is excited. She feels like a child, practically pressing her nose against the plastic of the window. The engine starts to rev, and they begin to taxi down the runway for takeoff. Harry pushes the throttle and they race forward. One second their landing gear is on the ground, and the next they are in the air, climbing, climbing. The earth falls away beneath them, and when they bank, Claire can see they are already hundreds of feet in the air, the people on the ground, houses, trees rapidly diminishing below her.
At cruising altitude, Harry says, “Some view, eh?” He has to yell now above the engine.
She nods her head, leaning forward in her seat. She can see the curve of the earth and beyond, stretching to the end of the horizon, the blue of the Atlantic. She is amazed by how fast they are moving. What would have taken an hour in a car now takes seconds.
“I’ve never done this before,” she says. “I mean, fly in a small plane. It’s incredible.”
He points to his right ear. “You’ll have to speak up,” he yells.
“Okay,” she yells back, smiling.
He smiles and gives her a thumbs-up, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses. As they fly he points out landmarks. They have now left the mainland behind, soaring godlike over the ocean. A fishing boat, white against the dark blue water, bobs like a toy. Block Island looms in the distance, and then suddenly they are almost over it. She sees the waves crash on the rocks.
“That’s Bluffs Beach,” he shouts. “Over there is Mohegan Bluffs and Southeast Lighthouse. In between is Black Rock Beach. It’s a nude beach, but I don’t think you can see much from up here.” He smiles.
She looks at him. He is wearing shorts and moccasins, his legs strong and tanned, covered with golden hairs. She wants to touch them. This is the first time they have been alone together. It is hard to speak. She had no idea it would be so loud.
Words formulate in her mouth, but nothing comes out. There is so much she wants to say, but this is the wrong time. In addition to the noise of the engine, he is wearing a headset, further blocking his ears.
“Did you say something?” he asks, lifting the right earpiece to hear her better.
She shakes her head no. Relieved, she feels like someone who has stumbled on a precipice but miraculously regains her balance. Her heart is racing, her palms are sweaty. Nothing has changed.
“Do you want to try it?” he yells, indicating the controls in front of her.
“What? You mean fly the plane?”
“Sure, it’s easy,” he shouts. “Put your hands on the controls. It’s not like a car. The tiller controls the altitude, which means it lets you go up, down, left, and right. If you pull on it, the plane will go up. Push and it goes down, get it? The throttle controls acceleration. See that? That’s the altimeter. It tells you how high you are. Keep at one thousand feet. That’s your airspeed indicator. You’re going about a hundred and fifty-five miles an hour now. And see that little instrument that looks like a plane? That’s your attitude indicator. Keep it level unless you turn. Okay?”
“What should I do?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have my hands on my controls the whole time. Just go ahead and take your controls. They won’t bite.”
She puts her hands tightly, too tightly, on the tiller. The vibrations from the engine course through her. The plane bucks slightly, and she jumps. “Not so tight,” he says. “Relax.”
“I’ll try.” She inhales and exhales quickly several times and then resumes her grip, this time lighter, on the tiller.
“Good. Now just keep her level.”
He lets go of the tiller. “See? You’re flying the plane now.”
“Oh my god. That’s amazing.” She is giddy. She can’t believe how easy it is.
“Want to try a turn?”
She has to strain to hear him. She yells back, “Yes. What do I do?”
“Turn the tiller slightly to the right and then straighten out.”
She does, and the plane turns but begins to drop.
“Pull up a bit—but not too much.”
She does and the plane levels out again.
“Very nice. Now just keep heading on this course. See over there? That’s our airfield.” When they get closer, he yells, “You better let me take over now.”
He contacts the tower, tells them they are approaching, and receives permission to land.
He reaches out his right hand and points. “We’re going to pass over our house. We’re right on the flight path. Look down.”
She cranes her neck. Below is the house, like a diorama in a museum, a microcosm. She is a giant. He begins the landing, flaps down, reducing airspeed. The treetops rise up to meet them. Objects become larger again. They touch down with a slight shudder and a bounce as the air pressure resists the wings. He taxis to his parking spot and kills the engine.
“Not bad,” he says, looking at his watch. “And it’s not even noon yet.”
“Thank you so much. That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever done,” she says.
Her eyes sparkle. Descending from the cockpit, the rest of the world feels flat and ordinary. She wishes she could return to the clouds.
On the drive back Claire, emboldened, now a risk taker, a conqueror, asks, “What happened to Johnny? I mean, his scar. Walter said he had an operation when he was younger.”
“That’s right. He was born with a congenital heart defect. A hole in his heart.”
“Oh my god. What did you do?”
“There was a series of operations. We took him to the Children’s Hospital in Boston. The first time we were up there for months. He could have died.”
“How old was he?”
“The first was right after he was born. The last when he was four.”
I remember sleepless nights in the hospital, the monotonous beeping of the monitors, concerned surgeons in blue scrubs, the small, deflated, unconscious form beneath a transparent shield. It was hell.
“Is he all right now?”
Harry rubs his forehead. “I don’t know. I think so. The doctors are optimistic he’ll be okay. It’s been a long time since we had a scare, thank God.”
“He doesn’t seem sick. He seems like an ordinary healthy boy.”
“It’s been hard. He tires easily. And Maddy watches him like a hawk. She’s always on the lookout that something might be wrong. We’ve had some false alarms, but we can’t be too careful. Even if he looks like an ordinary healthy boy, he’s not.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No
