He knew why he felt this way.He’d walked down a road like this when he’d seen his first bi-plane.He’d been so wide-eyed, the owner had given him a joyride.
Now he knew that the joy of that ride had filled both of them.He’d been a good excuse to take to the air.Since then he’d taken a few wide-eyed boys for joyrides himself.
The air quivered in the heat, and for a moment he almost felt dizzy.His vision blurred so he couldn’t be sure as the edge of a brown wing came into view.
With each step he could see more of the plane and not just the bright red wing.
“It doesn’t look like a very big plane,” Rita observed, still clearly doubtful about this plan of Con’s.
“No,” Con said.“It’s a bi-plane.”Did his voice sound as far away as he felt?It almost looked like a Pitts, but that couldn’t be.There was at least one Pitts out there somewhere, but the plans hadn’t spread this far yet.
The door of the house opened and woman came out.She looked as tired as the landscape, in her worn house dress and apron.
“Can I help you?”She didn’t sound friendly or unfriendly.But she wasn’t what he’d call neutral either.
“We’re interested in chartering Henry’s plane.”He nodded toward it with his chin.He didn’t dare look at it, because his eyes were playing tricks on him and he needed to stay grounded at the moment.
The woman’s gaze did turn toward the plane.
“My husband died last month.I’m selling the plane.”
That was where the flatness in her voice came from.He recognized it now.Not everyone wanted to share their grief with strangers.
Her gaze came back to meet his and now he saw the strain around her eyes, what were probably new lines, and deep sadness.
“I’m sorry,” he said.He needed to say something, anything that wasn’t about the plane.He wished he knew what.“How…” It felt crass but she didn’t want the plane.“How much you asking for it?”
“The plane?”The blankness of her face altered some, and she studied him with more interest.
“Can we look?”
The woman led them that direction without speaking.As they rounded the corner, Con’s stared at the plane sitting there.
A Pitts Special?
It wasn’t tricked out and was obviously home-made, but he was pretty sure it was a Pitts.
How was this even possible?Had he conjured it up out of his imagination?He ran a hand along the fuselage.It felt real.It looked real.But it couldn’t be.Could it?
He stepped back, trying to blink the haze or stars or whatever from his eyes.It looked real.A stab of something in the area of his chest felt tangled with sorrow at what he’d lost when he’d leapt through time with Jack—and a kind of relief at finding something almost familiar.It wasn’t home, but it was close.
“He built it from some plans he got somewhere,” the woman said.
That’s how Con had gotten his hands on a Pitts.He hadn’t modified his to be a two-seat, though.This Pitts didn’t have the wheel pants that helped the aerodynamics when Con did his stunts, but she was pretty and appeared to be well-kept.
Con glanced at the women.She was looking at Rita with tired curiosity.For a minute he tried to see what the woman saw, but he gave himself a mental shake.He needed to get eyes on the plane and see if it would work for them.
He started a walk around, moving the ailerons and the rudder and making sure everything that needed to be hooked up was still connected.
Henry had taken good care of her.She didn’t sparkle like his Pitts, but then Henry probably hadn’t been doing stunts.When you did stunts, you needed the sparkle.
Was it his imagination that it was already starting to look a little sad around the edges?A month?It wouldn’t take long for her to start showing signs of neglect.
He opened up the engine hatch.This was where you took extra care.The guy had done it here.The engine was pristine.
Con closed the hatch and turned back to the women.“He took care of it.”
A hint of annoyance crossed the woman’s face.“Yeah, he did.”
