Spring in the Piedmont, calm clear skies, the foothills growing greener by the day, the Shenandoah Valley changing as the farmers crossed and recrossed their perfect rows. Rain was forecast for tomorrow, though no forecast could be trusted in central Virginia.
With almost three hundred hours under his belt, Ray began each day with an eye on the sky as he jogged five miles. The running he could do come rain or shine, the flying he could not. He had promised himself (and his insurance company) that he would not fly at night and would not venture into clouds. Ninety-five percent of all small plane crashes happened either in weather or in darkness, and after nearly three years of flying Ray was still determined1 to be a coward. "There are old pilots and bold pilots," the adage2 went, "but no old bold pilots." He believed it, and with conviction.
Besides, central Virginia was too beautiful to buzz over in clouds. He waited for perfect weather - no wind to push him around and make landings complicated, no haze3 to dim the horizon and get him lost, no threat of storms or moisture. Clear skies during his jog usually determined the rest of his day. He could move lunch up or back, cancel a class, postpone5 his research to a rainy day, or a rainy week for that matter. The right forecast, and Ray was off to the airport.
It was north of town, a fifteen-minute drive from the law school. At Docker's Flight School he was given the normal rude welcome by Dick Docker, Charlie Yates, and Fog Newton, the three retired6 Marine7 pilots who owned the place and had trained most of the private aviators8 in the area. They held court each day in the Cockpit, a row of old theater chairs in the front office of the flight school, and from there they drank coffee by the gallon and told flying tales and lies that grew by the hour. Each customer and student got the same load of verbal abuse, like it or not, take it or leave it, they didn't care. They were drawing nice pensions.
The sight of Ray prompted the latest round of lawyer jokes, none of which were particularly funny, all of which drew howls at the punch lines.
"No wonder you don't have any students," Ray said as he did the paperwork.
"Where you going?" demanded Docker.
"Just punching a few holes in the sky."
"We'll alert air traffic control."
"You're much too busy for that."
Ten minutes of insults and rental9 forms, and Ray was free to go. For eighty bucks10 an hour he could rent a Cessna that would take him a mile above the earth, away from people, phones, traffic, students, research, and, on this day, even farther from his dying father, his crazy brother, and the inevitable11 mess facing him back home.
There were tie-downs for thirty light aircraft at the general aviation ramp12. Most were small Cessnas with high wings and fixed13 landing gears, still the safest airplanes ever built. But there were some fancier rigs. Next to his rented Cessna was a Beech14 Bonanza15, a single-engine, two-hundred-horsepower beauty that Ray could handle in a month with a little training. It flew almost seventy knots faster than the Cessna, with enough gadgets16 and avionics to make any pilot drool. Even worse, the Bonanza was for sale - $450,000 - off the charts, of course, but not that far off. The owner built shopping centers and wanted a King Air, according to the latest analysis from the Cockpit.
Ray stepped away from the Bonanza and concentrated on the little Cessna sitting next to it. Like all new pilots, he carefully inspected his plane with a checklist. Fog Newton, his instructor17, had begun each lesson with a gruesome tale of fire and death caused by pilots too hurried or lazy to use checklists.
When he was certain all outside parts and surfaces were perfect, he opened the door and strapped18 himself inside. The engine started smoothly19, the radios sparked to life. He finished a pre-takeoff list and called the tower. A commuter20 flight was ahead of him, and ten minutes after he locked his doors he was cleared for takeoff. He lifted off smoothly and turned west, toward the Shenandoah Valley.
At four thousand feet, he crossed Afton Mountain, not far below him. A few seconds of mountain turbulence21 bounced the Cessna, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. When he was past the foothills and over the farmlands, the air became still and quiet. Visibility was officially twenty miles, though at this altitude he could see much farther. No ceiling, not a cloud anywhere. At five thousand feet, the peaks of West Virginia rose slowly on the horizon. Ray completed an in-flight checklist, leaned his fuel mixture for normal cruise, and relaxed for the first time since taxiing into position for takeoff.
Radio chatter22 disappeared, and it wouldn't pick up again until he switched to the Roanoke tower, forty miles to the south. He decided23 to avoid Roanoke and stay in uncontrolled airspace.
Ray knew from personal experience that psychiatrists24 worked for two hundred dollars an hour in the Charlottesville area. Flying was a bargain, and much more effective, though it was a very fine shrink who'd suggested he pick up a new hobby, and quickly. He was seeing the fellow because he had to see someone. Exactly a month after the former Mrs. Atlee filed for divorce, quit her job, and walked out of their townhouse with only her clothes and jewelry26, all done with ruthless efficiency in less than six hours, Ray left the psychiatrist25 for the last time, drove to the airport, stumbled into the Cockpit, and took his first insult from either Dick Docker or Fog Newton, he couldn't remember which.
The insult felt good, someone cared. More followed, and Ray, wounded and confused as he was, had found a home. For three years now he had crossed the clear, solitary27 skies of the Blue Ridge28 Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley, soothing29 his anger, shedding a few tears, hashing out his troubled life to an empty seat beside him. She's gone, the empty seat kept saying.
Some. women leave. and come back eventually. Others leave and endure a painful reconsideration. Still others leave with such boldness they never look back. Vicki's departure from his life was so well planned and her execution of it was so cold-blooded that Ray's lawyer's first comment was, "Give it up, pal30."
She'd found a better deal, like an athlete swapping31 teams at the trading deadline. Here's the new uniform, smile for the cameras, forget the old arena32. While Ray was at work one fine morning, she left in a limousine33. Behind it was a van with her things. Twenty minutes later, she walked into her new place, a mansion34 on a horse farm east of town where Lew the Liquidator was waiting with open arms and a prenuptial agreement. Lew was a corporate35 vulture whose raids had netted him a half a billion or so, according to Ray's research, and at the age of sixty-four he'd cashed in his chips, left Wall Street, and for some reason picked Charlottesville as his new nest.
Somewhere along the way he'd bumped into Vicki, offered her a deal, gotten her pregnant with the children Ray was supposed to father, and now with a trophy36 wife and another family he wanted to be taken seriously as the new Big Fish.
Enough of this, Ray said aloud. He talked loudly at five thousand feet, and no one talked back.
He was assuming, and hoping, that Forrest was clean and sober, though such assumptions were usually wrong and such hopes were often misguided. After twenty years of rehab and relapse, it was doubtful if his brother would ever overcome his addictions37. And Ray was certain that Forrest would be broke, a condition that went hand in hand with his habits. And being broke, he'd be looking for money, as in his father's estate.
What money the Judge had not given away to charities and sick children, he had poured down the black hole of Forrest's detoxification. So much money had been wasted there, along with so many years, that the Judge, as only he could do, had basically excommunicated Forrest from their father-son relationship. For thirty-two years he had terminated marriages, taken children away from parents, given children to foster homes, sent mentally ill people away forever, ordered delinquent38 fathers to jail - all manner of drastic and far-reaching decrees that were accomplished39 merely by signing his name. When he first went on the bench, his authority had been granted by the State of Mississippi, but late in his career he took his orders only from God.
If anyone could expel a son, it was Chancellor40 Reuben Y Atlee.
Forrest pretended to be unbothered by his banishment41. He fancied himself as a free spirit and claimed he had not set foot inside the house at Maple42 Run in nine years. He had visited the Judge once in the hospital, after a heart attack when the doctors rounded up the family. Surprisingly, he'd been sober then. "Fifty-two days, Bro," he'd whispered proudly to Ray as they huddled43 in the ICU corridor. He was a walking scoreboard when rehab was working.
If the Judge had plans to include Forrest in his estate, no one would have been more surprised than Forrest. But with the chance that money or assets were about to change hands, Forrest would be there looking for crumbs44 and leftovers45.
Over the New River Gorge46 near Beckley, West Virginia, Ray turned around and headed back. Though flying cost less than professional therapy, it wasn't cheap. The meter was ticking. If he won the lottery47, he would buy the Bonanza and fly everywhere. He was due a sabbatical in a couple of years, a respite48 from the rigors49 of academic life. He'd be expected to finish his eight-hundred-page brick on monopolies, and there was an even chance that that might happen. His dream, though, was to lease a Bonanza and disappear into the skies.
Twelve miles west of the airport, he called the tower and was directed to enter the traffic pattern. The wind was light and variable. the landing would be a cinch. On final approach, with the runway a mile away and fifteen hundred feet down, and Ray and his lit-de Cessna gliding50 at a perfect descent, another pilot came on the radio. He checked in with the controller as "Challenger-two-four-four-delta-mike," and he was fifteen miles to the north. The tower cleared him to land, number two behind Cessna traffic.
Ray pushed aside thoughts of the other aircraft long enough to make a textbook landing, then turned off the runway and began taxiing to the ramp.
A Challenger is a Canadian-built private jet that seats eight to fifteen, depending on the configuration51. It will fly from New York to Paris, nonstop, in splendid style, with its own flight attendant serving drinks and meals. A new one sells for somewhere around twenty-five million dollars, depending on the endless list of options.
The 244DM was owned by Lew the Liquidator, who'd pinched it out of one of the many hapless companies he'd raided and fleeced. Ray watched it land behind him, and for a second he hoped it would crash and burn right there on the runway, so he could enjoy the show. It did not, and as it sped along the taxiway toward the private terminal, Ray was suddenly in a tight spot.
He'd seen Vicki twice in the years since their divorce, and he certainly didn't want to see her now, not with him in a twenty-year-old Cessna while she bounded down the stairway of her gold-plated jet. Maybe she wasn't on board. Maybe it was just Lew Rodowski returning from yet another raid.
Ray cut the fuel mixture, the engine died, and as the Challenger moved closer to him he began to sink as low as possible in his captain's seat.
By the time it rolled to a stop, less than a hundred feet from where Ray was hiding, a shiny black Suburban52 had wheeled out onto the ramp, a little too fast, lights on, as if royalty53 had arrived in Charlottesville. Two young men in matching green shirts and khaki shorts jumped out, ready to receive the Liquidator and whoever else might be on board. The Challenger's door opened, the steps came down, and Ray, peeking54 above his instrument deck with a complete view, watched with fascination55 as one of the pilots came down first, carrying two large shopping bags.
Then Vicki, with the twins. They were two years old now, Simmons and Ripley, poor children given genderless last names as first names because their mother was an idiot and their father had already sired nine others before them and probably didn't care what they were called. They were boys, Ray knew that much for sure because he'd watched the vitals in the local paper - births, deaths, burglaries, etc. They were born at Martha Jefferson Hospital seven weeks and three days after the Atlees' no-fault divorce became final, and seven weeks and two days after a very pregnant Vicki married Lew Rodowski, his fourth trip down the aisle56, or whatever they used that day at the horse farm.
Clutching the boys' hands, Vicki carefully descended57 the steps. A half a billion dollars was looking good on her - tight designer jeans on her long legs, legs that had become noticeably thinner since she had joined the jet set. In fact, Vicki appeared to be superbly starved - bone-thin arms, small flat ass4, gaunt cheeks. He couldn't see her eyes because they were well hidden behind black wraparounds, the latest style from either Hollywood or Paris, take your pick.
The Liquidator had not been starving. He waited impatiently behind his current wife and current litter. He claimed he ran marathons, but then so little of what he said in print turned out to be true. He was stocky, with a thick belly58. Half his hair was gone and the other half was gray with age. She was forty-one and could pass for thirty. He was sixty-four and looked seventy, or at least Ray thought so, with great satisfaction.
They finally made it into the Suburban while the two pilots and two drivers loaded and reloaded luggage and large bags from Saks and Bergdorf. Just a quick shopping jaunt59 up to Manhattan, forty-five minutes away on your Challenger.
The Suburban sped off, the show was over, and Ray sat up in the Cessna.
If he hadn't hated her so much, he would have sat there a long time reliving their marriage.
There had been no warnings, no fights, no change in temperature. She'd simply stumbled upon a better deal.
He opened the door so he could breathe and realized his collar was wet with sweat. He wiped his eyebrows60 and got out of the plane.
For the first time in memory, he wished he'd stayed away from the airport.
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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aviators
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| 飞机驾驶员，飞行员( aviator的名词复数 ) | |
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rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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bonanza
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| n.富矿带，幸运，带来好运的事 | |
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gadgets
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| n.小机械，小器具（ gadget的名词复数 ） | |
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instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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commuter
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| n.(尤指市郊之间)乘公交车辆上下班者 | |
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turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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psychiatrists
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| n.精神病专家，精神病医生( psychiatrist的名词复数 ) | |
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psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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swapping
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| 交换，交换技术 | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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addictions
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| 瘾( addiction的名词复数 )； 吸毒成瘾； 沉溺； 癖好 | |
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delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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leftovers
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| n.剩余物，残留物，剩菜 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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49
rigors
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| 严格( rigor的名词复数 )； 严酷； 严密； （由惊吓或中毒等导致的身体）僵直 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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51
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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peeking
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| v.很快地看( peek的现在分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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