The Cabin

The air was mild, as cold mountain air goes. There was no wind which made the temperature more bearable. The helicopter came over the trees, sporting large ski-like appendages for landing gear. I cringed thinking how much this must have put a strain on Mary's finances. I would, of course, have to pay for it. It landed in the clearing and sank about a foot into the snow after causing a local blizzard. The blades were still turning when I saw my sister jump into the waist-high snow and wallow toward me.

I met Mary halfway. Her eyes were red and I wasn't sure if she would hug me or hit me. I wasn't sure if she knew. "I'm sorry," I yelled over the sound of the twirling blades. She threw herself into my arms and I could feel her shuddering as she started crying. I held her and told her I was sorry a couple more times. I saw the pilot waving us in. I think he was holding the copter at the top of the snow and didn't want us to dawdle.

I spent the trip back to civilization listening to a very repetitive lecture regarding my selfishness. In between all of Mary's salient points were tears. I took it all and knew I deserved more. When we were on the ground and the blades had stopped, I looked at Mary's red eyes. "I love you too," I said. There were more tears. This time good tears as we hugged. The pilot left us there and headed into what looked like an office at the small airport.

It took me about twenty minutes to convince Mary that I had no intention of going through with anything like that again. She handed me my goodbye letter, still in its original envelope. It also contained a copy of my will. I took it and apologized for the umpteenth time. I found out later she had told no one. Even her husband was convinced this was a rescue mission due to bad weather and bad planning.

I insisted on paying for the helicopter. Mary didn't put up much of a fight, but warned me about the cost of an emergency Christmas Day flight. The pilot was grizzly old guy, maybe in his sixties or early seventies, who looked like he spent his whole life outdoors. His face had that strong leathered look. He smiled when I asked who I should pay. It was a 'I was thinking of buying a Porsche' smile. "My daughter will take your payment," he grunted, pointing at the empty counter. "Samantha!" he called loudly.

"Dad, we're still screwed," said a woman with strawberry blond hair, as she rounded the corner. She was looking into a ledger. "Come April fifteenth, the IRS will take what's left." She had her hair in a single braid that ran down to her waist. She was wearing a flannel shirt tucked into jeans. Her skin had the same outdoors brown tone of her father's, but none of his stress. "Even with this trip to rescue the idiot, the bill for the required FFA equipment will put us under." The old man coughed, trying get his daughter's attention. I, the idiot, held out my Visa card and smiled my most charming smile. At least her expression should be entertaining. I could see Mary trying to hide her grin.

Samantha looked up slowly, finally realizing she wasn't alone in the room. I lost my smile when I saw her eyes, her powder-blue eyes. Julie's eyes. Angel eyes. Samantha looked at me and started to stutter an apology and stopped. Something happened in that moment that I could only describe as hope. I knew Samantha felt it too.

"You can accelerate the depreciation on required technology this year." My accountant knowledge kicked in while I got lost in her powder-blues. "You should be able to write off close to fifty percent this year."

"Are you sure?" Samantha asked, never taking her eyes off mine.

"Yes," I answered, restoring the smile to my face, "I can get you a copy of the regs if you would like." I put my Visa on the counter and pushed it over to her. She put her hand on mine and caressed the card into hers.

"I would love to have a copy," Samantha answered. Her hand was ringless and her smile warming.

"Maybe over dinner, tomorrow?" I suggested. Boldness had never been a part of me before. This was something new. Samantha was something new and I wanted new. Screw the past. I heard a stifled giggle from Mary and another cough from Samantha's father.

"That would be lovely," Samantha agreed. Her eyes sparkled. I knew exactly whose angel I spent the week with.