Whirlwind 01 - Finish Line - Pt. 03

"I noo it," she replied. "There is onla one more leg and four teams left."

"I don't think we need to worry about being last. Nickolaya and Astrid looked hopelessly bogged down in that last challenge."

"I don care, I don want tha insufferable Garrett ta beat us. No!"

She had just skidded to a stop in the cable car station's parking lot as the sign on the outside of the building was changing to proclaim that the next cable car would be leaving in 50 minutes, and the cable car itself was edging out of the building and starting the long descent to the distant city. Garrett had been standing in the window of the car, laughing and making crude hand gestures at them.

Not even bothering to respond, she had peeled out of the parking lot and headed back the way they came.

"If we are going to drive down, we should be continuing on," Nathan had observed from the back with characteristic mildness.

"I saw somthin two minutes back. Hang on."

Both Ben and Ari had heaved a sigh of relief that they hadn't been destined to scramble down several miles of wild turns with Ariana at the wheel and their lives on the line. Now they were bracing themselves against the doors and trying not to swear out loud.

Barely two minutes later, they left skid marks as they stopped nearly at the door of the Eagle's Nest Alpine Lodge which a large sign in three languages proclaimed it to be the Aerie of the World's Bravest Hang Glider Enthusiasts.

In one minute she had found two instructors willing to take them to the soccer stadium, for the -- quite illegal - thrill of it. And the second minute she and Nathan were each being strapped into the student position of a two-person hang glider.

"We aren't supposed to leave our video crew behind," Nathan had reminded her, mildly, as he had eyed the cliff edge.

Ben looked up from his emergency cell phone and piped up and said, possibly in relief, "There is a helicopter up to take aerial shots of the cable car and any cars on the road. They can follow you. Just got the okay -- and the reminder that this is an unauthorized route and you will face a 30 minute penalty."

She had given Nathan a triumphant look. He huffed. "I carried you across a snake pit; I guess I can jump off a cliff."

As he strapped his helmet on, Nathan had made one last observation, mildly, "You realize we may come in second with the 30 minute penalty."

"If we don make it, we will hae tried... an it will make good television."

Nathan had laughed, and with that, their instructor pilots had trotted them off the ledge by the lodge, lofted them airborne, and wheeled toward the cliff.

She had whooped and hollered as the updraft on the cliff edge caught them and hurled them high enough in the sky that the air had dried her throat and her head had buzzed with the cold thinness of it. Then the instructor had edged them out of the updraft and pointed them down at the valley floor far below and the village beyond. They had plummeted, wind whistling through the stays and thin plastic membrane buzzing on the wings.

They dove past the cable car like two eagles on the way to a grudge match, with the helicopter in hot pursuit. The scenic pastures and woods were nothing but blurs as they pulled out of the dive and headed toward the town. They streaked over the edge of the city, buffeted by the fragmented winds gusting along the streets and ricocheting randomly off the myriad buildings, slaloming wildly through alternating updrafts and downdrafts, with the recognizable soccer stadium looming out of the skyline and zooming closer by the heartbeat.

Their pilots circled the stadium once, twice, three times, to shed altitude, and to gage the temperament of the air currents swirling above the field. The Fantastic Race support staff stared up at them, every camera nearly vertical. She had almost waved, but the pilot shouted a warning and then dove for the ground at mid-field.

She had landed as lightly as a butterfly on a flower.

Nathan's glider had planted its pointed nose into the manicured field like a lawn dart; but both pilot and passenger had emerged, safely, grinning.

She and Nathan had trotted over to the mat just as Tom had regained his composure. "Ariana and Nathan, you have arrived at the pit stop, but because you did not take the required route, you must take a 30 minute penalty."

"It war worth it," she had responded breathlessly. On the way to the penalty box they stopped to most sincerely thank the glider pilots, who were then led off by Zoe to sign release forms and attempt to smooth over the unauthorized overflight with the newly arrived bemused police officers - who also found themselves given releases to sign.

"That - was - a - true - RUSH!" Nathan had crowed, and then laughed loudly enough for it to echo in the stadium.

"Better than surfin?"

"Well, nearly better than surfing."

Tom had walked over them and exclaimed, "That, I think, was the craziest stunt ever pulled on the Fantastic Race."

"Even if we are no Team One, it will be memorable."

"I need to tell you that the Race is running longer than we had planned."

"Wha? I had lost track o days. How long?"

"Two days to schedule; maybe three, given the time zones."

"Oh, no, the group is resumin tour in onna a few days!"

"Only one more leg. Team Number One sets off at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow. There may not be much time, but you should be able to get back to Dublin and at least get a night's sleep. We can have tickets waiting for you at the final pit stop for the first available flight. We'll do our best. Don't worry; you'll need all your concentration for the last leg."

"Mr. Kepple, we need to see you," Zoe called, and Tom had hurried away.

She had looked at Nathan's reassuringly calm face and before she had said anything, he had murmured, "You'll get there in time." It was a simple, definite statement, as calmly certain as if he had said the sun would be setting later.

"Yer bein so calm kin sometimes be reassurin and sometimes irritatin."

His grin was contagious. "Which is it right now?"

Her answer was cut off by a shout. They both swung toward the stadium entrance to see Garrett and Jeremy appear.

"Time is up," Tom called out.

Some might have called it a race within THE race, but the truth was that there was no contest; the distance was far shorter for them than for Garrett and Jeremy. But Garrett's enraged screams rang in the stadium and spurred them on, and they got to the mat fifty meters ahead of the raving man and his gasping fan.

Tom had proclaimed them Team Number One for the eleventh time, and they had turned to see that Garrett had been beyond livid, and Jeremy, disgusted but still a teammate, had restrained him as he had shouted, spittle flying wildly, "You just remember, it's only the last one that REALLY counts! We will get you! See if we don't!"

Tom had turned to them and noted wryly, "I think that the two of you have just been issued a challenge."

They had been hurried off the mat by Zoe, and had watched, inconspicuously from the sidelines, for the hour it had taken to calm Garrett down and record an arrival minus the profanity. Ariana had laid down on the seats to get some rest, and Nathan had sat beside her, his fingers idly toying with her hair, which she found very soothing. Nathan had cheered when the Russian ballerina and her daughter had come in third, and had stood and applauded when the retired American basketball star and his fan had stumbled into the stadium to the stadium, last but determined. Her heart had nearly broken when the boy had burst into tears; he seemed to think that the loss had been his fault.

Nathan had hopped over the low wall, jogged across the field, and shook both their hands. He said something to the basketball star, and then there had been a big exchange of hugs all round, and the entire production company had given them a standing ovation off the field. Ariana caught up with him in time to be part of the applause.

"What did ye say ta them?"

Nathan looked a little embarrassed. "I promised them that I would make a donation to their charity in recognition of their bravery. I think it helped."

"Put me down for one also," she had said, giving his hand a squeeze, then hurriedly letting go. "And we should get some more rest. The final leg will be here afor we ken."

Arian realized that everyone was staring at her. Cassie intoned, like the host of a television mystery show, "Eleven o' eleven times." She started to say something else, but couldn't.

Seeking a way out, Ariana suddenly said, "First round is on me at tha bar." The room emptied swiftly.

Ariana attempted to slip away in the middle of a noisy celebration, but found Maria right behind her as the bus door whooshed open. "Ar, I need ta talk wit ya," Marie said sharply as Ariana had started to make a beeline for her bunk cubby.

Ariana skidded to a halt and faced Marie, her body tense as if she expected a fight. "Ya ar supposed ta be me friend; stop tryin ta find oot aboot tha endin o tha race."

Marie finally exploded, windmillling her fists in the air. "Ahhhh! Yer drivin me mad! I care no one whit whether ya come in first or last! An I am yer friend. We are yer friends. An we care aboot yer feelins more than some silly race."

Ariana was dumbstruck, staring at Marie, who had dropped her arms to her sides and was glaring at her. "Ma... feelins?"

Marie's body language was shouting that the last dollop of the substance known as 'patience' had just plopped down the drain. "Ya hae been dodgin the question fer weeks like a boxer dodges blows in tha ring. Ar ye in love wit the mon, or no?"

Ariana couldn't speak even if she had known what to say, her heart was hammering so hard against her ribs she could barely breathe. She wanted desperately to deny it, but the lie was just too large to force out of her throat.

Marie sighed. "Yer silence is sayin more than any words, Ar." She sighed again and continued softly, "An is he in love wit ya too?"

Ariana's mind couldn't banish the vivid image of the look on Nathan's face after their kiss; she still couldn't breathe, and dizziness was half lack of air and half her body's memory of wanting nothing more than to kiss him again. Finally under Marie's relentless glare she managed to nod in rough jerks. That slight movement of confession released her muscles and she heaved a deep, quivering breath in a sob; tears blurring her vision.

Marie's look softened, "Ah, tis better when ya let it oot, is it no?" Suddenly she was hugging Ariana and they were crying in chorus. Finally Marie held her at arm's length and shook her head, flinging tears wide. "Ariana Collins, could yer life be any more perfect a muddle?"

Snuffling between sobbing breaths Ariana managed to gasp a tiny, forlorn laugh and shook her head.

"Well, now tha's settled, honest an fer true, ya need ta decide wha yer goin ta do aboot it."

"Wha kin I do?" she wailed almost helplessly.

"Well ya kin pretend it dinna happen and hope he takes the hint. Ya kin tell him yer heart is broke but ya kin no settle down now, an hope he goes away. Ya kin no tell him anything other than, 'Gae Away.' Ya kin be honest wit him, an let the chips fall where tha will." Her lips tweaked upward in a sad attempt at humor. "Ya kin introduce him ta Linnae an let her deal wit him."

Ariana managed another gasping laugh as she shook her head, her emotions whirling her back into dizziness. Marie waited patiently. Finally Ariana knew, in her mind, what she had to do; despite its desperate protests, she allowed her heart no vote. "I ken. I will tell him tha I am a traveller an a performer and hae a terrible history o relationships, an ask him ta stay away."

Marie nodded, whether she thought that was best or just to show support, it was impossible to say, but she did murmur, "Tha tis probably best, fer ya, fer the group, an fer him." Then she carefully went over to the sink and thoroughly washed her hands and arms and face, and then took off her sweater and tossed it into the laundry hamper. She had never done this before while Ariana was watching, but she did think it was a good idea to emphasize to her friend the implications of the situation.

They had calmed down and tidied up by the time that their friends had staggered into the bus, a little the worse for drink. The bus had jerked into motion and they all fallen into seats to keep from falling to the floor as the bus maneuvered out of the lot and into the traffic.

Ariana avoided looking at Marie over the late night dinner, and answered every one of Cassie and Linnae's breathless questions about hang gliding. Eventually the three drifted off to use the tiny bathroom and climb into their bunks. As they passed her chair they murmured, "Good show," "Well run," "Incredible," and "I never knew ya had it in ya," and other words to that affect.

Marie looked at her, not pitying, not condemning, just caring. As Ariana got up to take her turn in the bathroom, Marie asked, "Is it true tha winners of yer race get interviewed on Good Mornin America the mornin after the last episode airs?"

"Do they now? Yes, I guess tis so, at least I think tha ere in the contract," Arian responded thoughtfully, pretending superbly that she hadn't been stalling the Race staff and GMA about arrangements. "I believe that even the morning show people dinna know who won. All three teams hae to be in New York City on tha evening, or the show has ta fly out an interview team overnight if the winner can no make it to New York. At least tha is what I remember." She nodded, "Thank you, Marie, fer bein me best friend."

"Always, Ar."

After an extended time in the tiny restroom, intended to annoy her best friend just enough to let her know that while she had appreciated her putting her through the emotional wringer, she had still put her through the emotional wringer. She slipped into her bunk and closed the privacy screen firmly.

She took out her laptop. She sent off an e-mail to Zoe at the production office, certain that she would get a reply by noon the next day. Then she settled down to the harder task of contacting Nathan. She wrote the e-mail a dozen times, wiping each out, and then rewriting. She picked her words with care, reread them in a critical way, trying to be certain they conveyed exactly what she wanted them to say - and nothing more.

Finally, in the terribly early hours of the morning, she hit SEND.

Nathan froze. He had been working late to make an urgent deadline on a project for an old friend. He had been totally focused - until an e-mail from Ariana sat, blinking, in his INBOX. His world slowed down and became very quiet... became nothing more than that tiny envelope icon. He had gotten no response from her for any of his weekly e-mails since..., well, since the end of the race. He had wondered occasionally if she had changed her e-mail address, but none of his missives had come back as undeliverable. He had wondered if she ever checked this address, but.... He clicked on the message, and it opened.

Nathan,

Will be in Knoxville on Saturday and Sunday, September 22nd and 23rd, for performances at Palace Theater. Please come to 8:00 pm performance on 23rd; there will be ticket for you at Box Office. It will be more convenient for Good Morning America if we are both in the same place Monday morning, since they won't have to send out two crews.

Ariana

Nathan stared at the message, conflicting emotions churning in his chest. He had no idea how to respond. He had finally heard from Ariana, but it was nothing more personal than... an appointment. He wanted so badly to tell her how he felt. He wanted so badly to tell her that he knew - and that it didn't matter to him. But how to respond? Then he smiled, hit REPLY, typed a short line, and hit SEND.

'Your message has been sent.'

Nathan stared at the icon, summoning Ariana's smile from the permanent archives of his memory. Now all he had to do was work up his courage to face her. He had a week.

More than a thousand miles away, Ariana was about to close out her e-mail when Nathan's reply popped in. She stared at it. It was LONG after midnight where he was and a reply had come back in less than a minute. With just a hint of a tremble in her cursor, she opened it. She read the single sentence seven times, her heart pounding harder in her chest each time through. She could feel her throat slowly constricting, and her vision blurred as the tears she fought so hard against pooled in the corners of her eyes yet again. She archived the response in the same folder all of his previous letters and attachments were in, closed out her e-mail, and logged off.

Curled up in the safety and solitude of her bunk, she let her mind drift back to the madness of the final leg...

[Russian ballerina and daughter were last to arrive and were eliminated]