The Flight Before Christmas Ch. 01

I couldn't conjure another idea, so I decided to call someone I knew to explain my situation and hopefully get some help.

When I unlocked my phone, I remembered and was reminded that I'd missed a call while a needle was in my tongue. I returned it first.

"It's Todd Carlson, Mr. Grant. I'm so sorry I stood you up," I said to the individual who answered. "I've had a bit of a situation."

"That's right. I didn't quite make it there. Had to land the plane in a field somewhere in Nebraska, and now I need to find it because I've just been discharged from the hospital."

"I've been better, and I'm almost whole. Just missing a bit of my tongue."

"Thanks for understanding. I'll get back in touch with you as soon as I can get back to Houston."

"Merry Christmas to you and yours as well."

I then texted the only person I could think of who could quickly assist me.

Give me a few he responded.

About twenty minutes later, I received a LAT/LONG via text.

How precise?

Pretty damned. he replied.

Gracias amigo, you've saved my day.

NP, buddy. I'll let April and everyone else know you're okay.

I requested a Lyft to pick me up at the hospital after I'd been discharged. I'd been there for three hours, and the sun had long since set. The driver took me to a rental car service where I picked up a Buick Enclave SUV. I punched in the coordinates I'd received into the GPS map on my phone and settled in for the estimated forty-five minute drive to the place where I'd abandoned the aircraft.

One thing I love about rural America is that it's dark after sunset. It's like dark dark. The absence of cultural illumination allows the stars in a crystal-clear sky to twinkle brilliantly in the cold, dense air. My favorite astronomical constellation, Orion, was behind me as I drove westward.

I arrived at the waypoint I'd set along County Road 350.

I stopped the SUV on the shoulder to get my bearings. I stepped out of the vehicle and scanned the horizon. I caught what I thought was the silhouette of the tail of the Cirrus against white Christmas lights which were strung along the rooflines of a lone house. I drove in that direction and stopped at the end of the gravel driveway. The plane was sitting right where it'd been left, but it appeared as though the parachute had been stuffed into the cockpit. I very cautiously and slowly climbed the wing, opened the unlocked door, and removed the keys.

I closed and locked the door then jumped off the front of the wing to avoid tempting fate. I'd barely aimed the key at the baggage compartment's lock when I heard the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun being racked.

"State your business or you'll have some buckshot in your butt," said a quite commanding voice.

I recognized it as that of the woman I'd inconvenienced earlier in the afternoon. I held my hands up with the keychain dangling from my pinkie. I slowly turned around.

"It's me, the pilot!" I said to the bright light.

The beam moved down to the gravel in front of me. I saw the woman standing on the covered porch along the front of a sixties-vintage white clapboarded house. She began walking briskly toward me, cradle-carrying the shotgun.

"Oh, crap! I'm sorry! Please forgive me, but there's been tons of rubberneckers coming out to have a look-see since it was all over the news. Didn't know if you were another looky-loo or what."

"I didn't mean to frighten you, ma'am. I apologize. I considered ringing the door first, but figured it'd only take me a minute to grab my suitcase and go find a hotel somewhere."

"I've got a young child, so I'm a tad on edge with all the sudden attention," she said. "Why don't you get whatever you came for and come inside. You've had a rougher day than I have, I'm sure."

"Really, ma'am, I don't want to be any more of a bother than the major one I've already been. I'll just get my stuff and be on my way."

"When was the last time you ate?"

I considered her question. "Breakfast, then a granola bar during the flight. I was planning on getting into Kansas City at about 7:30 and eat dinner there."

"Then you haven't eaten a square meal in almost twelve hours. Let me fix you up. I insist," she encouraged.

I had no reason to argue, so I fished out the remainder of my stuff, locked the plane, and followed the woman.

"I'm Brenda Mays, by the way," she said, offering me a hand.

"Todd Carlson," I responded with a gentle shake.

"How's your face?" she asked with genuine concern.

I chuckled. "It's been better."

"Yeah. You're kinda banged up, huh?"

"The folks in the ER found it hilarious how I got hurt not by the incident, but by my ungraceful exit afterward. I now have a few stitches in my tongue as a reward."

"Can I see?" she asked with a curious expression.

I turned my head in profile and stuck it out a little.

She grimaced at first, then showed sympathy. "Ouch. Still hurt?"

"Not too much right now, but the anesthesia hasn't worn off yet."

"Are you even able to eat?"

"Good question. I actually don't know."

"I'll find you something soft."

I followed her into her house then to her kitchen. She gestured for me to take one of the stools at the bar-height counter.

"So, Mr. Carlson. Would you please tell me how you managed to deposit an airplane in my yard?"

After asking her to address me informally, I spent about fifteen minutes recounting the events of the day.

"I've seen aerodynamic drag-chutes during my time in the military, the kind used to slow on short runways. Never seen a civilian plane descend on one."

"Yeah, they've saved a lot of lives. More than two hundred, and probably one more today. You're military?"

"I was in the Air Force."

"Nice."

After a few seconds of silence, she said, "You know, my little girl went to bed very distressed because she really thought Santa had crashed his sleigh and lost his reindeer. She thought the parachute was a giant empty bag which should have been full of Christmas presents."

"Oh, poor kiddo."

"We'd made a snowman near the clotheslines. I was about to get Stacie out of her coat in here when I heard your plane hit the ground, right on top of the snowman. I went outside to see what was going on and saw you fall face down."

"Great first impression, huh? Sorry about her snowman. How old is she?"

"She just turned four. She'll be fine. She's … resilient."

I noticed a hesitation in her voice.

"The potatoes are instant, and the stew is last night's leftovers. I hope it's okay," she said, stepping to the opposite side of the counter and placing a steaming bowl in front of me.

She'd ladled piping hot, thick, hearty stew onto a mound of seasoned mashed potatoes. I leaned slightly over the dish, feeling the warmth rising. The aroma caught up with me and my salivary glands went into hyperdrive.

Yeah, it was simple, but it was hot and was absolutely perfect for a bitterly cold night. It was comfort food defined.

I picked up the fork, scooped a test bite, blew on it to cool it a bit, then placed it in my mouth. I slowly chewed, testing my ability to eat. It tasted fantastic. It held vegetables and beef so tender it shredded with only a press of my fork. I was in absolute heaven.

"How is it?"

"Incredible." I sighed, drawing up another forkful. "Thank you very, very much. I'd eat it even faster if I could."

"I'm glad you like it," she said with a smile as she turned back toward the cooktop.

I felt guilty when I caught myself glancing at her bottom as she took the few steps. In my own defense, it was eye-catching. Her sweatpants were just snug enough to show its shape.

"Decaf?" she asked, turning back and holding a carafe of coffee.

"Yes, please. Black."

"Oh, a tough guy, huh?"

Her demeanor seemed so easygoing considering the weight of the day. She dosed her cup with half-and-half before she poured. "So, you were flying one stranger's plane to another stranger?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun, and it pays well. Have you ever had a job where you get paid two grand in two days?"

"Not since I worked outcall," she answered before sipping from her mug.

A pea escaped my mouth when I coughed at that revelation. She watched me as I collected myself and plucked the pea off the countertop. I deposited it in another paper napkin and wadded it up, trying to pretend I'd not been surprised.

"You thought I was serious?" she asked with a smirk.

"Ma'am, I don't know you. I have no idea what to think," I answered sheepishly.

"I was only trying to loosen the knot a little. You know, humor? It's been a weird day. I'm sure we're both out of sorts," she said, waving me off.

Her smile eased my mind. We conversed for a while as I finished eating the incredibly satisfying meal. I downed the entire bowl, but stopped myself asking for seconds because I didn't want to over-extend my welcome.

She yawned. My belly was warm and satisfied, so I was able to relate. The contagious reflex hit me.

"You've been so incredibly hospitable, ma'am. Thank you very, very much. I shall be on my way."

"To where?" she asked.

"I'll go to Lincoln. I'm hoping to find a seat on a flight tomorrow morning."

"What are you going to do about your sleigh in my front yard?"

I chuckled. "It'll have to wait until the NTSB decides if they want to examine it. I'll probably get a call from an investigator tomorrow. If they want it, they'll come get it and haul it off. If not, it'll be up to the insurance company to decide what to do. They might make whatever repairs are needed to fly it out off the road since it's plenty long enough. Depending on the calculated loss, they might total it and pay for salvage which is what I'm guessing will happen."

"Sounds complicated."

I smiled. "Not for me, at least. I'm done with it. You could smash it with a backhoe and load it in a dumpster for all I care. Again, thank you so much for the delicious meal and your hospitality. I can't even begin to express my gratitude."

"If I can offer an observation, you look a little strange parading around in that atrocious hospital garb. If you want, you can change here before you leave."

I laughed lightly. "That's a hard pass. I don't like the idea of putting on clean clothes when I haven't had a shower yet."

She visibly shuddered and grimaced. "I get it. I'm the same way."

As I turned for the door, I noticed the Remington 870 Express twelve-gauge shotgun she'd propped in the corner.

"Um … pardon me if I'm being rude, but … with a little kiddo in the house, you might want to secure that," I said, pointing.

"It isn't loaded."

I laughed. "You definitely had me fooled. The sound of a pump-action is an extremely effective persuader."

"Um … usually."

There was a pause again, and her demeanor changed for a flash.

"I have shells right here," she said, drawing one from a pocket of her sweatpants and furrowed her brows against the cute grin she offered.

"Miss Mays, thank you so much for welcoming me into your home," I said. "Would you be willing to share your contact info so I can keep in touch with you about the disposition of that hull out there?"

I gave her my number. I looked at my display when it chirped, displaying an airplane emoji followed by a memoji of herself shrugging.

I laughed. "You've got a wicked wit."

"I'll walk you out," she said with a warm smile.

She picked up the four-cell LED Maglite which was sitting on the floor next to the Remington. As we walked to my rental, a thought struck me.

"You know, you might not want to have anyone smash the plane since it still has two hours of fuel on board."

"It should be dry. The fire department had a crew come and pump out the tanks."

"Really? Hell. That was more than a hundred dollars' worth of avgas," I said as we walked to the aircraft.

"Can I borrow that?" I asked, holding my hand out for the flashlight.

I checked the tanks visually and confirmed they were effectively empty.

"Was that like this before?" she asked.

"What?"

"Right there. See?"

I aimed the light where she pointed.

"Why would engine oil do that?" asked Brenda. "Those aren't stains, are they?"

There were discolored, faded streaks across the vinyl trim which had been applied to enhance the airplane's appearance.

"Whoa. You're right. Oil shouldn't do this. It's basically simple mineral oil with a few additives. Nothing like that should do this. You've got a keen eye, ma'am. I don't think I would've noticed if you hadn't pointed it out."

"I'm certain it didn't appear like this earlier. Remember, I've been chasing off morons all day. Whatever caused that took some time doing it. I'm guessing you're probably going to need to phone that in. Come back inside."

My first call of the night was to the NTSB's Response Operations Center. The attendant verified they'd received the accident report from the National Guard and was able to give me a file number and a very specific instruction to remain in the area for the time being. I advised the person I was speaking to about my observations but was told to save it for an investigator.

The next call I intended to make was to the buyer of the plane. I decided I needed to inform him what had happened sooner rather than later. I imagined him waiting at the airport the next day all giddy seeing his acquisition taxi up. I loathed being the bearer of bad news.

I found it odd how the line simply rang and rang. No answer, no voicemail.

Same for the seller's.

I'd communicated with both a number of times before, and neither individual denied my calls. I imagine my appearance became a bit unsettled.

"What's wrong?" Brenda asked, setting a freshly filled cup of decaf on the coffee table where I'd spread out some papers.

"I've been ghosted by both the buyer and seller. I'm starting to get a funny feeling."

She put her hand on my shoulder in a reassuring gesture as I pulled out the insurance company's letter.

I called the twenty-four-hour claims center, half-expecting the policy to be invalid. It was answered by an automated voice response system. I was shaking a little as I dialed in its number and answered a few more prompts. I fully expected I'd discover the paperwork to be a ruse.

It finally forwarded me to a human agent who verified the policy was, in fact, valid.

"What are the coverage limits?" I asked out of curiosity.

The man on the other end of the line rattled off a half-dozen categories with dollar figures. I scribbled them on the letter.

"Repeat the last one?" I said, trying not to sound incredulous when he stated the total-loss value for the aircraft itself.

"Huh. Thanks for your time," I responded when he said the exact same thing I'd already written down. I hung up the call before the agent could start pressing me with his own questions.

"More bad news?" Brenda asked, observing my expression.

"The policy, at least, is real."

I sat quietly thinking for a few moments.

"The plane out there might have been worth a half-million dollars this morning," I said.

"If you say so. And?"

"It's insured for three million."

That caught her attention.

"How's that even possible?" she asked, quickly grasping the incongruity.

"I don't know. A brand new one costs less than a million. The one in your yard is likely worth nothing now except parts value. Three million? I don't know why any agency would insure one for so much."

I got lost in my own thoughts. Trying to make sense of it all, I felt myself nodding off. I caught it, shook it off, and stood to take my leave again.

"Yeah, no. I saw that. You're not going anywhere. With the luck you're having, you're likely to fall asleep at the wheel and have another accident. It doesn't look like much, but the couch is pretty comfortable."

By that point, I had no energy left to argue.

"You're incredibly generous, Miss Mays. I hope I can figure out some way to make it up to you."

"We'll deal with that tomorrow," she said with an honest smile as she fetched a couple of quilts and two pillows from an antique cedar chest behind the sofa.

"There's bottled water in the fridge if you get thirsty, and the bathroom is right over there." She pointed down a small hallway. "I'm usually up around 5:30 or so, but I'll try to be quiet."

She turned and started up the stairs as I unfolded one of the quilts and fluffed up a pillow. The cedar scent in all of it would soothe my soul. I saw the lady climbing the stairs, then she descended and retrieved the shotgun and flashlight from the corner by the door.

She made a menacing glare at me, ensuring I saw her carrying them, then she smiled.

Her actions brought a light laugh from me, and I gestured a surrender. "Message received. You've got nothing to worry about from me."

After I'd finished preparing my makeshift bed, I opened my suitcase and withdrew a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. I figured taking a shower would make me a nuisance, so even without one, I used the facilities to change and relieve myself. I packed the hospital-issued scrubs, then settled in.

The couch was, in fact, very comfortable.

---

December 20, 2017
Friends of mine who are parents had described certain occasions, and only my imagination allowed me to feel any form of empathy. That is, until the next morning when I experienced such an instance myself.

When my eyes opened, I saw a child standing maybe two feet from me, watching me with keen curiosity. I was briefly but intensely startled. I thanked my lucky stars I didn't scream or flail my arms in fright.

"Mommy, Santa's awake," said a little girl.

"Stacie Ellen Mays!" came a hushed yell from the direction of the kitchen. "Leave him be!"

I saw the kid look upward over the back of the couch, then down to me.

I smiled and wiggled my nose at her.

"Why are you so skinny, Santa?" she asked in such an innocent, curious tone.

Her mother appeared at the foot of the sofa. I gave Brenda a look that indicated I didn't know whether to shatter the child's impression or continue her fantasy. She simply shrugged, offering me no help. I decided honesty was the best policy. After all, Christmas was only five days away.

I slowly sat myself up, looked at the girl with a sigh, and said, "Because, Miss Stacie, I'm not Santa."

"You're not?" she asked with some disappointment showing in her eyebrows.

"No, ma'am, I'm not."

Her lower lip quivered a little.

"Believe me, young lady, Santa's sleigh doesn't misbehave like the airplane outside did. His reindeer always fly it straight and true."

The quiver stopped and the corners turned up a little.

"Besides," I said, clapping my knees. "His gift bag is much, much bigger than the orange and white one you saw out there yesterday. My name is Mr. Carlson. But I won't mind if you call me Todd."

"Okay!" she said and walked away.

Her mother smiled at her as she passed. She smiled at me, too. She had dimpled cheeks and the subtle tell of fine wrinkles in the corners of the eyes which conveyed genuineness.

"She's totes adorbs."

My choice of words elicited a chuckle.

"Yeah. I think so, too. But she can be a handful," she said.

I looked at my Apple watch. It was almost eight o'clock.

"I didn't expect I'd sleep so late," I said after a yawn and stretch.

"Feel rested?"

"Yes. Again, thank you for the accommodations."

"Think nothing of it. You needed rest, and I had a couch. I'm not operating a flophouse or anything, but you … you give off a certain vibe. You seem like an okay guy."

I smiled. "Well. Thank you anyway."

"Hungry? There's hotcakes and sausage on the table."

"Sounds fantastic. But if you'll excuse me, I'd prefer to make myself more presentable first."