Corcovado, Or Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars

"What about the VA? Did they call Schultz, in Seattle?"

"Oh, yeah. He came up, too. Stayed two days, and Delta sent some guy out from Columbia Presbyterian."

He shook his head, felt a little ashamed of his outbursts at Sutton.

"I think she understands, Dad."

"Who?"

"Dr Sutton. Everyone here knows all about you. Everyone busted their ass, Dad. You got to believe that."

He had nodded, said he understood - but he didn't, not really. "When do you go back to school?"

"I'm taking the semester off, Dad. You're gong to need a hand for the next few months..."

"Where's Altair?"

"Back in her slip...on the lake. A bunch of us, some of the guys from work, Melissa, we all brought her down. Not a scratch, Dad. You'd've been proud."

"Melissa?"

"The woman from the bakery?"

"Oh, yes. How is she?" he added, barely remembering her.

"Back in Atlanta, but I called her. She told me to tell you she'll try to come up this weekend."

He shook his head, tried to make sense of this new world - his new life. "Ted? What am I going to do?"

And his son sat there in the silence, thunderstruck. His father had never once asked him a question like this before, asked him something so - consequential.

"What do you mean, Dad?"

"What am I going to do now?"

"I don't know, Dad? What are the options?" - and then he had watched in dismay as his father looked down at the foot of the bed, at the emptiness waiting there, staring back like an accusation.

"Someone told me that people from corporate came by. Any idea what that was about?"

"Some friends, I think, but a few people from Atlanta, too. They talked with your docs, and that's about all I know on that front."

He shook his head - as if trying to clear away the cobwebs - then looked up at his boy. "You said the boat's back in Seattle? How'd that go?"

"Some guys from, well, pilots, and Melissa and I - and that doc from Whaletown - we brought it down. Took three days, but it was a breeze. No problems at all."

"What doc?"

"Oh, yeah. When you passed out..."

"I passed out?"

"Fever. Yup. We got on the radio and called it in; the Canadian Coast Guard called a doc in Whaletown, and she came out to the General Store. I picked her up at the store and carried her out. She's the one who called for the medevac..."

"A medevac? What? A helicopter?"

"No, some kind of float-plane. Single engine, turbine."

"Jeez, my insurance company is going to go nuts."

"Apparently that's all been taken care of. Your corporate people got on to the VA and they're all coordinating with the insurance companies."

"That'll be the day." And they both laughed, then he realized it still felt good to laugh. "Wait a minute...you said Melissa and that doc? What happened to Tracy?"

"Long story, Dad, and I think Melissa might be the one to explain all that."

"Melissa? Why?"

And Ted looked away. "Things weren't what we thought, Dad."

"What does 'what we thought?' mean, Paco?"

"She...Melissa...didn't just show up. She'd been following Tracy, for weeks."

"Following?" he said, his thoughts reeling.

"Tracy had been, I don't know...how to say this. Trafficked? Is that the right word?"

"Trafficked? What do you mean, trafficked?"

"She'd been abducted, Dad, years ago, moved around a lot by whoever 'owned' her. Singapore, Hong Kong, then - finally - New Orleans, a few years ago. Melissa works on some kind of task force, law enforcement. FBI, Interpol, those kinds of people. Anyway, she couldn't tell me much more than the basics. Someone identified Tracy a year ago and law enforcement moved in, began tailing her. I think they're trying to home in on the people chasing her..."

"Chasing her?"

"Yeah, well, when she came with us she was making her break, I guess you could say."

"Jesus, Ted. Is anyone tailing US now?"

And Ted laughed again. "I think we're covered on that end, Dad. I'm a cooperating witness, under protection."

"Sweet Jesus," he sighed, not at all happy now. "This Melissa...is that even her name?"

Ted shrugged. "As far as I know..."

"Right," he said, looking at his son and for the first time realizing how clueless the boy was. How clueless they both were. "And she's, what...coming back up here soon?"

"Maybe this weekend."

"I can't wait. Man, she was laying it on pretty thick..."

"Dad...she likes you. I mean...I think she really likes you."

"Swell."

"She, like, cried for an hour after you came out of surgery," Ted said, looking at his leg, "and she didn't leave your side, like, for a week. 'Til Mom came up, anyway."

"Your mother came up? Oh...that's just fucking great."

"She still cares, Dad."

"What turnip truck did you fall off of, son...?"

"What?"

"Never mind," he sighed, again, only this time it seemed to last a little longer than forever. "So, your mother shows up and Melissa beats feet?"

"Yup. That was about the size of it."

"By any chance, did you remember my phone?"

"Oh, yeah," Ted said, digging around in his coat pocket. "All charged-up, too," he added, putting the phone and its charging cords on the little rolling table over his father's lap.

He turned it on, looked at his phone's message queue and groaned. Over fifty voicemails. More than five hundred unanswered emails. Dozens of text strings. "Dear God..." he whispered, suddenly feeling the task of sorting through all this noise was, at best, a Sisyphean effort.

"Bad?" Ted asked.

"I can handle it," he said, his voice now strong, full of command, and he looked up at Ted again. "What about you. School. When does it start?"

"Next week, but I..."

"No, you should make plans to head back to Boston, today. You need to finish up, and you've got big decisions to make."

"I've made them, Father."

His left eyebrow arched on hearing 'Father' in that challenging tone of voice. "Indeed. Anything you'd like to share with me?"

"I'm going to seminary."

"I see. What pushed you back? The Tracy thing?"

"Everything happens for a reason, Dad. Tracy, you - all this was just a reminder...I need to get back on the path that's been laid out for me."

"I see. Well then, you're happy with the decision?"

"Yessir - content would be the word I'd choose."

"Good...well then, best get on the phone, get your classes lined up, then make plans to head back."

"But Dad...how will you..."

"I'll manage, son. You've got to tend to your own life...not look after me."

"No, sir. I've already made plans to stay here, help you get settled, and that's what I intend to do."

He looked at his boy, at his chest all puffed up, and he tried not to laugh. "All right, boy. We'll take it one step at a time...how about that?"

There came a knock on the door and a woman's face appeared.

"Safe to come in, Ted?"

"Yeah, sure Doc...Dad? This is Doc Sullivan, from Whaletown. She's the doc who came out to the boat..."

The woman came in the room, and while he looked her over he tried his best not to smile. She was short, red-haired and milk-complected, with a broad mask of deep freckles under her green eyes - and she was wearing Birkenstocks - his least favorite footwear in the world. She was cute, and he liked the look of her. All but the unshaved legs, that is.

"I was in town and heard you were up and around..." she said, walking to his bedside. "How are you doing?"

"Me? Swell. How 'bout you?"

She seemed taken aback by his nonchalance, and felt a little on-guard. "Anyone talked to you about what comes next?"

"Next? No, not really."

"Oh? Well, I guess..."

"I guess I should thank you," he said, trying to put her at ease. "I was apparently out when we met?"

She laughed a little. "Yes, I sorry. My name is Brigit Sullivan."

He looked at her left hand...'No rings,' he said to himself as he held out his right hand.

"Jim. Nice to meet you, Brigit," then he added: "So, I hear you're a sailor?"

"Not much of one, really, but I didn't think two people could handle that boat alone, all the way back to Seattle. So I volunteered," Sullivan said, grinning. "Then the cavalry arrived."

"How'd you like her?"

"Her? Oh, you mean Altair? Oh, I loved her, very much indeed."

"Your accent...Irish?"

"Yes. I came here to go to school. I decided to stay for a while."

"A while?"

"Yes, well, its been twenty years...so I guess the best laid plans..."

"I see. Yes, funny how fast the landscape can change."

She smiled, looked into his eyes. Yes, full of doubt right now, but that was only natural. His entire life upended, all his plans... "So, what are you thinking you'll do when you get out of here?"

"I don't know yet, Brigit. Any ideas?"

"Get a peg-leg and head for the Caribbean?"

"Ah. I never saw myself as the Johnny Depp type, ya know?"

She smiled at him and he melted inside - just a little - then he realized he was staring at her - and she wasn't turning away. No, she was meeting his gaze head-on.

"I talked a bit with your people from Delta, and the VA. Rehab will be no problem, and it seems they want you to think seriously about the training slot in Atlanta."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I hope you don't mind, but one of them gave me a card and I've called. Someone is supposed to be up tomorrow to talk with you about all that."

"Who? The VA?"

"No, Delta."

He looked away, out the window...but all he could see was his right leg...and his lips scrunched-up into a loose frown. "Training," he whispered as he recoiled from the thought. Hours and hours in a simulator, teaching kids - with all their lives ahead of them.

And his was all behind him now, receding fast.

Then he felt her hand on his, rubbing away his fear. "It's not, you know," he heard her say.

"What?"

"Your life. It's not over."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's all over your face, in your eyes. But you're wrong, Jim. It's going to be a fight, but you're just opening the book to a new chapter."

"Ah, I see. That's how it is, eh?"

"I suppose it can be, yes. The other option, I assume, is to simply fall away, fall into a black hole...what you might call the pits of despair."

"Never been my thing."

"I think I knew that, but it's nice to hear you say so, nonetheless. Oh yes, your VA people classify this as the direct result of your original injuries, by the way. As far as coverage..." but she saw he'd tuned her out, and was in fact falling over in the bed. Then - he was gone again...back into that landscape called very bad trouble.

+++++

He woke in in the middle of yet another strange night, woke to the steady hum of machines pumping medicine into his veins, of other machines listening to the fading electric currents arcing through his body. He listened to the beep-beep-beep of one and turned to look at it, and he saw what he assumed was something like his beating heart - only something wasn't right. Another registered O-SATS, another PULS, and yet another RESP - and as all of them registered something in the positive range he assumed that he was still alive...yet even so the thought that he might be dead rolled around in his mind for a while. Then he was aware of people dancing all around this place, chanting strange things into the night...

"Gimme 5cc epinephrine," one voice sang.

Then another cried - "Get that goddamn central line going!"

Then he saw his mother standing by his bedside, and she was looking down at him, smiling gently.

"Hi, Mom," he said, as gently.

"Hello, Jimmy," she said, and while he took comfort in her presence, something about her being in the room troubled him. "Oh yes," another voice, this one as familiar, said, "your mother's been here for...oh, how many years? Is it five now?"

He turned to this second voice, his mind reeling: "Dad? Is that you?"

And they were both by his bed now, looking down at him, and they were smiling now, an odd, gentle smile - a smile he'd never seen.

"Hello, Jimmy," his father said.

"Why are you here?"

"You asked," his mother said, "so we came."

"I asked?"

"You're dying now, Jimmie," his father said. "It's alright. Don't be afraid."

"Dying? Me? Now?"

"Yes."

"But...I'm not ready."

And his father looked at him again, and smiled. "Okay. So, go back to them."

"Go back?"

"Yes, of course. Go back."

"You have more to do, Jimmie," his mother said, still holding his hand.

"I smell...gingerbread," he said. "Are you baking?"

And she smiled again. "Yes. For you."

"You're not making this any easier, are you?"

"We'll be here when you're ready, son," his father said.

"Be careful," his mother added - then she was gone.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"What's happening to me?"

"It's not you, Jimmie. It's your boy."

"What?"

But then his father was gone, too.

"Ted?" he cried. "Ted!"

"I'm here, Dad! I'm here, we're all here!"

He felt his parents in the darkness, felt their smiles, then he reached up, reaching for the warmth of their light.

+++++

The shades had been drawn the night before, but he'd asked the night nurse to open them; now he watched the dawn slatting through thick, late-summer foliage. The walls of his room were a riot of criss-crossed shadows, no direction clear, no way to tell where the sun was.

He heard the door open, saw Ted sticking his head in the room. "You up?" his son asked.

"Yeah. A few hours now."

"Still can't sleep?"

He bunched his lips, shook his head.

"Your parents?"

He shrugged.

"You know, Dad, it's not the strangest thing I've ever heard."

"Yes it is. And it's different when you hear it coming from someone else."

"I can only imagine. What did Sullivan call it? A near death experience?"

"Oxygen deprivation, by any other name."

"That's one world view," Ted added, grinning. "You want to hear something even weirder?"

"Fire away."

"When the air ambulance thing showed up..."

"I think they're called airplanes, Ted."

"Yeah. It was called a Kodiak."

"Oh? Nice. Sorry I missed it."

Ted shook his head, then plowed on ahead. "Anyway, I sat up front. We talked, the pilot and I, and I told him about you."

"Oh?"

"It was the first time I've ever been interested in it."

"It?"

"Flying."

"Oh? What was interesting to you?"

"The methodical certainty of everything. Do this, do that - and if you do everything just right you make it. If you don't..."

"You screw the pooch."

"Yeah, that's it. I've heard you say that a million times before yet I don't think I ever really understood until just then. Anyway, I found it kind of interesting."

"What does 'interesting' mean?"

"I've been looking at flight schools."

He looked at his son, nodded his head slowly. "I see."

"What do you think?"

"I think you being in the room while I tried to die really fucked with your head."

And they both laughed.

"Feels good to laugh, doesn't it?" his son said.

"You have no idea. What time does that flight from Atlanta get in?"

Ted looked at his phone. "She's due in at ten."

"You picking her up?"

"Yup."

"Where's she staying?"

"The Four Seasons."

He nodded his head, looked out the window.

"So? What do you think?"

"About?"

"Flight school."

"If that's what you want to do."

"Well, Dad, actually...I'm asking for some advice."

"And you know how I feel about that."

"Yeah, I know. 'You're smart enough to make your own decisions.' I hear you, Dad, but right now it kind of feels a little like a cop-out."

"Does it?"

"Yeah, it does."

And he heard the same teen-aged insolence, the same wall of sarcasm he'd always heard whenever he'd tried to give his son any kind of advice. "Well," he said, taking a deep breath, "let's see if I've got this straight. You've wanted to be a priest since you were knee high to a grasshopper, then you get to BC and all of a sudden it's medicine. You bounce around back and forth between those two for three years then you take a ride in an airplane and all of sudden you want to be a pilot? Have I about nailed the contours of the basic premise here?"

Ted looked down at the floor.

"So, you tell me," he continued. "This whole God thing seems to be a driving force in your life, and, if that's so, just what do you think that Old Fart wants you to do?"

"That's not how it works, Dad."

"Oh? There's a checklist for that too, is there?"

"No, I think He leads us to choices, then he sits back and watches, waits to see what we'll do."

"And then what? He doesn't interfere? He just grades on a pass/fail basis?"

"Yeah, Dad. Just like you."

"What?"

"Just like you, Dad. Don't you get it?"

"No, obviously not."

"That's all I've ever wanted, Dad. To be just like you."

"But, you wanted to be a priest? I'm confused..."

"I was too, until I talked with Melissa about it."

"Melissa? What did she have to say?"

"Nope, and you know what, Dad? I'm not going to interfere."

"Interfere? With what?"

"Jesus, you are one thick-headed son-of-a-bitch."

"What the devil are you talking about, Ted?"

"Melissa and Brigit, you idiot."

"What about them?"

Ted shook his head - then looked at his phone. "I think I'm going to head out to the airport now."

"It's seven o'clock."

"Yeah, how 'bout that."

"Bring me what you have on flight schools. I'll look 'em over."

"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Dad."

"And a cheeseburger. I'd kill for a goddamn cheeseburger!"

But the door had closed - before he could say another word.

+++++

He wasn't quite sure why, but he barely remembered Melissa those first few minutes after she walked into his room - and that made this reunion all the more unsettling.

She had, apparently, made some kind of connection to him that day. That much was clear, yet even so something seemed off. She was good at concealing things, wasn't she?

As the morning passed he remembered more of their time talking in the cockpit, the blustery winds, dodging timbers that had broken free of their rafts, even fragments of her shooting the inlet...then everything was gone - like the rest of the day had been wiped clean. And the most disconcerting thing of all? He hadn't recognized her - not at all. And yet, here she was...

And when she had first come in the room...? She had dashed to his bed and wrapped herself around him, and all he had felt was a vast chasm of annoyance opening between them. Her hair, dry and scratchy, crushed against his face and he'd felt a wave of panicky suffocation settle over the room. She had grabbed his face and kissed his forehead - and then she must have seen the confusion in his eyes. She pulled back, looked into his eyes and a veil of tears crossed between them.

"Do you know who I am?"

He had turned away a little; a fraction of a gaze passed between them and he knew he had answered her question. She regrouped a little, took the seat Ted had pulled up for her, then Ted simply left the room.

"Ted tells me you helped moved Altair back to Seattle."

"Yes, that's right. Brigit - Doctor Sullivan - was with us too."

"I should thank you for all that. I'm not sure Ted would've been up to that."

"Really? I got the impression after an hour or so he hardly needed us at all. He couldn't sleep, you see, so he stood behind the wheel, steering hour after hour. We stopped in Friday Harbor and he told us about the trips you used to take out there, to the islands, before he slept."

"I guess we never really know what our kids will remember, do we?"

She looked away. "We never had kids."

"I'm sorry. I never knew that much about..."

"Let's not go there, okay, Jim?"

"Sure."

"Anyway, you've set up Altair to handle anything, haven't you? She handles like a dream."

He turned to her, his little ship, in his mind's eye, and he saw her then. For the first time...since...resplendent under a full set of canvas, biting into the wind - like a wild thing set free.

"I have no idea what I'll do with her now."