*******

La Jolla, California
July 21, 1991

"Harmon, darling?" Mom's voice cuts through the darkness. She's
probably here to make sure I attempt to get up today. To get out. To
do anything but sit around the house one more day and pretend this all
isn't happening.

"What?" I mumble from under my pillows. I just really want one more
day to pretend. Or maybe two. Mom walks into the guestroom and pulls
the window shade up, letting it roll around itself with a clatter. The
late morning sun comes streaming in the room and I pull another pillow
over my head.

I'm sure Mom is tired of me lying around her house being miserable.
I'm getting tired of it, too, I suppose. It has been over two months
since the accident. I've been on leave and unsure of what I'm going to
do next. Most days I'm pretty sure I'm just going to resign my
commission and sit here in the darkness responsible for this whole
mess anyway.

"Your grandmother is on the phone. She wants to talk to you," Mom
says. I vaguely remember hearing it ring out in the other room. I
turned off the ringer in here. No one calls for me anyway. With that,
she leaves the room and shuts the door behind her. I reach for the
phone on the nightstand and pull the receiver under the blankets and
pillow.

"Hello?" I say, making myself sound as miserable as I can in one word.

"Hello, Harmon. It's Grandma. How are you feeling?" my grandmother
asks, sounding as cheery and bright as always.  I should have already
guessed she wasn't going to take any of my shit.

"I'm . . . better," I answer, removing the layers of pillows from over
my head until the bright daylight assaults my eyes.

"I'm glad to hear that. Your mother said you weren't really busy and I
have some things I need help with. Would you mind coming out here for
a while and giving me a hand on the farm?" she asks. Actually, she
wasn't really asking me. It was more like telling me with a question
mark attached for no apparent reason.

I don't know why she would need my help. She's had the same hired man
for the past forty years and has sold off most of the land in the last
decade. I sit up on the edge of the bed and look out the window over
the ocean as I consider it. Maybe it would be nice to get away from
here for a few weeks. Clear my head and get a different view of the
world. One that doesn't contain so much water. All I've seen for years
is water. Ocean and sky. It's all I've known.

"Sure. I guess," I answer.

"Good. Get a flight into Pittsburgh and Sam and I will come and pick
you up. Maybe we'll bring Julia along. She's back at home helping
Eleanor take care of George and I'm sure she would like a break. It
doesn't look good, you know. Probably only has a month or two to go .
. ."

"Julia?" I ask.

Mine isn't really a question either. Of course I know who Julia is.
Julianna Woodruff from the farm up the street. Julia, who I spent the
lazy summer days of my youth with, chasing through fields and swimming
in ponds. Julia. The first girl I kissed so many years ago during a
game of hide and seek. We were behind some old blue silos and no one
ever did find us. That Julia will be there.

"Yes. Julia. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. Harmon, let us know
when you will be getting in. It will be nice having you here," she
says before she hangs up the phone.

*********

Pittsburgh International Airport
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
July 23, 1991

I arrive at the airport to find Grandma Rabb and Sam waiting for me.
Sam gently shakes my hand and takes my carry-on bag while Grandma
wraps me in her arms. I tower over her, have since I was twelve or
thirteen, but she doesn't care as she disappears in my embrace.

"It's good to see you," she says. She steps back and just looks at me.
I see the tears come to her eyes and she fights them off as hard as
she can.

"Oh, Grandma. I'm fine," I tell her, hugging her again. Sam turns
around a little to give us our privacy.

"I don't know what I would have done if I would have lost you, too,"
she says quietly. Her face wrinkles up as she thinks about Grandpa and
Dad. "I don't think I could take losing another one of my . . ."

"Grandma, I'm here. You aren't going to lose me, okay?" I say, holding
her at arm's length. She gives me a smile and digs around her purse
for a tissue. She pulls out a little travel package of them and blots
the corner of her eyes.

"I'm sorry. Here I am crying like an old fool and you are the one who
had the accident. I'm sorry, honey. Why don't we go home and have some
lunch and talk about what I need help with, okay?" she says, pulling
something out of her purse to put over her hair before snapping it
closed.

"Sounds good to me," I say as I take her hand in mine as we walk
toward the exit. Neither of us says anything as travelers rush around
us in every direction. My grandmother is actually in terrific shape
from working the farm with just Sam all these years, but I can feel
that her fingers are starting to curl with a trace of arthritis. We
all can't stay young forever.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Julia was going to come with but she and
her mother had to take George in for chemotherapy today. She said she
would try to stop by later," Grandma explains, sounding apologetic.

"I'm here to see you, Grandma, not some neighbor girl I haven't seen
since I was a teenager," I say, as we step out of the terminal.

"You might change your mind when you see her," Sam says with a soft
chuckle. "Time has been good to Julia."

I slide on my sunglasses, hiding from the mid-summer sun. Yes. I
remember Julia well from when she and I were seventeen. Very well. I
can only imagine she is the type of woman who would only improve with
time.

***********

Rabb Family Farm
Beallsville, Pennsylvania
July 23, 1991

"This is the job you had for me?" I ask as Grandma pulls the tarp back
from the biplane. Dad's plane. The kind Grandpa got his wings in. It
is an old Stearman and it isn't in the best shape. I have shadowy
memories of my dad and I talking about fixing it up. I was so young
and it seemed like such a big job. I'm sure all that would have been
expected of me would have been to hold a paint can and bring Dad a
screwdriver every once in awhile. Now I'll never know.

"I think it will be good for you, Harmon," Grandma says, patting my
arm as she walks by. She looks at the old plane and shakes her head.
She knows as well as I do that the job won't be an easy one. This
thing has been stuck in this dusty barn for thirty years now. I know
she's had the opportunity to sell it many times now, but she's always
held on to it. I think I know why. Too many promises are tied to it.
All unfulfilled. Maybe I will be the first to have a son that I can
someday take up in it. But first I have to turn it into something that
can be taken up.

"Good for me how? As an exercise in understanding the futility of
life?" I ask, examining the wing assembly. I hope there are a few
Stearman clubs in Pennsylvania because I'm certainly going to need
their help. And I'm going to need some money. This isn't the most
inexpensive hobby to take up. I don't even know where to begin on this
one. "Grandma, I don't even know where to start."

I stand looking at the wooden planks that made up the floor of the
barn. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know why she called me
out here for this. So I can fail again? Disappoint yet another person.
Thank God I won't kill someone this time around. I just want to go
home so I can . . . disappear.

"Tragedy befalls us all. Do you think you are the first person who
lost something important? You lost a career, Harmon. I've lost a
husband and a son to that same damn career. I almost lost a grandson
to it. You will mourn the fact that your friend is dead but I will not
stand you mourning the fact that you are alive. I will not have you
pouting around here, do you understand?" she asks me as if I am a
child. I guess to her, I am.

"Yes," I mumble. We both stand in silence for a few minutes, letting
her words settle.

"Sam will help you out with what you need to get started. His tools
are all out here and he said you can use them. I'm assuming you know
how. If you don't, just ask and he'll help. I know you just flew them
but I don't know how much you knew about fixing them up. I also know
Sam wired this place for electricity a few years ago because he works
on the tractors in here at night so you don't have to worry about
light. He even put an old refrigerator out here and I'm sure he keeps
filled with beer  . . . just thinks I don't know about it," Grandma
says with a smile and a wink.

I've never figured Sam and Grandma out. They act as married as two
people could act but I don't think they have ever even touched each
other in all these years. She still writes him a paycheck every Friday
afternoon and he still lives in the little house behind what used to
be the chicken coop.

"I'll call you for dinner, honey," she says as she opens the big barn
doors to leave. The old Irish setter who follows her everywhere gets
up out of the corner, stretches and trots behind her, his nails
clicking across the wooden floor. I think his name is Scratch.

"Thanks," I say. I watch her walk back toward the old farm house, her
dog never more than a few yards away from her feet. The two of them
disappear into the house, leaving me alone with just this plane and my
thoughts.

I grab the blueprints for the Stearman and sit down on the ground,
trying to get comfortable. I'm still getting used to the lack of
noise. Carriers are noisy and there is no escaping it. The steam
catapults fire day and night. People are on the go constantly. Now, I
seem to be drowning in silence where ever I go, reminding me I'm here
and not there.

An old orange farm cat circles around me, stepping on the plans and
meowing for my attention. Besides that, the only other noise I can
hear is a far off tractor. The barn smells of years of hay and
fertilizer and of oil from farm equipment.

"What do you want, Louis?" I ask, giving the cat an impromptu name. My
grandmother stopped naming them years ago, saying they came and went
too fast, but I always did when I came to visit. She would laugh when
I was a little boy because I would name them all the same, usually
after some cartoon character.

I scratch the cat on his head and listen to him purr while trying to
figure out exactly how to go about the task at hand. If Grandma wants
me to forget about everything life has thrown at me, she's certainly
figured out a good way to do so.

Standing up, I find Sam's refrigerated stash of Lowenbraus and open a
bottle, tossing the cap to the side. Louis the cat bats it across he
floor in some game before finally losing it to a dark corner. He sits,
licking his paws and then curls up for a nap in a sunbeam. Looks like
a fine idea.

The barn is large and I remember being scared of it when I was a kid.
Surely something terrifying had to live in the darkness that makes up
the corners, I was convinced. My many second cousins did nothing to
assuage my fears. Now I know real terror. It certainly isn't found in
the back of any country barn. I take a sip of beer before wiping the
condensation off on my jeans.

A long shadow moves across the patch of sunlight streaming through the
open door and I turn around expecting to find either Grandma or Sam to
be standing there. Instead I find a tall blond woman I barely
recognize anymore.

"Hey, Navy. How've you been?" Julia asks in a voice softer than spring
rain.

***********

"Sarah told me I'd be able to find you here," Julia says, stepping out
of the sunlight and into the barn.  She tucks her hands into the
pockets of her jeans and stops a few feet in front of me, looking down
at her feet. "It's nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you, too, Julia," I say, looking her up and down like
some damn sailor who just got back from a long cruise. Sam was right.
Time has been very good to Julia. "You look great."

"Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls. And I bet you've got one in
every port, don't you, Navy?" she asks with a smile, using a nickname
she's used for me since she was a little girl.

It was always assumed I'd go to the academy, even back when I was a
skinny kid running around the hay fields with Julia. Actually, I think
her father was the first person to call me 'Navy' and she just assumed
it was my name. George only did it because he and his father both
served in the Army. I imagine that Julia's grand dad called my father
'Navy.'

"Actually, no," I say, telling her the truth. Now realizing that I
might never see another port, I'm beginning to regret the fact that I
didn't have a few more girls spread out here and there. "Would you
like a beer?"

"I'd love one."

I open another beer and hand it to her. She takes a slow, deliberate
sip of the cold liquid and sets the bottle down on a workbench before
boosting herself up to sit and watch me. I grab the plans off the
floor and set them down next to her, putting my beer next to hers.

"Sarah told me about the little project she had for you. Do you really
think you can get that thing flying?" Julia asks, nodding her head at
the old World War II era airplane.

"It will take some work, but, yeah. I think so," I say, knowing I have
nothing else to do with my life right now. I glance at the plane and
then look at her. She gives me a tired smile and the dark circles
under her eyes let me know that it hasn't been easy taking care of her
father. My hair has grown out since I've been on leave and it flops
onto my forehead. Julia goes to brush it back and only then do I
notice the thin gold band on her finger.

She pulls her hand back and looks at it, too. "Do you remember Charlie
Shepperd?"

"Barely," I answer. I think his parents owned the farm in the opposite
direction of where her parents live. When we drove in, there was a
grocery store there now. "Congratulations."

"That's funny," she says, laughing softly. "I married him when I was
eighteen, Harm. We've been separated for five months now. Divorce
should be final soon."

"I'm sorry," I say, looking down at the ground. I forget how much time
has passed since I was last here. Time on this place seems to stand
still. The two of us say nothing and in the nervous silence, time
seems to have stopped completely. She picks up her beer and plays with
the label, her slender fingers pulling the wet paper away from the
glass bottle.

"No need for you to be sorry.  It just isn't . . . or wasn't working
out. Or at least he didn't think it was," she says with a resigned
sigh, looking back at me with sad, blue-gray eyes. So that is the
reason she keeps the ring on. This isn't all her choice. Or she
doesn't know what else to do with her life after it is over, this
being the only life she knows. "We do have a beautiful little girl, so
I don't regret a day of it."

I smile, remembering when Julia and I were kids. She was a tomboy. She
could keep up with me, if not surpass me at everything we did. She
usually was the one who could scramble up the tree faster and swim out
to the middle of the pond quicker than I could. Then she turned into a
teenager and . . . wow. My summer visits took on whole new meaning.

"What is your daughter's name?" I ask, pulling some of Sam's tools off
the wall, trying to figure out where to start this project. I have a
feeling I'm going to appreciate everything my flight mechanic did a
hell of a lot more than I ever did before.

"Jennifer. She's almost ten now and I don't think she's sat down for
more than five minutes since she started walking. She's makes straight
A's. Plays softball better than most the boys play baseball. And God
help us all, she want to take up the tuba," Julia says and we both
start laughing.

"Is she here with you? Staying with your parents?" I ask, pulling down
what I'm sure is a router. I'm really going to need Sam's help. I
stare at the tool in my hand, willing it to explain itself. Maybe all
this knowledge will come in useful someday.

"She decided she'd rather spend the summer with her father at home.
Her friends are all there. Anyway, she doesn't have a cute boy to
chase around here all summer like I did when I was young, you know,"
she says, and I look up at her, catching her smile. "Besides, Dad
isn't doing very well. Jennifer comes to visit . . . um . . . Charlie
brings her from Uniontown . . . that's where we live . . . but it is
very upsetting for her."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner. Grandma told me. I'm sorry,"
I say. Julia's parents are a lot older than mine. I think her mother
was forty when she had her, but I do know that Julia did have a much
older brother named Joey. He was killed in Vietnam. "How is your dad
doing?"

Tears come to her eyes and she tries to force them back, blinking as
hard as she can. She bites her bottom lip and throws her head back,
looking at the lofty roof of the old barn where only darkness resides.

"Not good. I mean, I always knew this day had to come. He's so much
older than all my other friends' parents. It just seems unfair that
their kids get to have both their grandparents and mine . . ." she
looks down from the roof and our eyes meet. A slight flush crosses her
cheeks. "I'm sorry. That was rather rude of me."

"It's all right, Julia. I don't even have kids yet . . . I'm not even
married, so don't worry about it," I say. I know she didn't mean it.
She hardly knew my father and certainly wouldn't remember him.

Julia looks down at the POW/MIA bracelet I'm wearing on my wrist. She
takes my hand in hers and runs her fingers across the metal. I
remember lying under the stars a summer a long time ago, right before
I went into the Academy, and telling her about my trip to Laos the
year before. It was the only summer I didn't come and visit my
grandmother. The only summer I didn't see Julia while I was still a
kid.

"Do you still believe he's alive?" she asks, her voice barely a
whisper. She used to listen to my stories with the wide-eyed
wonderment of a girl, believing right along with me. Now the
practicality of adulthood has edged into her voice.

"I want to . . . I would hope so," I answer.

"Good for you, Harm," she says, twisting my bracelet straight and
releasing my wrist. She looks at my watch on my other wrist and sighs.
"I better be going. The visiting nurse will be leaving soon and I have
to help Mom. It was really nice seeing you again."

She slides off the workbench and shoves her hands in her pockets
again.

"You didn't ask, Julia," I say. She never did ask why a grown man
would be spending a summer with his grandmother. Either Grandma
already told her or . . .

"I figured you'd tell me when you were ready, Navy. I'll see you soon,
okay?" she asks with a smile.

"I'd like that," I tell her as she walks out of the barn and across
the dusty drive way toward the road.

**********

August 13, 1991

The screen door slams shut behind me as I walk into the kitchen,
waking up Scratch. He looks up at me with casual disinterest,
scratches his ear and then goes back to sleep on his mat. Grandma is
washing up some dishes in the sink and she nods at the towel. I pick
it up and start drying the plates from lunch. I ate something Sam
brought out to me in barn, not wanting to stop working. In the three
weeks since I've been here, I've gotten quite far and it is starting
to look like an airplane again.

"What now, Harmon?" Grandma asks me, handing me another plate.

"I'm still waiting on those wing spoilers I ordered. An old friend of
mine . . . someone Mom and Dad new actually, John Bickerstaff will be
coming down from Pittsburgh next week to help me with the oil problem
I seem to be having . . ."

"That isn't what I meant. What are you going to do with your life
now?" she asks, and I stop drying. I place the plate in the rack and
stare out the window. Laundry flaps in the breeze out on the clothes
line, and I can hear it snap through the open window. I'm still
adjusting to the quiet, so different than life on a carrier, but I
have begun to enjoy it immensely.

I turn around and lean against the counter, looking down at the woman
who has taken me into her house for many summers. The woman who found
a diversion for me when I needed it most. But even so, diversions
can't last forever.

"I don't know. I don't want to resign my commission, but all I ever
wanted to do was fly. Without that, I don't know who I am. This is
just something I never dreamed of happening," I say, visions of that
night streaming through my head, the images still so unreal. As hard
as I try to lock it away, I know it will always be there. I was
responsible for someone's life and I failed in my responsibility.

"Life is like that. Do you think I ever imagined that your grandfather
wouldn't come back? Do you think your mother ever thought your dad
wouldn't? But we learned to live after that. And you will learn to
live again. Learn to get out there and fly again, too," she says with
a smile.

"What if I never figure out what else I can be? What if all I can be
is an aviator?" I ask, looking away from her. I spent my life training
for it. Spent a lot of the government's money on it, too. I know of
nothing else. Know no other life.

"You'll figure it out, Harmon. They aren't pushing you to make a
decision, are they?" she asks, as she goes back to washing the dishes.

"They would like to know soon," I answer. The telephone rings and both
of us jump. It is probably Mom. I haven't heard from her in a few
days. Or else another dealer with prices on parts.

"Hello?" I answer, getting the long cord tangled around my legs. I
must get her a cordless phone and bring her into this decade.

"Hey, Harm. It's Julia. How have you been?" the soft voice at the
other end of the line says, bringing me back to the here and now.

"I've been okay. How are thing going with you?" I ask, pulling out one
of the old wooden chairs from around the table and sitting down.
Grandma looks over her shoulder at me, shakes her head and continues
to wash the dishes, stacking them up for me to dry when I'm done.

"Um, well, things have been better. Listen, Jennifer and one of her
friends are here for the weekend and they want to go to some carnival
over at the Presbyterian church in Centerville. Charlie was supposed
to stay and . . . oh, never mind. Would you like to come with us?"
Julia asks. Her voice is filled with disappointment and she sounds
like she has had about enough of life right now.

She stopped by to visit sometime last week, helping with the plane
late into the evening. We talked about her father and her daughter and
how we used to chase fireflies when we were kids, but avoided all
discussions of my failed career and her failed marriage. Maybe we will
go there today.

"Sure. I'd love to," I say, watching my grandmother cock her head to
the side, trying to figure out what is going on.

"We'll pick you up at six. Hope you are ready to spend the evening
with a bunch of giggling girls," Julia says and I can hear those girls
in the background. I also hear their grandmother trying to quiet them
down.

"Sounds like fun. I'll see you then. Bye," I say. I hang up the phone
and return to drying the dishes.

"She's still married, you know," my grandmother says, something short
of disappointment in her voice.

"Grandma, I know that and she knows that. We are taking her daughter
and a friend to a church carnival. What do you think is going to
happen?" I ask, looking at her. I know Grandma's opinion on remaining
faithful to one's marriage, until the end. I also believe that Julia
still thinks hers has a chance, even though it is in a shambles. I'm
not getting in the middle. Or at least I don't think I am.

"Just don't get your heart broken any more than it has been already
this summer," she says, handing me the last piece of silverware to
dry. She lets the water out of the sink, watching it spiral down the
drain.

"I won't, Grandma. I promise."

***********

First Presbyterian Church of Centerville
Centerville, Pennsylvania
August 13, 1991

"Here you go," I say, handing Julia a Diet Pepsi. She watches as
Jennifer and her friend, Amanda, run off toward a dunking booth. We
are definitely in the country. Twenty-five cents to dunk the principal
of the church school. The younger kids love it, but from what I can
tell, most of the older kids are off smoking somewhere. Smoking or
doing something else in the shadows of the night.

"Thanks," Julia says, popping open the can and taking a sip. "I bet
you are getting tired of small town life, aren't you."

"It isn't that much different than living on a carrier. That was like
a small town. Though I'm sure most of them are bigger than this . . .
they just don't have as many women," I say and she laughs.

We both watch as her daughter sinks the poor, wet principal four more
times. She comes running back to her mom for more quarters, eyeing me
suspiciously. Even after explaining to her that I knew her mom back
when we were kids, she still is giving me that funny look like I'm
doing something wrong.

"Jen, why don't you and Amanda do something different for a while?
Here . . . go get something to eat. And finish this," Julia says,
handing the kids the diet soda, some money and sending them on their
way.

"She's got quite an arm," I say, watching Jennifer look back over her
shoulder at me before whispering something in Amanda's ear.

"Jen is something. I think her dad wanted a boy. He was never happy
that we didn't have more, but . . . I couldn't," Julia says with a
slight sigh, watching her daughter disappear into a line of people
waiting for hot dogs.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying to gauge how she feels about this from her
expression.

"Don't be. I have Jen so I'm happy." We both lean back against the
picket fence lining the church yard and watch the people. "So, are you
ready to tell me about it yet?"

"I'm sure you know all about it," I say, turning around and looking
out at the cemetery just on the other side of us. It's small, with old
marble crosses, looking more like a military cemetery. Not the kind
commonly found now with bronze plaques set in the ground, making it
easy to take care of the lawns.

"Sarah only said you were in an accident and that you weren't injured
too badly. She never said anything else," Julia says softly, not
turning around to face the same direction I am. That would mean she
would have to take her eyes off of Jennifer.

"It was a ramp strike . . . um . . . I crashed my Tomcat into the deck
of the carrier. It was dark and the seas . . . well," I start to tell
her the story, realizing I've told it so many times now that I say it
without any emotion and use the same words every time.

"Accidents do happen," she says, repeating what just about a million
people have said before her. "When will you be able to go back and fly
again?"

"Never," I say softly, not liking the sound of that word as it rolls
off my tongue. I remember the ship's doctor saying 'we'll see' when
they asked him and I knew it wasn't good. Further tests turned his
'we'll see' into a definite 'never.'

"What?" Julia asks, pulling on my sleeve and turning me around. "What
do you mean 'never?'"

"I was diagnosed with night blindness. There is no way in hell they
are going to let me fly a fifty-five million dollar airplane again,
Julia. I can't land on a carrier. Apparently, I can't see the
carrier," I say, looking into her eyes. She shouldn't look like she
cares so much. She has enough to deal with at home without all this.
"I'm sorry. With your dad and Charlie, you don't need this. Forget
about it."

"All you ever talked was how you were going to fly someday and now you
tell me you can't but forget about it? I don't think so. You've
listened to me talk about Dad. I'll listen to you talk about this . .
.don't shake your head 'no,' Navy. We've known each other so long I
remember when your grandmother used to bathe us in the utility tub
together in that old shed to get the hay out of our hair. If you can't
talk to me, who can you talk to?" she asks, taking my hand in hers.
Her fingers slip easily into mine. Too easily.

"I have to figure out what I'm going to do now. I can't hide out here
forever, even though there are days that sounds good. I have a few
more weeks leave . . . then I don't know what," I say, enjoying the
feel of being so close to her. It is so comfortable and easy. She
would never have been impressed by the gold wings I no longer have.
She knows who I am. She even saw me naked as a five year old.

And she is also still married to some jerk who should be here with her
and their kid. If I were him . . .

"I had to figure out what I was going to be again once Jennifer
started school. I never worked a day in my life except on the farm.
Then I married Charlie and moved into Uniontown. Charlie works for his
uncle in construction. I went to community college and now I work at
the local newspaper. It isn't much but it is something I never
imagined I'd be doing. You'll find it, too, Harm. We all have the
ability in us to be something different," she says, and I try to
listen and at the same time focus on her hand in mine.

"I know. But I just never thought it would happen so soon," I say,
watching her. She won't push me for more than I want to tell. No one
really has except those damn JAG people sent out to investigate the
crash. They were all over me like the vultures they are.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asks, giving my hand a friendly
squeeze. That is all this is. All we are. Friends.

"I'll be all right," I say, squeezing her hand back. I'm not ready to
go into the rest of the story. Not ready to tell her I killed someone.
Maybe later, but right now, she needs to enjoy her evening out with
her daughter. "Do you want me to win you a goldfish? I'll toss a
quarter into the saucer and get you one."

"That's just what I need right now. A goldfish," Julia says, laughing
at the thought. She lets go of my hand and shoves hers in the pockets
of her jeans. I miss the feel of hers in mine. Damn. I can't be
thinking like that.

"I'll tell you what. I will win you a goldfish and you can send it
home with Jennifer. Make Charlie take care of it. How does that
sound?" I ask and Julia laughs again, louder this time. An old couple
walking by look at us and I can tell the are thinking nothing pleasant
about our type.

"That sounds great, Navy. Let's go win my goldfish."

*********

Rabb Family Farm
Beallsville, Pennsylvania
August 18, 1991

I have the plane out of the barn so I can see what I'm doing to the
tailwheel housing assembly and because Sam needed to do some work on
one of the tractors in there. There is a breeze blowing through the
tall trees lining the perimeter of the property, creating a sound so
lonely that it leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I
haven't felt this alone here until now.

"You look good in green." I jump and drop the wrench I had in my hand.
Turning around, I find Julia there, with Scratch right behind her.
Grandma must have told her where I was working.

"Thanks," I say wryly, looking down at the old flight suit my mom sent
out with more of my clothes. Right now it is covered with the remnants
of a very bad oil problem from earlier today and my hands are caked in
grease. I look like a . . . mechanic and not a pilot.

"How's it going?" she asks, her voice the most lifeless I've heard it
since I've been here.

"Fine," I say, wiping my hands on my dirty flight suit to no avail.
"What's wrong?"

"Charlie went to see his attorney yesterday. He's claiming I abandoned
Jennifer this summer and he's trying for sole custody," Julia says,
looking down at the ground. She kicks some stones with the toe of her
running shoe and I can tell by her body language she's about to break
down.

"You were here taking care of your dad. Besides, I thought things were
friendly? What started this?" I ask. I begin to gather the tools up to
put them away so we can go talk. I'm done for the day. The oil problem
is bigger than I can figure out without some more help.

"This started after Jen told him about you . . ."

"What?" I say, as I stop cleaning up. All I can do is stare at her.
She is serious and this is unbelievable. "We went to a church carnival
. . . besides that, I've known you forever. He knows that. He knows
me."

"Maybe that is the problem. He knows you. Or of you. The kid I used to
run around with who went off to fly Tomcats . . ."

"Well, that shouldn't threaten him anymore, now should it?" I ask
dryly, picking up the tarp to cover the plane again. "Can you help
me?"

"Sure." She grabs the other side of the blue tarp, helping me pull it
over the wings and securing it. "You know what I mean, Harm. He
doesn't want me, but he doesn't want me to have any kind of a life,
either. Now he's going to use Jen to threaten me."

"Let me get cleaned up and we can take Scratch out for a walk," I say,
holding up my hands to show her what once were the hands of a Naval
aviator. Now they look like someone who works at the service station
down the road. "Do you mind if I wear this?"

"For over ten years, Charlie has come home covered in plaster and sat
down on my couch and you think I'm going to mind going for a walk with
you in that?" she asks, shooing me off to wash my hands. I come back
and call for Scratch to follow us to the road.

"What are you going to do?" I ask, as we follow the groove on the side
of the access road that the tractor tires have made. Scratch runs
ahead of us, chasing little yellow butterflies and dodging in and out
of the fields.

"I guess I should go home, but Dad is getting worse. I need to be here
for Mom more than anything. Dad hardly even knows I'm here, but I
don't want to lose Jen. Why in the hell did he have to go and do this
now?" she says, her voice rising in anger. Scratch even pokes his head
out of a field to look at her but then runs back in.

"Is that little creek still there? Between the farms?" I ask, pointing
to the old tree that marks a small foot path. The sun is starting to
hang low in the sky, casting hazy shades of purples and pinks across
the horizon.

"Should be," Julia says, looking off in that direction. "Jen is always
hanging out there and coming back all wet and muddy."

"Let's go," I say, reaching out my hand for hers. She considers the
gesture for a second before taking mine and we walk up the path with
the dog somewhere behind us. The creek is hardly more than runoff from
a small pond. Actually, it's more mud than water, but it's somewhere
to go in a place filled with no where to go.

Releasing her hand, she and I sit down on some old log someone cleared
out of the field years ago, and watch Scratch run back and forth
across the muddy water.

"What would you do?" Julia asks, drawing my attention away from the
dog. I can tell she's been crying already today and she's on the verge
of starting again. She pulls a tissue out of her pocket and tries hard
not to control her emotions.

"He's your father, Julia. I think you need to stay with him. Not
everybody gets that opportunity," I say, reassuring her. "Besides, no
judge is ever going to believe you abandoned Jennifer. You need to
find a good attorney . . ."

"Do you know any better than the one I already have?" she asks,
sniffling a little, but still holding back the tears.

"Me? No, I don't know any except for the ones who kept questioning me
about the accident. I don't think they can help you," I say with a
smile, hoping to lighten things up a bit. She gives me half of a smile
and blots her eyes with the tissues. "You can cry, you know. I don't
mind."

"So can you, you know. I won't mind, either," she says, looking up at
me with those blue eyes now rimmed in red. I just shake my head 'no.'
"What is it that you aren't telling me, Harm?"

I look out at the creek, listening to the water trickle over the
rocks. The dog is chasing a frog up and down the bank but never
catches it and soon it will disappear into the night.

"It is a beautiful evening, isn't it?" I ask, looking up at the clouds
reflecting back the summer sunset. The fields around us seem to reach
out forever, rolling gently before touching the golden sky.

"Harm, what else happened?" Julia asks, ignoring my discussion of the
weather.

"My RIO . . . that's my radar intercept officer . . . the guy in the
back . . ." I try to explain, but she interrupts me.

"I know, Harm. Jen and her friends have watched 'Top Gun' a few times
much to my dismay," she says, turning my way. Our knees bump but she
doesn't move. Instead, she puts her hand on my arm. "What happened?"

"He was killed in the accident. He punched us out and was killed," I
say, looking at anything but her. The sky. The creek. The fields. The
dog. Anything but her incredibly sympathetic eyes.

"Were you close?" she asks, her voice as soft as the evening breeze
blowing around us.

"Were we Maverick and Goose? No. Do I feel responsible? Yes," I say,
finally looking at those eyes. I was right. Sympathetic and so easy to
get lost in. She thinks she can just take care of me like she takes
care of everybody else around her, but can it just stop there? I don't
know. Then again, maybe that is all I need. Someone just to be here.

"I'm sorry," she says, not offering up the proverbial 'accidents
happen' line again or even 'he knew the risks.' I've heard those over
and over and they don't help. "Did the Navy find you at fault?"

"No, but that is just legal paperwork. I'm the one who has to live
with it forever," I say.

She says nothing and for some strange reason that is more comforting
than any words anyone has said before. Julia reaches up and pulls my
head down to hers, kissing me on the forehead. Her lips rest there for
a minute, so soft, and a warm sensation washes through my body. I
close my eyes, remembering long ago summer nights. We've kissed
before, back when we were kids, but we were just kids. We never did
much more than some heavy petting, though I'm sure her parents thought
we did.  But we aren't kids anymore. This could lead places I'm not
sure either of us want to go to.

Her lips travel easily from my forehead to my eyelids, placing gentle
kisses across them . . . so different than those hurried and
inexperienced kisses from when we were young. Slowly our mouths meet
again, like two strangers reuniting after so many years. Her body
turns more into the direction of mine, hands reaching around my neck
and pulling me closer and I'm sure we both know this should stop here.
Stop now.

I can't. We can't.

Julia's lips opens under mine, our tongues searching and exploring the
other's mouth. I don't know what brought this on, but I don't care
right now. My hands tug her shirt out of the waistband of her jeans
and move across the planes of her back. Her hands move to the zipper
of this dirty flight suit I have on, tugging it down just a enough so
she can reach inside and move around the T-shirt under it. Her hands
are as warm as her lips and I pull her closer to me, wanting more. But
she ends it.

She pulls back away from me, our mouths separating but our foreheads
still touching. "How far are we going to take this?" she asks, her
voice raspy with desire. Both of us are struggling to catch our breath
and I don't know how she wants me to answer. She pulls her hands out
of my clothes and places them on my face.

"I'm sorry," I offer halfheartedly. I'm anything but sorry.  "How far
do you want to take this?"

"Do you want to live a life in Uniontown, Pennsylvania raising someone
else's kid?" she asks and I don't answer right away. I never even
thought about it but she interprets my silence to mean something else.
"I didn't think so."

"Julia, I'm still in the Navy. I can't just decide to live in
Uniontown. Besides that, you are still married to Charlie. You come to
me upset about this divorce. You tell me you wanted to work it out
with him, he was the one to end it and now you want me to move to some
place I've never been after one kiss . . . "

"I'm sorry. It was a mistake," she says, standing up off of the log
and tucking her shirt back in. I can tell by her voice that she is
upset. More upset than when we got here. I stand up and take her in my
arms, giving her a hug. I can feel all the tension wash out as I hold
her and she finally lets go and begins to cry.

"That was not a mistake. But I think we need to figure some other
things out before it goes any further. I'd love for it to go further,
Julia. Hell, since I was about 13, I would have loved for it to go
further. But right now, with your dad and Charlie and my lack of a
clear career objective, I just think we better slow down. Okay?" I
ask, holding her tight. I can't believe I just said that. When in the
hell did I develop a conscience when women are concerned?

"Okay," she sniffles against my chest. "I guess we better get home
before they start wondering about us."

"Yes. I think my grandmother is already wondering," I say, and Julia
smiles just a little at the thought.

"Can I still come over and help you with the plane?" she asks what is
perhaps the most ridiculous question I've ever heard.

"Julia, if you didn't show up I would come looking for you, okay? Now
let's go home."

*************

August 22, 1991

"She's looking good," Grandma says, standing a few yards away from the
plane, admiring it. Scratch is right there, looking at the plane, too,
as if he is going to agree with her at any moment. Thank God that dog
can't talk or I would be in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.

"Thanks. I think I'm going to have to take her somewhere for the paint
job and to be certified, but so far, I think it is going well," I say,
climbing down out of the cockpit. "I think I'm going to restore her to
the original yellow."

"Julia called."

"She did? Is something wrong?" I ask. I haven't seen her since that
night by the creek, but that was only  . . .what? Four days ago? I
should have called.

"She has to go home for a few days and she said she was going to stop
by and say good-bye before she left. She said she'd be by this
evening," Grandma says, her voice flat and emotionless. She walks over
to the radio I have on and she turns it down. "Harmon, this isn't a
good thing, you know that, don't you?"

"What would that be?" I ask, playing dumb and knowing better as I do
it. I can get away with it with most any other woman in the world but
this one.

"Harmon Rabb, Jr., don't you even try that with me, boy. Your life is
a big enough mess right now without getting involved with that girl,"
she scolds me, following me from one side of the plane to the other.
Her arms are crossed over her chest and she is disappointed in me over
something that hasn't even happened.

"Yes, Grandma. My life is a mess and I don't have a damn clue how to
fix it. But apparently if I hang out here and put together an
airplane, I will magically come up with all the answers. It isn't
happening. I don't know any more today than I did the day I showed up
here and  I . . ." I don't even know the words for what I am. Or I'm
too afraid of the words.

"You're scared. For the first time in your life you don't know what
you are supposed to be. All those years, you were just going to be
everything you thought your dad was. Well, you can't be. Now you have
to be you. Follow your own path that you make. You might just surprise
yourself," Grandma says, placing her hand on my arm. I pull her into
an embrace and we stand here, in this dusty old barn, two very
different generations just holding on to each other.

"I just don't know where to find the beginning of that path," I say
honestly. "All this time alone and it just isn't coming to me."

"It will. When you least expect it to, it will."

*************

The run-down radio plays a tune which could either be country or
oldies. I can't tell over all the static. It could also be the farm
report I've grown so fond of lately. Rain pounds down on the barn roof
and through the open door, I can see it streaming down the drive,
creating little rivers in the dirt. Summer lightning flashes across
the night sky and the following clap of thunder sends one of the many
cats scurrying for cover.

I have spent the evening struggling with a gasket on the oil pump. It
just isn't working like it is supposed to and it's the one problem I
can't seem to solve. I'll have to pay someone to figure this one out,
I suppose. Or get Bickerstaff back down here and see if he knows how
to deal with it.

I turn off the two brightest utility lamps and the moths that have
collected around them in the past several hours scatter in search of a
new place to flutter their wings. I open another of Sam's beers and
remind myself that I really must replace them someday soon. Sitting
down on the plank floor, I look at the small biplane that has kept me
here and kept me occupied yet not offered me any solutions to my real
dilemma. I guess that only lies within me.

I can't wait until I can take her in the air. I've missed it in
immeasurable amounts; flying and being free from the constraints of
the earth. This plane that I thought was just another punishment in
the beginning is now going to be my access to my greatest joy. Grandma
knew it all along. The plane would give me time to heal and in the
end, would give me back something that I lost.

"What are you up to, Louis?" I ask the cat circling around me. He
seems to have adopted me since I've spent so much time in the barn and
has even started to bring me 'presents' of dead mice. He keeps me
company while I'm out here in the middle of the night working, even if
I could do without the rodent treats.

"Hey, Navy. At least you didn't say you'd call, leaving me to wait by
my phone all week." I turn around to find Julia standing behind me,
soaking wet. She keeps surprising me.

"What are you doing out in the rain?" I ask, jumping up from the
ground to find her a towel. Sam has just about everything a person
could need in this barn hanging on some nail in the wall or another
including an assortment of threadbare bath towels he just couldn't
throw away.

Tossing one to her, I watch as she dries her blond hair and wraps the
towel around her shoulders. She shivers a little as she walks toward
me.

"Coming to talk to you. I have to go home for a few days to deal with
some things. I have an appointment with an attorney Thursday and I
need to sign Jen up for softball and . . . duty calls," she says,
giving me a feeble laugh.

"Is Charlie still threatening you with the custody issue?" I ask. I
collect my beer from the floor and set it on one of the workbenches. I
watch as Julia picks it up and takes a long, slow sip. "I could get
you your own."

"No, he isn't threatening me with that anymore. He had some choice
things to say to me, but at least he isn't threatening to take Jen
away from me. I just can't believe I have to deal with this now. Dad
is so sick and I don't want to leave him . . ." she starts to say, her
voice cracking from the strain of everything. She sets the beer bottle
down and faces the workbench, looking away from me.

"It's okay. It will be okay," I say, as I pull myself up to sit on the
workbench. "Why is he doing this now anyway? What happened to the two
of you?"

"I don't know. I got a job? I stopped paying attention to only him? We
finally grew up? I love . . . loved him, Harm. I really did. And he's
not a bad guy. I just don't know where it went wrong," she says,
finally looking up at me. Tears are starting to shimmer in her eyes
and she uses the towel to wipe them away.

"You were too young?" I suggest and she gives me a weak smile as she
nods her head. She puts the towel to the side, her blond hair still
pressed in wet tendrils to her face.

"We were so damn young. I was just eighteen years old and I'm not sure
what we were thinking except that if we got married we both could get
out of this town. That and something about being able to have sex
whenever we wanted to," she says, and I turn away, not wanting to hear
about this. She has somehow moved until she is in front of me, edging
my knees apart and moving in even closer. "He's been the only one."

"Julia, I . . . we discussed this the other night . . . and if you are
doing this to get back at him . . ." I try to say but I get distracted
by her hands as they tug at me. She pulls me down off the table,
taking my hands in hers as we sway to the soft static dominating the
airwaves.

"I'm not doing anything to get back at him." She places my hands
around her waist, her clothes soaked through, and then she rests her
hands on my chest. The radio occasionally comes in and I'm pretty
certain it is an oldies station out of Pittsburgh. I'm too occupied by
other things right now to tell.

"Even so, you are still married. I'm an officer in the Navy and I know
you are married. I . . . this can't . . ." I try to say, and she rests
her head on my chest as we slowly sway to whatever noise there is
surrounding us in this barn.

"We aren't doing anything." She is so sure of that. So sure it can all
stop right here. Yet she keeps starting this. "We aren't doing
anything wrong."

"You're sure you're leaving him?" I ask, wanting her to be sure.

"He's leaving me."

"That isn't what I asked. Are you leaving him? Are you sure you are
ready to move on?" I ask. Her hands go up and around my neck and she
pulls me even closer. "How about when I'm gone?"

"Where are you going?" she asks, and I don't have the answer yet. But
I know I will be going somewhere.

"I don't know yet, but you know I can't live here forever and hang out
in a barn rebuilding old airplanes. Julia, stop . . ." I say as she
pulls my face down to hers for a kiss. Grandma is right. My life is
far too messed up right now for this. But she is so sweet and I want
to taste more. She is scented of the rain, a combination of ozone and
water straight from heaven.

Her mouth opens up under mine and we are right back to were we
shouldn't be. Everything we say just goes to the wayside when this
starts. Our tongues duel over who has the right to the other's mouth
and no one is really winning. No one is losing, either.

I break our kiss, wanting to see her face, wanting to see if there is
doubt in her eyes. And there isn't. Why do I think there should be?
Instead, there is so much expectation. More than I can ever satisfy. I
can't even meet my own expectations let alone someone else's.

"Stop doubting yourself," she whispers.

"I can't help it. I don't have much . . ."

"Shh . . ." she says, kissing me again. We are both a tangle of
emotions coming together at the same time. Right or wrong, we are both
here this summer and it must mean something. I just don't know now
whether this storm we are creating together is going to turn out good
or bad. Whether it is going to destroy everything or clean it off so
we can start fresh.

I sink to my knees before her and begin to unbutton her wet shirt. My
mind isn't even sure where I'm going with this yet but she doesn't
stop me. I feel her hands resting on my shoulders and our eyes do not
break contact. With the last button undone, she lets it slip off her
shoulders a little but doesn't let it drop to the floor.

My hands cup her breasts gently, feeling them through the silkiness of
her bra. They are more rounded than they were when we were younger.
Rounder, softer and far more feminine. She lets out a sigh as I push
aside the fabric and take a raspberry colored nipple into my mouth,
circling it with my tongue. Her hands move from my shoulders to my
hair, sliding through it. I can feel my cock begin to stir, knowing
what it wants.

I unclasp the front and slip her breasts out of the cups, now moving
my tongue from one nipple to the other. My hands move around to her
backside, slipping up her shirt and pulling her closer to me. A soft
moan escapes from her throat as I take more of her breast into my
mouth, sucking and licking on her hardened nipple.

"Harmon, did you get stuck out in the rain . . ." I hear my
grandmother ask from the barn door. Julia gasps and turns around
quickly, fixing her clothes back up, leaving me here on my knees. "I
guess not."

"I . . .  am . . . um . . . so sorry, Sarah," Julia tries to say as
her fingers fumble with the buttons to her shirt.

"Harmon, stand up and drive her home. She doesn't need to walk back in
the rain," Grandma instructs. I turn to look at her standing there in
the doorway to the barn, tucked under her umbrella, carrying an extra
one for me under her arm. She cannot hide the expression of utter
disappointment and it hurts. She turns around and leaves us there
alone in the barn.

*************

August 25, 1991

My bedroom door creaks open a little and without even opening my eyes,
I know who is standing in my doorway. She usually sends Sam to wake me
up on the mornings I just can't drag myself out of bed, but that isn't
Sam standing there this time.

"What?" I mutter, pulling a feather pillow over my head and molding it
around me so no light can enter.

"Are you going to get up today?" she asks. Nothing from the other
night has been discussed. I suppose it is worse that way. I must
remember that someday when I have kids. The worst punishment is saying
nothing at all. Though why I would be punished at all is beyond me.
The last time I checked, I was an adult.

"Yes," I answer, though I don't move. Professional restorers picked up
the plane two days ago to finish up the paint and polyurethane enamel.
And to figure out all the little things I just couldn't. Without the
plane, the only thing I have to do around here is help Sam and he
always looks like he would prefer me to keep a healthy distance from
any farm equipment. Perhaps he's afraid of Sarah's grandson falling
into a combine or something. Tomcats, they can handle. John Deeres are
out of the question.

She sits down on the edge of the bed and waits for me to uncover my
head. I don't so she does it for me.

"I'm not mad. Or not as mad as you think I am. Harmon, I'm not blind .
. .  look at you. I'm surprised more women aren't hanging out here. Of
course, there aren't that many women in this part of Beallsville so
maybe that's it," she says, and then thinks for a moment, chuckling
about some long ago memory. "Oh, you are the spitting image of your
grandfather. My sisters used to tease me about how I was marrying the
sexiest of the Rabb boys  . . ."

"Grandma!" I exclaim, turning over to look at her.

"Harmon, I may be getting old, but I'm not dead. You think I don't
know an attractive man when I see one?" she asks and I don't know what
to say. "Then there was your dad. Girls everywhere. I didn't know
there were that many girls in the county. He'd smile and listen to
their problems. He was always so sympathetic. They kind of threw
themselves at him. You think you are the first one to get caught doing
something in the barn?"

"Grandma!" I exclaim again, this time sitting up next to her and
putting my feet on the floor. Maybe so I can run if she keeps this up.

"Then when he came home with Trisha . . . she was so beautiful and so
different from the girls from around here. Harmon, make sure you know
what you are doing. Not that there is anything wrong with a girl from
around here. But you had better be certain this is the life you are
willing to settle for," she says, patting me on my leg.

"She wouldn't have to stay here," I say, trying to figure it all out
in my head. Just like I've tried to do over and over for the last few
days.

"Julia has only ever lived two places. Her parents' farmhouse and
Charlie Shepperd's house. Now you think she is going to be pick up and
follow you off while you are stationed in Italy or Japan? And take her
daughter with her? You remember how you felt about Frank when you were
younger? That is how that little girl is going to feel about you,"
Grandma says, and I know it is all true.

"How come it sounds so wrong when you say it . . ."

"And it all sounds so right when she's here? I think you know. But I'm
not going to get into the middle of it anymore. You know how I feel.
But in the end, what you do with your life is your decision," she
says, leaning against me. "I could get used to you being here,
though."

"You'd get tired of me in about six months. Most women do," I say, and
she shakes her head. "Tell me about him. About Grandpa."

She says nothing for nearly a minute as she collects her thoughts.
Nearly fifty years may have passed since his death, but she still
loves him. I know stories about him. About how he got his wings. About
how she got word that he died. I'm sure that even in their short years
together, she's got a million stories to tell.

"Besides looking like you . . . he grew up a farmer. His mother wanted
him to be something better. Wanted him to go to Penn State to be a
lawyer but he didn't want to. They used to fight over it. He was the
youngest and they finally had enough money to send one of their boys
to school to be a professional . . ." she looks at me. "He fought
them. It was silly, really. Something about staying here with me
instead. Then the war started and I thought it would be 'dashing' if
he joined the Navy and became a pilot. I don't know why I thought
that. We had a baby boy and I should have thought of something else,
but I suppose he could have gotten killed a million different ways.
But he was a pilot. And look where it has gotten the Rabb family."

"A lawyer?" I ask.

"Yes. A lawyer," she says with a laugh. "If he would have become a
lawyer, who knows where we might be today."

"Yeah. Who knows."

***********

Orgel Agricultural Aviation Field
Cokeburg, Pennsylvania
September 8, 1991

"She's beautiful!" Grandma exclaims as she steps out of the truck. She
walks slowly around the bright yellow biplane, running her hand across
the shiny paint. The plane has been gone for over two weeks and it has
cost a small fortune to have the job finished by professionals. Good
thing Mom and Frank think this will be beneficial for me and signed
all the checks. How in the hell I'm going to pay to keep her
maintained is beyond me.

Sam parks the truck and goes off to find Joe Orgel, the owner of this
small air field. He owns three small strips in the area, mostly a
hobby now but it used to be his business. This is the closest field to
the farm and where the restorers returned her. Tucked under Grandma's
arm is a package that came in the mail today and I sense it is mine.
She hasn't asked me about it but she hasn't handed it over yet,
either.

"I think she beautiful, too. And she's got her Acrobatic Airworthiness
Certificate from the FAA," I say, going over the papers that came back
with her. I can't wait to get her up in the air myself. To be free
again.

"Be careful." Grandma shakes her head and hands the package to me
without question.

"I'm used to doing rollovers pulling seven Gs . . ."

"Be careful," she repeats again, leaning on the other side of the
wing, looking at me look at the package. "Have you made some decisions
about what you're going to do?"

"Nothing concrete," I say, looking at the return address on the large
envelope. She would have already read it, too. Georgetown University
Law Center. Just one of the law schools in the DC area I asked from
which I requested information, but the one I really want to go to.

"I think it is a good idea," she says looking up at me. "You will be
safe. No one will be trying to shoot you out of the sky. I really like
that idea the best."

"I registered to take the LSAT in December. I still have to talk to a
few people about the possibility of moving to JAG because I want to
stay in the Navy . . . there are a lot of things I have to do before
this happens," I say, opening up the package and putting the
admissions information next to the FAA certificates for the airplane.

"Will you be happy in DC?" she asks, her voice not hiding her sadness
over my decision to leave here.

"I think so . . .  if I even can get in there. Come on, Grandma, I'm
not going to be that far away. I can come visit," I tell her, putting
my hands over hers. "It isn't that far. I won't be on the other side
of the world anymore."

"Oh, you'll be back and here's how I know. Joe Orgel said if you let
him show her a few times in a few fly-ins, he'll let you keep her here
for a drastically reduced fee . . .  just until you get yourself set
up wherever you go. Look around. Joe's got the facilities to house her
and maintain her and he's got a strip . . . don't make that face,
Harmon. He's not going to run her into the ground. He's been flying
since you were in diapers," she says, trying to reassure me.

"I've grown a little attached to her," I say, running my hand across
the new finish, feeling how smooth she is. Even though I haven't even
had a chance to fly her, she is a part of me. A part of my father.

"Your dad would be very happy."

Neither of us says anything as we look at the plane. It was the
project he wanted to do. She and I never discuss my hopes that he is
still alive and still held as a prisoner somewhere. It just doesn't
seem right to discuss with her, his mother. Her loss was as great as
mine. I remember my mother calling her on Christmas to give her the
news. Blurry, tear-filled images of Mom sliding down the wall to the
floor with the phone in her hand as she fought to say those words come
to mind and I try to suppress them. Every summer after that, I came
out here for a few weeks. Mom thought it was important that her only
grandson come and visit and I always found something to do here.

"There's something else you ought to know," Grandma says, looking off
to where Sam is talking to Joe. "I just found out this afternoon, but
they had to take George Woodruff to the hospital today. They don't
think he will be coming back home this time."

*************

Washington Hospital
Washington, Pennsylvania
September 8, 1991

"Which way is George Woodruff's room, please?" I ask the nurse at the
desk and she points us in the right direction. Grandma knocks softly
on the door and Eleanor calls for us to come in. The older woman is
sitting in a chair by her husband's bedside, holding a tissue in her
hand, a sweater wrapped around her shoulders.

"Oh, Ellie, I'm so sorry," Grandma says, going over to give her a hug.
The two women whisper something comforting to each other and I notice
the rest of the family on the other side of the room. Julia is leaning
against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, looking
exhausted and worried. In the corner, there's a man sitting in a chair
with Jennifer on his lap, her arms around his neck. I haven't seen him
for many years but I'm sure he must be Charlie.

"Are you going to introduce us?" he asks, looking from Julia to me
with a blank expression. He's wearing a Steelers cap over his blond
hair and he adjusts it, tipping the brim back further.

She rocks forward from the wall and sighs. "Charlie, you already know
Harm."

"Yeah, I forgot," he says, leaning back with his daughter wrapped in
his arms. She snuggles in tighter and looks at her grandfather. He's
covered in tubes and machines beep in a constant rhythm, all keeping
him alive. Jennifer looks as pale as he does.

"Nice to see you again, Charlie," I say, nodding at him and staying by
the door.

"Likewise," he says, his eyes never leaving me. I stand 'at ease' but
not really at ease at all, and try to watch the hospital staff as they
walk by the door. Grandma chats with Mrs. Woodruff about what happened
today and who from the church has been by already. And Julia says
nothing. She says nothing and looks nowhere. If she is as
uncomfortable as I am, I know why.

"Well, Jules, I'm going to take Jenny home. She's got school in the
morning and it's a very long drive yet," Charlie says, standing his
daughter up on the floor in front of him.

"Come here and give me a hug, Jen," Mrs. Woodruff says, putting her
arms out to her granddaughter and Jennifer walks around the bed and
hugs her stiffly. "We will see you in a few days, okay? You come back
this weekend."

"Okay," the girl mumbles, as her grandmother gives her kisses on the
cheek. Jen walks back toward her dad and stands at his side, pulling
on his hand. I notice he doesn't have a wedding band on. Then again,
Julia's is finally gone, too.

Julia leans in and confides something to Charlie and he nods, looking
down at Jennifer. "I'll take care of it. I always do and you know it
so don't even worry about it. Come on, Jen, let's get going."

"I'll see you in a few days, honey," Julia says, clutching her
daughter in a long embrace.

"Bye, Mom," she says, as they walk out the door.

"Hope to see you again, Harm," Charlie says in what I'm sure is his
most sincere voice as he walks by.

"Same here," I answer, and Julia's eyes meet mine for the first time
since I arrived here. She lets out a small sigh of relief or
exasperation and slumps down in the chair that Charlie was occupying.
She runs her fingers through her hair, trying to straighten out what
she must think is a mess. She looks perfect. Only tired.

"Why don't you two go get a cup of coffee or something to eat? You
haven't eaten all day, Julia. You need to get out of here for a little
while, sweetheart. Sarah will stay with me," Mrs. Woodruff says. I
catch the warning look in my grandmother's eyes and I give her a
slight nod.

"We'll be back in a few minutes," Julia says as we leave the room.

************

"Closed." Julia looks inside the cafeteria and stares at the lone
occupant. It's just some guy pushing around a mop and a bucket.

"I guess it's later than we thought. And it's Sunday," I say, watching
her slump up against the door, pressing her forehead to the glass. "Do
you want to go somewhere else?"

"I don't know. I'm not really that hungry. Let's just go somewhere and
talk," she says, turning around and looking at me.

"Okay . . ." I say warily, knowing where our talking always leads. She
takes my hand in hers and winds us through the hospital corridors and
out the exit. The Indian Summer evening is warm and clear and Julia
takes in a deep breath of fresh air.

"I didn't know you would be here . . . I'm sorry about that . . .
about Charlie," she apologizes unnecessarily, waving her hand back at
the hospital.

"It was nothing," I say, dismissing the incident. "I'm sorry if I made
you uncomfortable. I'm sure you have enough problems right now."

An ambulance screams by on the main street out front and we watch in
silence as it turns in the emergency bay. We can hear the rush of
emergency personnel attend to the person inside and the automatic
doors open behind us, letting out a whoosh of cold air. An older
couple walks out, his arm around her shoulder, as they discuss the
sling on her arm.

It all seems to be making Julia even more nervous and I reach out for
her hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" she asks as I wrap my arm around her shoulders
and lead her to the parking garage where I left the truck.

"Nowhere," I say, opening the passenger door for her. "We can talk in
here."

I climb in on the driver's side and she's already in and resting her
head against the passenger side window.

"Mom is taking it better than I thought she would. Better than I am,
actually. The doctors say it could be days or weeks yet, though. No
one knows anything. Do they ever?" she says with a sarcastic huff.

"I'm sorry. I haven't had to deal with sick parents or sick
grandparents, so I don't know. But from my own experience, they
usually try to tell you as little as possible," I say, reaching for
her hand. I just want to comfort her. Nothing more. But she moves over
from the window until she is tucked under my arm, leaning into me.

"I've known it was coming for months, but still, in the end you aren't
ready. Charlie was nice enough to come pick up Jen, but he had to make
a big deal about it, like I was interrupting big plans or something.
He just . . .  I don't know. He's just so different," Julia says. She
rests one of her hands on my thigh casually, as if we've done this a
million times before. We are sitting here talking about her dying
father and her soon to be ex-husband and her fingers are slowly moving
up my thigh.

"People change. You've changed. I've changed. Even over the last few
months, I've changed," I say, watching everything she is doing. My
heart is beating faster and a slow heat moves to my groin region the
closer her hand gets.

"Have you made any decisions? About what you are going to do?" she
asks casually, her voice sounding far more relaxed than it did a few
minutes ago.

"I have a few ideas." Her hand skips up to the top of my jeans and she
plays with the button.

"Do any of those ideas include me?" she asks and I fumble for an
answer.

"I . . . uh . . . maybe."

We kiss and I am so glad that this parking garage is nearly empty and
the shift doesn't change for another two hours. And that my
grandmother hasn't been able to remember where a car is parked for the
past twenty years.

Julia eagerly pulls my shirt out of my jeans, her hands going under
the material and up to my chest. The chill from her fingertips sends a
jolt to my system.

"You're cold," I say, breaking our kiss.

"I'm sorry," she says, sliding her hands back out of my clothes,
rubbing them together. "The hospital. It is so cold in there. I can't
warm up."

I take her hands between mine and blow on them gently, trying to warm
them up. She smiles at me, but that smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Why
are we doing this?"

"Will you stop asking me that and just let me do it," she demands,
pulling my mouth to hers. Moments go by of just hands and mouths,
feeling desperately for more. Fuck it. If she wants to just do it,
then fine. Let all reason be gone.

Her mouth moves down my face, her tongue flitting across my jawline
and further down my throat. She makes a soft humming sound as she
goes, her fingers unbuttoning my shirt easily. Julia moves so she is
on her knees and the old vinyl seat creaks and complains underneath us
as I shift to get more comfortable. It isn't easy in this old truck
considering the steering wheel is the size of a damn tractor tire.

Opening my shirt, Julia's mouth darts across my chest. She takes one
of my nipples between her lips and rolls it on her tongue, flicking it
around slowly. I try to concentrate, to focus on her mouth and hands
as separate entities but everything they do end up as one sensation in
my cock. My jeans have become excruciatingly uncomfortable. Moaning, I
throw my head back and smack it hard against the glass behind me.

"You okay?" she asks, releasing me from her mouth and turning her face
to look up and me.

"I'll try to recover quickly," I say breathlessly, and this time her
smile reaches her eyes. She places her head back on my chest, this
time facing downward.

"Oh my."

Her hand traces the contour of my erect cock through my jeans before
she slowly unbuttons the fly, each one being freed with a distinct
pop, pop, pop.  I make some low, guttural sound as she reaches in and
releases me from the denim, moving my boxers aside.

"Hold on," I say, tugging my jeans down just low enough so they aren't
in the way. We have to adjust our position to make room for this damn
big steering wheel, and the cracked and torn vinyl of the seat is not
all that comfortable under my ass but I think I might just live.

I hear her wet her lips before she dips her head down to my lap. Julia
tucks her hair behind her ear one last time before her tongue laps
around the ruddy head of my cock, gently searching for the spot that
makes me want to thrust up into her mouth. We have now just gone
further than we ever went when were teenagers. Somehow, I knew it was
inevitable from the moment she walked into the barn.

As her mouth slides up and down around me, any thoughts of tomorrow or
repercussions just fly out the window. This isn't going to help either
one of us but I can't see it hurting. Damn, what is she doing?

Julia motions for me slide further off the bench seat and I comply, my
brain slipping into an irrational sexual fog the longer she does this.
Her father is dying in the hospital a few hundred yards away. My
grandmother is here. If she shows up now, what she saw a few weeks ago
will seem like a five cent peep show compared to this. The neighbor
girl has my cock in her mouth and her fingers wrapped around my balls
. . . her fingers are moving elsewhere . . .

Still, I can't help myself and I fight the urge with all I've got not
to thrust into her mouth until I hit the back of her throat. Her
tongue jitterbugs across my skin until I can't take it anymore and I
feel everything begin to unwind quickly.

"Julia . . ."

She moves back away in time to watch me come, the fluid landing on my
abdomen in spurts that match the tremors rolling through my body. I
try to catch my breath and damn near fall off the seat when a car
alarm goes off somewhere in the garage. Doctors and their cars. She
doesn't even seem to react.

I reach under the seat and hope Sam has his ever present roll of paper
towels still there. Luckily, he does. I clean up and start to get
dressed again. The truck smells like sex now and it is a good thing
the one window only rolls halfway up and it will have a chance to air
out.

"You okay?" she asks, sitting up in the passenger side.

"I'm great. Are you okay?" I ask, looking over at her. Her eyes really
show nothing more than exhaustion. She isn't easy to read tonight.

"Yeah, Navy. Why wouldn't I be?" she asks, her voice not very
convincing.

"A lot of reasons. Come here," I say, pulling her back over to me and
hugging her tight. "Let's see. Your dad is very sick. Your husband has
left you. You've been separated from your daughter for several months
now. I'm assuming that was the first time you've been intimate like
that with another man besides Charlie in your entire life . . . yeah,
I see no reasons for you to be stressed out."

She laughs a little and I kiss her on the top of the head. "You know
I've loved you since we were about nine, don't you, Harm?"

"Really? I thought we were about six. Or maybe that was me," I say and
she rolls around in my arms so she can look at me.

"You're just being nice. I know I'm not the love of your life and this
is no great romantic love. But I'm so damn comfortable with you," she
says, snuggling against me.

"I'm going to try to get into law school, Julia. I'll be back here to
see Grandma . . . and the plane is staying here. I'll be back," I say
to her, stroking her hair gently away from her face.

"Good," she says. "I want you to come back."

****************

Orgel Agricultural Aviation Field
Cokeburg, Pennsylvania
September 29, 1991

I didn't expect to see her here, not this morning. Not after hearing
the news. She walks toward me, each step heavy on the wet grass,
leaving an impression in passing. Julia doesn't look up, but at the
ground she is traveling over. Her hands are shoved deep into the
pockets of her long, heavy coat wrapped tightly around her. It was
surprisingly cool this morning, the first chilly morning of autumn.
It seems fitting somehow. Cool and wet.

Pulling off my gloves, I leave them on the wing of the plane before
going to her. She finally looks up and gives me a feeble attempt at a
smile. It doesn't last long before the tears begin flow. She can't
blink them back this time.

"Come here," I tell her, and her hands finally come out of those
pockets and wrap around my waist as I pull her close. "I'm so sorry.
When did it happen?"

"Yesterday, late in the afternoon. I should've called . . . there was
so much to do . . . I finally got some sleep last night and  . . . I .
. ." she tries to say between the tears. I can feel her body shake in
my arms as she cries and I just rock her.

"It's okay. Someone from the church called Grandma last night. I
figured when you had time, I would see you. I didn't expect it to be
so soon, though," I say, leaning down and kissing her on a salty
tear-stained cheek.

"I woke up this morning and I wanted to see you. Needed to see you. .
. Mom was still sleeping with Jen . . . I snuck out, actually," she
says, leaning back from me. She opens her jacket to show me she still
has on her nightgown and I smile at her. No wonder she looks so cold.
"Sam said you were here."

"What will they say when they wake up and you aren't there?" I ask,
pulling her close again.

"I don't care. It's been an awful week that was worse than you can
imagine and I don't really give a shit what they think," she says,
using a swear word uncustomary for her. It must have been bad.

"What else happened?" I ask, slowly caressing her back. The tension
throughout her body is beginning to wash away the longer I hold her,
the longer she cries.

"As of two days ago, I'm no longer married. My dad is dead and I'm
divorced. All in the same fucking week."

That certainly changes a few things. I never discussed with her the
specifics of when it would be over. I didn't know when the proceedings
started.

"I'm sorry," I say, not knowing if that is what she wants to hear. I'm
sure she is sad a part of her life is over, but then there is this
thing between us . . .

"Charlie is living with someone else already. You asked me once what
started this all and now I know. I asked him why Jen was spending so
much time at his parents' house lately and he told me. I can't believe
him. I can't believe he did this," she says, sounding far more angry
than sad.

Neither of us says anything for a long while as we stand there holding
on to each other. The only sound comes from the breeze blowing through
the windsocks as they snap on their poles.

"You want to go flying?"

"What?" she asks, stepping back from me.

"Do you want to go flying? You'll love it. It can't take away your
problems, but for just a while, you can forget about them  . . .  come
with me," I tell her.

"Harm, I don't know . . . I have so much to do. Besides, I'm in my
pajamas," she says in a whisper, opening her jacket again to reveal a
long, pale cream colored number that is cut low around her breasts.

"That doesn't bother me," I say, looking her up and down before I
begin to pull her toward the plane. "I'd keep your jacket on, though."

"Are you okay, flying that is? Have you taken her up yet? What about,
you know?" she asks, sounding far too apprehensive.

"I have taken her up several times. I'm perfectly fine flying and
unless the sun suddenly goes out, we should be okay. And if the sun
goes out, me flying will be the least of our worries," I say,
wondering how many times she's ever been in a plane before. Certainly,
most people haven't been up in biplanes, but surely she's been on a
commercial flight?

"Were you planning on going before I got here or are you doing this
for me?" she asks, following me as I tug her along.

"Actually, Joe wanted me to go check out one of the other fields, so
it isn't all for you, but I want to take you. I want to take you
flying with me," I say. I stop walking and pull her body to mine,
letting her end up in my arms. We kiss, standing here at this airfield
where just about anybody could see us. I don't really care.

"Mmmm . . .  take me flying . . ." she says, as we part.

"I plan on it."

**********

I shift her clothes around as I fasten the harnesses necessary to hold
her in. My hand skims up her thigh, making slight adjustments and she
writhes a little in the seat, moving enough to allow me to do what I
have to do. I watch as she bites her lower lip, and I must admit my
heart is beating just a little faster even though the contact was so
brief.

"These things weren't designed with lingerie in mind," I joke,
clasping shut the last buckle. I carefully tuck her jacket back around
her so she stays warm. There isn't a cloud in the sky and it is
warming up already. Or maybe that has nothing to do with the weather.

"You aren't going to do anything . . . fancy  . . . are you?" she ask,
her voice heightened with apprehension.

"Nothing you don't want to do. Have ever flown before?" I ask,
stepping down off the wing to gather the headgear she'll have to wear.

"No. All these years, we've always taken the car on vacation and now
you come along. You and your plane," She says, shutting her eyes for a
moment. I step back up and place the headset on her, making sure
she'll be able to hear me. I pull the one side away from her ear to
talk to her.

"Look at it this way. Chances are I'm not going to crash again for
quite awhile . . . if ever. You'll be safe with me," I say, and she
puts her hand over top of mine. "Are you ready to go?"

"I think so."

"We aren't going that far. Just to the next airfield. And no
acrobatics. I'll save that for next time," I tell her, climbing down
again and getting ready myself. I contact Joe and let him know we are
departing and in minutes we are up in the air over Pennsylvania.

She says nothing, just sits in silence as we soar through the air.
I've always been able to escape everything in the air, and I hope she
can, too. Even if only for a few minutes. We always have to go back,
returning to where we belong since we can never quite escape it
forever, but the minutes in the air are better than nothing.

"Are you okay?" I ask, and she tilts her head to the side just a
little.

"It's perfect," she says, her voice cracking. She's been crying again.
I don't care if she cries. So much has happened to her, she needs to
cry.

The first time I got back up in the air a week ago, I wanted to cry.
After everything that happened, it was wonderful to be right here
again, in the cockpit, knowing I can have that control. To have that
freedom. I just couldn't cry. It just makes it too hard to see when
you're flying.

I took Grandma up and she laughed and shrieked the whole time, having
the time of her life. I wanted her to understand what drives us to do
it. Why so many men in her life would give up everything for this
independence from the confines of the earth. Not that she will ever
understand. It is too hard to explain unless it is in you, this need
to be here in the air.

It was the only place I ever wanted to be. It will always be the only
place I want to be.

"It is perfect, isn't it?" I say, my voice as sad as hers.

***********

Orgel Agricultural Aviation Western Field
West of Cokeburg, Pennsylvania

I land the plane at another of Joe's little fields, this one much
smaller than the one where I'm going to keep her in a hangar. The
landing strip is nestled between the rolling hills that make up the
landscape of the area and is much shorter than the other. I enjoyed
the new challenge. I just won't tell Julia how much of a challenge it
really was.

"That was wonderful. Thank you," she says, unfastening the seat belt
herself. Julia stands up and pulls her goggles off, tossing them back
on her seat. I take her hand to help her down and she slides between
me and the side of the plane, her arms automatically reaching around
my neck. Her fingers play with my hair at the base of my neck as she
pushes forward against me, soft curves easily felt through her
clothes. Or rather, lack of 'real' clothes.

The tears she shed have all dried now, but I can tell where they slid
down her face.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." I kiss away the salty trails that mark her
face, moving across her soft skin until I reach her mouth. It opens
easily under mine, as we melt into a long, deep kiss. I feel her arms
slide from around my neck, her hands moving across my chest,
fingernails grazing across leather. They tug the zipper down on my
jacket, slowly, stopping at the bottom, her hands resting there,
teasing me. Those hands then travel under my sweater, and although
they are cold, I don't mind right at the moment. I pull away from the
kiss, wanting to watch her eyes, to know if this is what she really
wants. If her eyes don't tell me, her hands certainly do.

Her breath catches slightly, almost imperceptibly, as I unbutton her
jacket and trace a line across the lacy top of her nightgown. She must
have been freezing up there and she never said a word. I slide a hand
under the lace and she shifts forward, her hardened nipple brushing
against my palm. She sighs softly, as if she is now going to be able
to release all that has gone wrong in the past week. Maybe something
can go right for us now.

It all begins to move so fast as we stand in this quiet, little field.
The breeze has stopped and the windsocks at this airfield hang limp
against their poles. No one lands here often anymore and that was why
I was asked to come here. To check the condition of the field. Not to
do this. This was not in the plans.

Pressing her against the plane, Julia wraps one of her legs around
mine, pulling me closer. It quickly becomes a gentle game of push and
pull, as hands and mouths and legs try to find a good position. Her
hands slip out of under my sweater and down to my jeans as she strokes
my cock through my denim until I grow hard from her touch.

"You really want to do this here?" I ask, knowing I certainly don't
mind but I'm willing to wait until we can get inside somewhere.

"Right here," she answers, her voice as demanding as her greedy hands.
They're already unbuttoning my jeans and reaching in. Already freeing
my cock from its confines. Thank God the temperature has risen
considerably or this would all be over right now.

She wraps her hand around me, and with teasingly, painfully slow
strokes, moves up and down, brushing her thumb across the tip as she
goes. I just stand here, splay-legged, looking dumbly on as she does
this to me. Julia licks her lips and it makes my cock twitch in eager
anticipation but that is not really where I want to go. I want more
than her mouth and her lips. I want to be inside of her.

Julia sweeps her thumb across the drop of fluid collected at the tip
and moves her hand up to my mouth, brushing it across my lips. "Taste
yourself."

"I don't think I want to," I say, fighting the urge to wipe the sticky
substance off of my bottom lip with the back of my hand.

"Then I will." She kisses me, her tongue darting across my lips
quickly, removing any traces of 'me' that she left there. She pulls
her head back and rests it against the plane. "Not bad. A little salty
for breakfast. Not my usual fare."

"Thanks."

I gather her nightgown up around her waist and she holds it there,
allowing me to hook my thumbs around the lace sides of her panties,
pulling them down and off over her Keds. I toss them on the wing of
the plane and hope the breeze doesn't pick up again because that scant
bit of fabric would be gone quickly. Some farmer would find them in
his fields and have a good laugh. Parting her legs, I run my hands up
her thighs, feeling the soft, cool skin that grows warmer until I
reach her hot, wet sex.

She sinks down on my hand, moaning softly as I find her clit with my
thumb and explore her wet center with my fingers. Her eyes shut as I
take my time trying figure out exactly what she likes, what rhythm
finally makes her gasp in delight. I've known her for so long but I
have so much more I need to learn about her. I want to taste her. To
make love to her. To fall asleep with her at night and wake up with
her in the morning.

But this isn't about that. This is about healing and moving on.
Together. And it's about a fast, hard fuck against my airplane before
we have to return to the real world.

She presses against my hand, her hips grinding out slow, tight,
meticulous circles. Her hands go up behind her head, fingernails
desperate to hold on to something, but only finding the slick surface
of the plane. The only thing here to hold onto is me.

I can tell she's about ready to come undone, but she doesn't want to
yet. This isn't how she wants it. "I need you in me," she whispers,
one of her hands coming down to pull my hand away. "I want to feel you
in me when I come."

I lift her up so she can hook her ankles around my waist and enter her
with one easy thrust. Julia's arms hold on tightly around my neck and
I have her backed against the plane for support. With the first stroke
into her body, the plane rocks in that direction, and comes back with
us on the backstroke.

Her body fits perfectly around mine and I don't know how long I will
be able to hold back. I slam into her harder and harder, the plane
behind us rocking more and more. She leans back so my body is hitting
hers just right and I can see tension written upon her face.

"I have to . . . I want to . . ." she starts to say, looking me in the
eye. She's unable to find the words.

"Go ahead."

One hand comes down from around my neck and works its way between our
bodies, knowing its way well. I look down and struggle to see around
fabric, to watch what she's doing, to see her touch herself. Long,
slender fingers grind against wet flesh, her rhythm matching my
thrusts in perfect time. It isn't long before her even pace becomes
more needful and frantic, before she is close to the edge. Her other
hand slides down from around my neck and she grasps the front of my
jacket, fingernails digging into leather, and she brings herself to
climax. Her head rolls back against the plane and she gasps in sheer
satisfaction as her body quakes around mine.

"Good?" I ask, when she finally opens her eyes again.

"Just fine," she says with a smile. She thrusts against me, urging me
to continue.

The only sound there is out here at this old airfield is the slight
breeze blowing across the plane and our bodies slapping against each
other, wet flesh on wet flesh.

I can feel my orgasm welling up through my entire being, starting at
my toes and working upwards until it is a sharp, focused sensation of
pure pleasure around my cock. Shutting my eyes, I want to let
everything go. Everything that has happened in the last few months
ends right here. She pulls me in closer, holds me tighter and I plunge
into her body one last time. My whole body jerks and shudders and I
fight to regain control, wanting to draw this out forever. Everything
goes into a solid bright white and then into black. I open my eyes,
trying to catch my breath. Julia kisses me as I try to descend back to
earth.

Although I would love to stay in her forever, I can't hold on to her
like this much longer. She unhooks her legs and I set her down. We go
about fixing our clothes, occasionally exchanging glances of either
disbelief or happiness. I can't tell yet. She buttons up her coat and
leans against the wing.

"Are you ever going to name her?" she asks, patting the spot on the
wing next to her. Standing in front of her, I lean forward and give
Julia a kiss. It is long and lingering and I don't want her to regret
this. Even if this is her way to forget everything that has happened
in the last few days, I don't want her to be sorry for it.

"I haven't really decided yet. How about I name her 'Julia,'" I say,
looking at the bright yellow biplane. She just laughs.

"I don't think so, Navy. There's only one name for this girl, and
that's 'Sarah.' If it weren't for her, we wouldn't be together," she
says, smiling.

"It was one of her better ideas," I say, leaning forward to kiss her
again. "I better get you back before people really begin to wonder."

She shuts her eyes at the thought. "Can't I just stay here with you?"

"I'll take you to your home. I'll stay with you, okay?" I say, taking
her hands and pulling her up off the edge of the wing.

"And I'll get to fly with you again someday?" she asks, opening those
perfect blue eyes.

"You better believe it."

***********

Beallsville Community Cemetery
Beallsville, Pennsylvania
October 1, 1991

I find Grandma sitting on a marble bench in front of the cemetery's
Washington County War Memorial, staring up at the names of those lost
in World War II. I'm sure she has memorized the exact location of my
grandfather's name, able to quickly pick him out from between Charles
Emrick, who died in late 1941, and Joseph Boyd, who also died in 1942.

George Woodruff's funeral is over and everybody is slowly filtering
over to the fellowship hall at the church for a small luncheon. I told
Julia I would meet her over there in a few minutes and Sam informed me
that Grandma does this after every funeral here. She should be easy to
find.

I walk slowly around the tall obelisk, looking at all the wars. All
the names of the dead. Starting with the Civil War up to one soldier
from this area killed in a friendly fire accident just last year. Most
of them were younger than I am now. Some of them my age.

Dad's name is still listed as a POW/MIA. She never had it changed,
even after all these years. Even though I'm sure she believes he is
dead. I stare at it, my fingers tracing each individual letter carved
out of the granite, as if somehow that connects us for just a moment.

"Harmon, do you still believe he's alive?" she asks. I don't answer
her immediately, as I try to come up with the right words to express
my beliefs to someone who cares more than just a casual listener.

"I'd like to hope so." Walking around the monument once more, I stop
and stare out at the trees, some just beginning to abandon their
summer green. It is a warm afternoon, or warmer than it has been the
last few days. I can feel the sweat begin to trickle down my back
under my Navy blazer and begin to form across my brow under my cover.
Or maybe it isn't the weather but this topic. It doesn't bother to me
to discuss it with anyone else but my mother or my grandmother. My mom
flees from it as fast as she can and my grandma and I just never
broach it. Until now.

"It was so much easier with your grandpa. So much easier knowing that
he was . . . gone right away. Don't get me wrong. The grieving wasn't
any easier. I cried for both of them. I cried for my husband because I
knew he was dead. I cried for your dad . . . my son . . . because I
didn't know where he was or what they could be doing to him. Didn't
know if I'd ever see him again. I cried for all the things I didn't
know," she says. All the time she stares at her hands folded neatly on
her lap. Finally she looks up at me. "And most of all, I cried for all
the things he might not ever get to come home to again."

"What you would rather know now? What would be easier to hear?" I ask
her. As I go to sit down next to her on the bench, she stares at the
names again. Her eyes always focus on the same line.

"What would you rather know? That he's been alive all this time and
away from you and your mom? That he missed most of your life? All of
your childhood? That is what you would rather know than . . . " she
begins to ask, her voice trailing off.

"But what if he's alive out there? I just can't give up on him. I
can't do it. I know you and Mom have come to terms with it and have
accepted it. But I just can't give up yet. I want to have that hope.
Right now, after losing everything else, I need that hope," I say. She
slowly unfolds her hands and places one on the sleeve of my jacket,
patting my arm gently.

"You haven't lost everything. Trust me, you haven't come anywhere near
to losing everything. And I think you've picked up a few things along
the way," Grandma says, nodding her head toward the figure in the
distance walking toward us.

Julia.

"Yes, it seems I have," I say with a slight smile. Julia is walking on
a gravel path with her head down and her arms across her chest. It is
only when she sees me watching her that her whole demeanor changes. It
is not something that goes unnoticed by my grandmother.

"There is a good thing about all this. At least now you have two
reasons to come back here once you're settled in DC. Julia and the
plane," Grandma says.

I put my arm around her shoulder. "The way I see it, I have three good
reasons to come back here."

***********

Rabb Family Farm
October 3, 1991

Julia sits on the edge of my bed, watching me pack my bags. She picks
nervously at the old chenille bedspread and only smiles when I look at
her.

"I'm sure your mom will be happy to see you," she says, trying to come
up with anything to say. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them
only to do it again in the other direction. Her peach colored dress
buttons all the way up the front and slips open slightly with her
movements. And she catches me looking. "Just make sure you come back
to visit often."

"If everything goes right, I won't be *that* far from here," I say,
pulling whatever clothes I have left out of the closet and packing
them into my bag. "I have to go back to California. I have people I
need to talk to there. My car is garaged at my mom's. The Navy is
looking for me there."

"I'll be looking for you," she says, placing her hand on my arm as I
put the last few items into the suitcase. "I'm really going to miss
you."

"What are you going to do now?" I ask. She pulls her hand away,
placing it on her lap, where she plays with one of the tiny pearl
buttons. She went back to work today, but only a half-day. She left
early to take me to the airport.

"I talked Mom into selling the farm and moving in with Jen and me. I
can't believe it . . . that the house and everything will be gone. It
just doesn't seem possible," she says. Her voice grows distant at the
thought.

"How does she feel about it? After living there so many years?" I ask,
checking the drawers for anything I might have left behind.

"She's not excited about it. Mom doesn't want to leave her friends and
her church . . . I'm not making her move right away. I don't think I'm
even ready for that. How will I ever have a social life with my mom
living with me? I mean, it is bad enough my daughter is there, let
alone my mother. How am I ever going to sneak boys home at night?" she
says with a teasing smile.

"Just how many boys were you planning on sneaking home?" I ask,
closing the last drawer. She and I haven't been alone since we went
flying. We haven't had time to even talk about it until now and I
don't know what she expects.

"I guess that depends on what happens with your life," she says with a
soft sigh. "I mean, I knew when you came here that you wouldn't be
moving in with your grandmother and staying forever, but . . ."

"But you also weren't planning on the other day ever happening, where
you?" I ask and she slowly shakes her head 'no.' "Neither was I."

I grab my shaving kit off the dresser and toss it in the suitcase
before closing it up and swinging it off the bed. "That's everything."

"That's everything," she echoes back to me. I look down at her, her
fingers still fumbling around with those little buttons.

"Not quite everything." I kneel down on the floor in front of her, and
begin to unbutton each one of those little buttons, starting with the
bottom one. "Do you want this to happen again?"

"Harm, the airport . . ." she says, her voice trailing off as my hand
brushes up against her inner thigh.

"We have time. If I miss this flight, I'll take the next one. I've
learned that in life. There's always another flight," I say, moving in
a little closer to her.

Julia leans back on the bed, supporting herself on her elbows as I
finish up with the buttons. They go all the way up to the
scooped-front collar, and I have to lean into her in the process. I
don't think she minds too much. Her dress falls open, and she lets it
slip off her shoulders before allowing her eyes to look over at the
door standing open. She then looks back at me.

"Don't go anywhere," I tell her as I stand up and close it, turning
the old key in the lock and leaving it in place. I know Grandma said
she'd be out helping Sam for at least another hour, but there's no
point in pushing our luck.

Returning to my place before her, I slide her pumps off and motion for
her to lift her hips up as I remove her slip and pantyhose, casting
them to the side.

"We aren't going to do this fully dressed this time?" Julia asks,
sliding her arms out of the sleeves of her dress.

"Well, you aren't. I'm still fully dressed," I say, and as quick as
lightning, she sits up, wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me
into a hard, deep kiss. Her hands work through my buttons with ease,
doing away with my shirt as quickly as I did away with her dress. I
break away from her kiss as I feel her hands move to the button on my
pants.

"Julia, we can slow down a little this time. It isn't cold. We aren't
standing out in a field . . ."

"But you have a plane to catch . . ."

"Slow . . . down," I say, taking her hands away from my waist. I pull
her all the way onto the bed, feeling her body move under mine as we
kiss again. The old bed squeaks and creaks in protest and I remember
that it is probably as old as this house. It certainly feels like it
and we both sink into the middle as we fumble around for that elusive
comfortable position.

"It was . . . almost easier against . . . the plane . . ." she says,
moving so she is beside me. Her hands return to the button of my pants
and she unfastens it and pulls down the zipper. I kick off my shoes
and socks as she eases my pants down over my hips and tosses them with
the rest of the clothes on the floor.

She has me out of my boxer shorts next and then props herself up on an
elbow and smiles. "Now I have on more clothes than you do," she says,
her fingers traveling down my chest toward my over-anxious cock. I try
to say something about getting her out of her clothes but my voice
dies off into a soft moan as she takes me in her hand, her thumb
brushing lazy circles around the tip.

"Okay," I finally utter once I find my voice, "Let's do away with
these."

Julia moves her hand just long enough for me to unfasten her bra,
discarding it over the edge of the bed. I motion for her to lift her
hips so I can slide her panties off, sending them off in the direction
of my luggage. Somehow, she maneuvers her way across this soft
mattress so her mouth is just centimeters from my erect cock, her
breath hot on my flesh, her hand still moving up and down my length.

Her tongue replaces her thumb in drawing those circles around the head
of my cock and the only sound in the room is made by fingers against
fabric as I try to clutch on to the bedspread underneath me, gathering
it up in my fists.

Pulling me into her mouth, Julia's tongue flits up the underside as
she wraps her lips around me. Every sensation in my body is focused
right there and I try to come to my senses and remember that she is
here and that I need to please her, too.

I move her so she is on top of me, and when my tongue makes contact
with her clit, she stops whatever she is doing to me with her mouth
and lets out a breathless gasp of pleasure. She grinds her hips back
against me as her tongue flicks out against my cock again. I can tell
she's trying hard to concentrate on doing something to me and on what
I'm doing to her, but she's having a difficult time. Her tongue darts
out to match my rhythm but she skips a beat here and there.

Finally, I pull her up and turn her around so she is above me, her
hands holding on to the old headboard. My tongue dips into her wet
folds, lapping up every taste that makes up her. I wrap my hands
around her waist, trying to hold her still. She lets out a gentle sigh
as I make contact with her clit again, my tongue circling slowly at
first until I find I find the speed that makes that sigh a moan.

I can feel her press forward against the headboard as she tries to
control her body, to will it not to move as I do this to her, but
she's losing. Letting go, she grinds against my face and mouth and
tongue, showing me what she wants.

The headboard slams hard against the plaster wall as she falls
forward, her orgasm circulating through every fiber of her being. I
don't let up the pressure against her clitoris, drawing it out until
she falls off of me and wraps herself around me, almost purring like a
cat.

"That was good," she confesses before I get the chance to ask, as she
uses the corner of a pillow case to wipe the wetness off of my face.
"But what about you?"

Her hand wraps around my lagging erection, bringing it back to life.
"I'm sure we can think of something," I say, rolling us so she is on
her back. I settle myself between her thighs and she wraps her legs
high around my waist, allowing me to slide into her easily. This is so
much easier than standing in an airfield. Maybe not as exciting, but
far easier.

As I begin to thrust into her, the bed begins to creak and moan in
protest and we both laugh. I hope everybody stays out of the house for
just a while longer. I don't need hours here. Just a few more minutes.

Propping myself up above her, we never break eye contact. Our
movements are slow at first, but gradually grow more demanding as I
get closer to the edge. I don't want this to end, but it has to. I
have a plane to catch. This bed will fall apart if we keep this up.

Her body slams up against mine, as her legs wrap tighter and move
higher up my body. I don't think I can sink in any farther and I don't
even know where her hands are and then I'm suddenly aware that one is
slinking between our bodies so she can touch herself.

Even though the room isn't hot, I can feel the sweat begin to form
between our bodies, making us stick on each thrust, adding another
scent to the room. It is another sound added to the creak of the bed.
Our bodies slapping against each other in a sexual frenzy.

Not knowing how much longer I can hold off, I rise up to my knees, her
legs still wrapped around my waist. I pull her as close as I can to my
body and watch her touch herself, fascinated by how comfortable she is
in front of me so soon. I've had plenty of lovers, but none that I've
known as long as Julia. When she figures out what I'm doing, she just
does it more vigorously, her other hand moving across her breasts,
brushing across her nipples.

Just the image of what she is doing is enough for me to come, and I
pull her tighter and release everything inside her in a hot flood. My
body is still jerking above hers, the spasms still moving through me
as she reaches orgasm again. I can feel every muscle of hers quake
around my cock and it just sends me further over the edge. I fall down
on top of her, trying to catch my breath.

Pulling out of her, we both look at the mess that there will be no way
to hide. The white chenille has a puddle in the middle of it and it is
spreading fast.

"Good thing you are leaving," Julia whispers, trying to clean it up
but failing.

"Speaking of leaving . . ." I say, looking at the clock on the
nightstand. I look back at her and a million different emotions cross
her face. "Julia, I'll be back. I promise . . ."

Before I can get out another word, there's a knock on the door. Our
eyes go wide and Julia tries to choke back a gasp.

"Harmon . . . Julia . . . don't you think it is about time you get
ready to leave for the airport?" my grandmother calls through the
door.

"I'll . . .  um . . . be right down," I call out, not knowing what
else to say.

We don't say anything else until we hear her footsteps go down the
stairs.

"You'll be back . . . if you're allowed back," Julia says, pulling me
down onto the bed for a final hug.

"Oh, I'm sure I can always sleep with the other 'Sarah.'"

***********

Pittsburgh International Airport
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
October 3, 1991

Julia stares out the window at the 747 parked at the gate while
Grandma and Sam discuss some concept about harvest time unknown to me.
The ticket agent goes through everything one more time, her nails
clicking away on the keyboard. The flight stops at Chicago before
going on to San Francisco and I'm sure it will be picking up more
passengers there.

"Here you go, Mr. Rabb. You are all set and enjoy your flight on US
Air," she says with a lipstick smile as she hands me my boarding pass.
"Next, please?"

I move out of the way as she hurries on to the next person in line,
and Julia turns her head and gives me a halfhearted smile before
looking back at the plane. Sam walks off, like he always does, leaving
me alone with Grandma.

"Are you ready to go home?" she asks, nervously picking some imaginary
lint off of my sleeve.

"I don't have much of a choice at this point," I say with a sigh,
holding up the boarding pass.

"That isn't what I meant," she says, looking up at me. I know what she
meant. Am I ready to return to the my old life without being what I
was before? Am I ready to make a new life? Can I deal with starting
over now?

"Thanks to you . . . and to Dad, I'm ready," I say, taking my
incredibly smart grandmother into my arms and hugging her tight. "I'm
scared, but I'm ready."

"Someday soon you won't be scared anymore. You'll be that same old
cocky aviator you always were in the air, you'll just be a cocky
aviator in a court room. Everything will be okay. You're alive and
well and that is all that matters," she says, and I can hear her voice
crack. She doesn't cry about too many things. Not after everything she
has lost. I don't want to give her one more thing to cry about if I
can help it.

"I'll be back soon, okay?" I say, and she pulls out of my embrace.

"You better be, or I think that girl will go crazy," Grandma says,
nodding at Julia. She is leaning up against the window, watching the
two of us. Her arms are crossed over her chest and I can tell by the
way she lowers her eyes away from us she's going to start crying. "Was
it worth it?"

"Yes," I say with a smile. I give her a kiss on the cheek. "It was,
Grandma. And I will be back. To see both of you. I love you."

"Bye, Harmon," she says, letting my hand go as I walk over to Julia.

She puts her arms around me as we hug, her cheek resting against my
chest. "Even knowing you were leaving doesn't really make it easier,
you know?"

"I know," I say, kissing the top of her head. The lipstick-woman at
the ticket counter makes the first boarding announcement, calling for
those in first class to board and those needing assistance. Several
people form a line to get on the plane, but she and I just stand
there, arms wrapped around each other.

Sam and Grandma have walked away a little, giving us our privacy as we
say good-bye. Not that everybody going to San Francisco isn't
watching. Julia tips her head up and I let her go to brush away a tear
before taking her hands in mine. "You're all acting like I won't be
back. And you act like this isn't going to work out. Julia, we will
try to make it work, okay?"

"Okay," she says, and I lean down and give her a kiss. The next
boarding call goes out, and I know I'm in the following group.

"Thanks," she says, looking up at me with those sad blue eyes. Her
voice is barely above a whisper now.

"For what?" I ask.

"For taking me flying," she says, her one hand going up to my cheek
and brushing across it gently. All of a sudden I feel as if time is
running out. As if I'm not ready to go back. As if all the plans I've
made will never work and I'll fail at everything. That if I just hide
out here it will all be fine.

But I can't. And I learned that here. It will be okay. I can do this

I take her hand in mine again and hold it tight. The announcement goes
out for the section I'm in. The plane is so damn big. How could they
be up to that already? I give her one last kiss before I know I have
to go. I do have to go.

"And thank you, Julia . . . for teaching me to fly again."

The End