Quentin 4
The airport lights came into view.
"Don't land at the airport." Quentin said. "There is a private landing strip about two minutes southeast. Fly over low, twice, then head back north and wait for the strip lights to come on. If they come on before you get back to the airport, then you can go back and land. If they don't come on, just land at the airport."
"You're the boss, but in case you've forgotten, I can land this baby on a dime in the dark."
"How could I ever forget something that exciting? I still have the scar on my leg that reminds me to be more careful. That's why I let the Patterson's know I want to land. When they turn on the lights, I know it's alright."
"Why not just radio?"
"That's not my style."
What he didn't say was that by using this prearranged signal, he could be sure he wasn't flying into a trap. Without it, it would be easy for someone to be forced to send a false message, and that could get him killed.
Two rows of small blue lights twinkled to life on the ground. Sam circled back, landed, then taxied the single engine Cessna into place. When Quentin stepped down from the plane, he saw Joan hurrying across the yard to meet him.
He could tell she had gained some much needed weight and her close-cropped brown hair fluttered in the breeze. She wore a simple cut blue dress which accented her clear blue eyes. He grabbed her up in his arms, swung her around and kissed her cheek. She still had the clean, freshly scrubbed look of a healthy, old-fashioned girl. Still clutching her hand, he stepped back and took a long look at her.
"Gee, you sure do look great. How have you been? How's everything been going lately?"
"It's so good to see you again. We've missed you a lot. Are you going to stay this time?"
Quentin shook his head.
"Richard went to town," she said, trying to cover her disappointment, "but he should be back pretty quick. If you have time, you could wait a few minutes. I'm sure he would love to see you."
"I really don't have time tonight, Joan. Maybe he'll be here when we get ready to leave in the morning. Come over here, there's someone I want you to meet."
Quentin led her over to the plane where Sam was making himself appear busy.
"Sam, this is Joan Patterson, She owns this place. Joan, I would like for you to meet Sam Wingate, friend and pilot."
They exchanged greetings, then Sam excused himself to finish securing the plane.
"Richard is planning to marry Susan this spring. You will try to come to the wedding, won't you?"
"Of course, I'll come if I can."
"He wanted to ask you to be his best man. I told him you were much too busy with your companies to take time off for his wedding."
"Look, Joan. You know how it is with me. I can't promise I'll be here, but I'll do my best. I'm honored that Richard would consider asking me to be his best man, but it's better for everyone if I decline."
"I understand and I'm sure Richard will understand, too. I guess I'd better go back in the house. My neighbor probably heard the plane and she'll call to find out what's going on. You know how nosey Carol is."
Sure, you go back inside. I'm going to show Sam the hanger, then we have to be going. I'll see you in the morning."
"Do you want to use my car?"
"No, that won't be necessary. We'll take the Jeep if it's still here."
"It's still behind the hanger where you parked it. I'll probably see you tomorrow, Quentin."
"Good night, Joan."
"Good night, Quentin."
Quentin watched longingly as Joan walked back into the house, and the two rows of twinkling blue lights faded into the darkness. The guy with ice water in his veins was suffering from an over abundance of warm thoughts and feelings.
"It could have been," he said to himself.
"Are you talking to me?"
"Not really, I was just wallowing in self-pity. Let's go inside the hanger for a minute, there's something I want you to see."
Sam locked the plane, picked up his gear and followed him into the hanger.
Quentin flipped on the lights and stood looking at the old C-47 Skytrain. "This was Tom Patterson's first plane. This is the one he taught me to fly. When it wasn't being repaired, I mean. He was losing his socks trying to keep this thing running, and not lose any customers. Anyway, I bought a cargo plane and we were in business."
"It's a beaut. Real primo."
Quentin climbed inside, put some cash in a zippered bag and placed it on the seat. Slowly, he climbed down and closed the door.
"I was too busy with other things to take our business venture seriously. One day while I was off doing my own thing, Tom got a call to pick up a load in Juarez and deliver it to Seattle. He took the run in my plane because he didn't know where to find me and he couldn't afford to lose the job. They blew him right out of the sky."
Quentin turned off the lights and closed the door. In the moonlight, they walked around to the back of the hanger.
"So you feel guilty."
Stopping abruptly, he turned to face Sam.
"What do you mean 'feel' guilty? I am guilty. Tom was clean. He had absolutely no idea that I was doing drugs or that I was running them. I was the one they wanted, not Tom. It was my plane they were shooting at. I was supposed to be piloting that plane. I was guilty and Tom died because of me. If it hadn't been for me, Tom would still be alive. Joan would still have her husband and Richard would still have his father. I'm guilty and I have plenty of reason to 'feel' guilty."
Sam stood rooted to the ground. He didn't know what to say. The entire monologue took him by surprise and left him in a state of shock and bewilderment.
Quentin felt beneath the seat of the Jeep and found the key.
"Hop in and let's see if this old crate still runs."
Sam tossed his gear in the back and slid in.
Quentin started the engine and listened to it run.
"She sounds just like new. She's not much to look at, but she sure can move."
He put the Jeep into gear and headed for the road.
"It must be nice to have more than one car for your personal use."
Quentin stopped at the end of the road, checked for traffic, then pulled out onto the highway.
"It's nice, but it's an expensive pain in the wallet."
"It couldn't be all that expensive."
"Now that would depend on how many you own."
"How many do you own?"
"I don't have any idea. Honestly, I've never thought about counting them. We have a lot of company cars, vans and trucks, scattered all over the country. I would guess somewhere between three hundred and maybe five hundred. Could be more or less."
Sam let out a whistle.
"I'll ask the accountant, if I don't forget it."
"I can see where that might get expensive."
Quentin pulled up in front of the small farmhouse, turned off the engine and tossed the key to Sam.
"I'll be here when you get ready to leave. I reserved a room for you at the Main Street Motel. All I'm asking is to get me back to Chicago on time. No matter what. You can call me here if you need to."
He took the envelope out of his wallet and handed it to Sam.
"This should cover your expenses. Just get me there on time."
"Thanks, Quentin. I'll see you in the morning."
Quentin slid out, grabbed his windbreaker and waved as Sam headed the Jeep toward town.
He hurried through the gate and up the rock walkway to the front door. Instinctively, he stepped back to the edge of the porch and looked up the hill toward the Rhodes' house. The kitchen light was on and two cars in the driveway. He went back to the door, felt across the top of the door frame and found the key. After unlocking the door, he returned the key to it's usual place. It wasn't until he turned on the lights and closed the door that he felt like he was at home.
This was his world. His real world. This was where it all started and in time, this is where it would end. The world outside of this house was only a means of preserving this world.
Room by room he drank in great gulps of the past. Walls had been repainted and furniture had been recovered but he didn't notice. Time had changed everything in his life, but it touched this house very gently.
Thirty years had passed since Dad had fixed the screen door and Mom arranged the photographs on the mantle above the fireplace. Thirty years is a long time, yet it really isn't very long at all.
He could see Dad standing by the fireplace with one foot on the hearth. 'Your step mother is just as important as your mother was' he reprimanded. 'You should always give her all the love and respect you would have given your mother'.
Mom could be seen sitting in her chair winding yarn into a ball. 'One or two drinks might not hurt you, but don't do anything in excess'.
'It's hard to explain, Son, Dad said as he put another log on the fire. 'Sometimes when bad things happen, it teaches us a lesson or gives us the extra strength we need to face other things. Maybe you'll understand it better when you're older.'
In a daze, Quentin went into the kitchen and turned on the light. He didn't notice the freshly painted walls, new curtains, or new stove. In his mind, everything was exactly as it had been thirty years ago.
In the cabinet he located his own personal glass, the small one with the cowboy and horse on it. When he opened the refrigerator he didn't notice the three eggs, half a loaf of stale bread, a container of milk that looked more like cottage cheese or the container of unidentifiable green stuff.
He poured himself a glass of orange juice, which was the only fresh item available, then wandered down the hall to the small bedroom. He swung the door open and looked around. It hadn't been dusted or painted in years, but he didn't notice.
He started down the hall but stopped suddenly when he heard Mom call from the kitchen, 'Close the door, Quentin. We don't want company to see the mess you and Jerry left in there.' He reached back and closed the door.
'You boys had better brush your teeth, it's past your bedtime', he heard Mom call as he passed the bathroom.
He flipped the light on in the master bedroom, hung his windbreaker on the brass post of the double bed and smiled as he sat down in the chair at his father's desk. The yellowed page on the calendar still read Friday, May 31st.
Again, his father stood behind him with one hand on the back of the chair and the other hand on the desk. You have to make it balance, Son. You're a smart young man and you should be able to understand. If you owe more money than you have, you can't pay your bills. You have to make it balance.'
Quentin opened the desk drawer, took out the ledger and opened it on the desk in front of him. The last several entries were made in his own childish hand.
"But it's right, Dad. I did it right," he said aloud.
He put the ledger back into the drawer, turned out the light and went back into the kitchen. Just as he drank the last of his orange juice, the phone rang. He set the glass on the counter and went into the living room to answer it. The phone rang again just as he picked up the receiver.
"Knight residence."
"You're early, Quen. I wasn't expecting you until later. I looked out and saw the lights on down there and I couldn't hardly believe it. How did you get here so fast?"
"Sam Wingate flew me down. He has the Jeep over at the motel."
"How long can you stay?"
"I have to be back in Chicago tomorrow morning in time to catch the noon flight to Los Angeles."
There was a short silence before Quentin spoke.
"Is something wrong, Jerry?"
"Could you come up here, Quen? I really need to talk to you."
"Can it wait until you get down here?"
"I'd rather talk about it up here, if you don't mind."
"I'm on foot so it might take me a few minutes."
"The cycle's out back and the key is in the freezer."
"I'll be at the back door as soon as I defrost the key."
Quentin hung up the phone and was at the kitchen door in about three minutes. Jerry met him at the door with a hug.
"I'm so glad you're here.br> "It's alright, Jerry. Everything will be alright," he proclaimed as he held his brother close. "It will be alright." he declared as his voice faded. The room began to spin, blackness closed in and he lost consciousness.... Quentin 5