousy...”

“You’re cute,” Tootie said.

“Thank you. But Deena, she’s taller, a real blonde...”

“Blondes don’t have a monopoly on looks, you know...”

“You know they’re the standard...”

“Hardly,” Tootie argued. “Like that thing over there...”

The ‘thing’ in question was Cindy, in animated conversation with several people, one of them Mister Dukes.

“Well, that’s Cindy. I don’t think she’s even the same species as us...”

“That thought has crossed my mind,” I said.

“If she wasn’t just the sweetest thing ever,” Tootie laughed.

“Yep. You expect tentacles.”

Little Miss Tentacles headed off toward that yellow Stearman, Mister Dukes close behind.

“I gotta see this.”

“You doubt THE CINDY?” Tootie smirked.

“Uh, no, never ... it’s just that I guess I’m supposed to be ‘The Cindy’ for this end of the company and I need to know how it works.”

Tootie laughed. “Hon, ever since Dan put her in the middle of our lives, I’ve NEVER believed that SHE knows how it works.”

Presently I heard the cough then the calm, rhythmic ticking of an aircraft engine, then the Stearman taxied past the open front of the hangar, headed for the north end of the runway.

They did that run-up thing. Helmet-clad Cindy extended a perky thumb to the audience, the engine did as much roaring as one might expect from almost eighty years and two-hundred and something horsepower, and they were off.

Flying was a big part of the day.

Met new people, blonde and very German (love her accent) Hanna and her husband Greg. He manages an airfield twenty-something miles up the road, and SHE competes in this sexy little red airplane and she LOVES to fly.

Haley loves her some flying, too, so I got TWO rides today, one in the Stearman, where Cindy intimated, “You are going to get checked out in this thing.”

“It’s BIG!”

“Just a few more horsepower than our old 180. You wanna, don’t you?”

“Well...”

“The first step is admitting you have a problem,” she giggled.

“I have a problem.”

“Good. Stick’s there in front of you. You know all about the relationship between speed and horsepower and altitude, right...”

“Basically...”

“Horsepower’s two seventy-five. Make the speed ninety. Keep it there. Make us go southeast.”

“Cindy...”

“Just a fine ol’ airplane. America won World War Two with guys who learned to fly this thing.”

“They weren’t sixteen and a hunnert pounds...”

“You’re doing fine.”

Maybe I was.

“Level off at four thousand feet. Try about sixteen hundred RPMs, maybe a little more, and about ninety-five miles an hour. See if she’ll fly level...” Cindy in ‘instructor’ mode.

“Got it.” Set the throttle, juggled the speed a bit. Got level.

“Now, try turns. Left ... back pressure, your speed drops because you have to pull the nose up...”

“Just like the 152,” I said.

“You got it. Same principles. Now, one to the right.”

A few more, then a power-off stall.

“You’re doing great. Let’s go give somebody else a turn.”

“I wanna fly this thing.”

“See?!?” she squealed. “You got the itch. This summer, we’re getting another one for Alabama. You come up, in a couple of good days, I’ll have you checked out.”

“I wanna do that.”

“You will. Now, field’s to our northwest.”

“I see it.”

“Eight hundred feet for the pattern. Wanna stay low because of the big boys over there.”

“Yeah, I know...”

“Big BIG deal with a taildragger is that it will NOT take any crap on landing, directionally speaking. Tricycle gear is naturally self-correcting. Taildraggers, the dynamics are not there, and if you get too far out of whack, you’ll be looking at your own tail. Ground loop.”

“I’ve heard.”

“So what you have to do is make sure that you’re STRAIGHT with the direction of travel. Do your job with the rudder.”

“Okay.”

“So follow me. Light touch. See what I do with the controls. Stearmans share glide characteristics with cinder blocks. You either carry power or you have a steep approach in a glide. I recommend power. We’ll drop it when we cross the threshold.”

We did. I felt the little wiggles of the stick and a little dancing on the rudder pedals and the wheels touched.

“Here’s where you start relaxing with tricycle gear,” she said. “With taildraggers, you FLY – pay attention, until the prop stops spinning and you’re sitting still.”

“And you can’t see anything.”

“So you do gentle S-curves and you go SLOW...”

A locked wheel and a blat of throttle and we were back on the flight line. I was replaced by Tootie. “Always wanted to try this.”

Bill raised an eyebrow when he saw me. I guess I don’t have much of a poker face when it comes to some things.

“You’re smiling too much.”

“That’s on my list,” I said. “I WILL fly it.”

I watched that cute red Extra slide out of the air and touch down. My turn, or at least let Hanna know I was on the list.

List. Russell ahead of me.

Then my turn.

“Headphones,” Hanna said.

I put them on.

“We will fly to the next field and fill up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Hanna. Not ‘ma’am, please.”

“Okay, Hanna. I’m sitting on a parachute.”

“Correct. Is requirement for aerobatics if I have passenger.”

“Uh, aerobatics?”

“Extra is rated for plus or minus ten gee. You understand ‘gee’?”

“Force of gravity,” I said. “People black out at seven or eight.”

“You know, then,” she said. “But we cannot do aerobatics with fuel in the wing tanks, so we will zhust fly around...”

“Works for me,” I said. “But I’d like to try aerobatics.”

“You are a student pilot, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then when you can come to MY airport, I will have no fuel in the wing tanks and we can fly. It will be good for you to learn some things...”