Chapter 5

I did see him again ... at a regatta ... in the starting line yacht. Adam fired the Winchester 10 gauge blackpowder single shot cannon ... the starting gun.

Quite the surprise ... a job usually reserved for the club president. I wasn’t expecting.

We were moving up in the standings ... districtly ... maybe next year. Two more wins would put us on the podium for the regional ... and we were getting excited.

(In case you don’t know about podium finishes ... The podium is a three tiered stage. First place stands on the top platform ... second place stands at the side on the next step down, third place stands on the lowest step. The three places get magnums of champaign, they shake them up and spray everybody with the wine.

In the FED-A there’s only the winner ... everybody else is a loser)

The next time I saw him was flying inverted at about thirty feet over our heads. Something fell, or was dropped and nearly hit me. A red rose.

“Abby,” I said, “Don’t speak to me right now.”

A single red long stemmed American Beauty Rose.

“Ya know ... that rose could be for me,” she said.

“Captain Kidd doesn’t fly,” I said.

“I know ... gets airsick,” she said, then, “It makes no sense ... airsick in level flight but doesn’t get seasick ... ever. Remember last years Chicago Mackinac race... 40 knots and not even a quiver.”

“Oh god...” I erped.

“Yeah ... both of us. Him? ... not a belch ... and the tacos were the greasiest.”

“Hey ... I made those tacos.”

“Pulling your chain,” she chuckled.

“They were pretty tasty ... but not coming back up.” I agreed.

“What was that forecast before the race?” She paused ... we said it like twins...

“Weatherman. wrong three outta five and still employed.”

Hollywood couldn’t do it better. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir wouldn’t have been as precise.

We suffer from great predictions and terrible results.

“You know ... he hasn’t spoken to me since that airshow.”

“You are going to have to make your apologies to him.”

“Damn, I hate it when you are right.”