"I used to fly way back when, so if my terminology or procedures are not quite up to par, please forgive me. This is a simple story of mistakes, heartache, love and forgiveness."
Temuchen
*
Looking out the window, all I could see was a grayish white blanket...nothing more. Glancing from left to right, I re-checked the instruments making sure of my heading, attitude and altitude. Yeah, everything okay...so far. I didn't like flying through clouds, which meant I had to pay more attention to my gauges instead of flying visual. Looking at my VOR settings, I saw the needle was off to the right. Shit, I was going to be chasing that stinking needle. I checked the map and found I had a variation of five degrees off course. Shit, how long had I been flying on this error? I checked the map noting the five degree mistake from take off; however, I didn't know when the plane went off course. Fuck, the heading was correct...must have been wind drift.
Whenever you read about light plane crashes, pilot error is often the cause. Hell, now I could become one of those statistics in pilot error.
My name is John...John Joseph LaRouche. Several hours back, I had taken off from a small private airfield in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, returning home to Seattle, Washington. I had been following the 90 Interstate but lost that ability when I became embroiled in a low ceiling. Hopefully, at the moment, I should be about fifteen hundred feet above Snoqualmie Pass. Not a good spot to be when you might be lost. I knew I should be above the highest point over the pass but you never knew for sure when flying on instruments. The only thing I was sure of for now, I have fuel, my attitude is level, the heading correct for my destination and nothing but white outside my windows...kinda like flying wrapped inside a bed sheet. Yeah, I was in real good shape.
I thought of my wife, JoAnne, waiting at home with the kids. We had a fight before I left for Idaho. She didn't want me to go and I asked her if she liked living in the house we owned, if she enjoyed driving the Lexus, if she wanted the children to continue in that expensive private school she insisted they attend. JoAnne glared at me comprehending I knew what her answer would be and called me a bastard. I merely smiled, picked up my bags and walked out the door without as much as a plea to be careful; although, I thought I did hear a sniffle or two. You see, not more than a month back, I discovered my darling wife had an affair with my dear dead brother. Well, not really deceased...just dead to me.
Their little tryst occurred when I had to fly up to Vancouver, British Columbia. In my business, I have to travel a good deal and, instead of flying commercial, I bought my own airplane, an older model twin-engine Comanche. I have been flying most of my life, my father having taught me when I was fourteen. I had achieved my single engine pilot's certificate two months after turning eighteen. Since then, I have been rated for instrument, twin-engine and seaplane.
Only once did I suffer a near catastrophe. I had been practicing spin recovery over Elliot Bay. I would climb to six thousand feet, pull the nose up hard and when the little Cessna 150 stalled, would kick the rudder hard over. And, down I would go into a nice little spin. Next, I push the nose down to build up air flow over the wings, kick opposite rudder to stop the rotation, slowly pull back on the wheel and the plane returns to level flight. After I performed several spins, I returned to the Tacoma Narrows Airport and it was there I almost met the Almighty. There was a terrific crosswind upon landing and, despite the over-correction; I was blown off the runway, the front wheel compacting into the gravel. The plane nosed over and the next thing I knew, I was hanging upside down held by the seat belt. What seemed like hours but actually less than a minute, a crash crew was on scene and able to cut me out. Luckily, the plane didn't catch fire and other than a few scrapes and bruises, I was fine...at least for awhile. When my Dad learned of the accident and the demise of his beloved little Cessna, I wished I had been seriously injured and laid up in the hospital. That would have been better than my father's anger and disappointment.
I smiled when I thought of the Cessna. Dad was able to salvage the little plane, restoring it to flying condition. In fact, three years later, for my twenty-first birthday, he gave me the 150 as a gift. I later learned he had always planned to give me the plane.
A sudden lurch brought me back to the present, turbulence buffeting the Comanche. Shit, I thought, maybe I should climb and see about getting out of these clouds. Before I left Coeur d'Alene, the weather report was favorable with the ceiling broken at seventeen thousand feet. This was no fucking seventeen thousand feet and the damn clouds were not broken. Another draft of instability struck the plane sending me upward and then back down. The screaming wind smashed against the aluminum skin but I was still at proper attitude and my magnetic heading dead on. I checked my fuel, the gauges reading near full while the drone of the two engines comforted me. I took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before exhaling, releasing some of the built up anxiety.
Just as suddenly as it arrived, the turbulence vanished. I was still flying on instruments, but at least, for now, I was flying in calm air. My thoughts returned to JoAnne and that fateful day.
I had returned early from Vancouver. The people I was to meet had cancelled cutting short my trip. I called the house to tell JoAnne I was coming home and maybe we could go out to dinner; however, was surprised when the answering machine picked up. JoAnne should, by now, have been home with the kids. She must be out with the twins, I thought, probably shopping at the mall. I remember smiling, thinking how my three girls had their husband and father wrapped around their little fingers. I tried her cell phone but still no answer so I left another message.
When I drove up onto the driveway at 6:30pm, the house was dark. Now, I was concerned that no one was home. Had there been an accident; was JoAnne or the twins alright? I searched the house for some clue where everyone was. At least I found nothing, other than their absence, to indicate anything was wrong. I called my parents but my mother said she didn't know where the girls were but not to worry, she was sure they were fine. I contacted JoAnne's mother and was surprised to discover my twin daughters were staying with her for the weekend. When I asked where JoAnne was, she said her daughter should have returned home by now. Troubled, her mother asked that I call her as soon as I talked with my wife. I said I would and disconnected, now upset. Where the hell was she? I checked the messages on the answering machine hearing my voice telling Jo I was coming home early and about dinner. Wait, Moira! Maybe she's out with Moira. Yeah, that must be it...she must be out with Moira. I tried her cell one more time and still no answer...this time I didn't leave a message. I called Moira's apartment but, like my wife, no answer. They must be together.
Then I made the worst decision of my life, I decided to surprise David, my brother, with a visit. A Lieutenant Commander in the U.S. Navy, David was stationed at Bangor Sub base on Bremerton but lived off base in an apartment not far from our parents home. He was waiting to head back out to sea on some nuclear sub, I didn't know which one but I think he once told me it was a Los Angeles class...something called a fast attack boat.
As I drove over to his place, I was disappointed about JoAnne but thought at least he and I could spend some quality beer time together. I pulled up in front of his complex and parked in the only stall available. When I got out of the car and proceeded toward the entrance to the complex, I stopped dead in my tracks. Not more than three stalls away, was my wife's Lexus. She had that silly pink bumper sticker that read, "My twin girls are honor students!" Why would she be here?
I made my way through the complex and stood just outside of his door. From my vantage point, I could see his front door, the kitchen window and the sliding glass door to his open patio. The light to his living room was on but the drapes were closed. I heard the soft muffle of music from his apartment and saw the shadows of two people gliding along the drapes in a slow dance. At one point, their heads merged as if kissing.
Breathless, I moved to the kitchen window and stared through the open blinds. From this view, I could see right through the kitchen and into the living room. Choking back a gasp, I saw my wife held tight against my brother her arms around his neck, his around her waist. They were both naked. As their lips pressed against the other, I watched his hand slowly slid down and his fingers graze along the crack of her ass. She removed her right hand from behind his neck sliding it downward between them. I knew where those fingers were going.
At first, I was going to kick down his fucking door but, instead, decided to play a different game. I don't know why, but, I didn't want them to know that I caught them. My hands shaking, I removed my cell phone, my eyes trapped by the sight before me. I called my brother's number and heard his phone ring. They stopped moving and both looked at the phone. He whispered something to JoAnne and went to answer. When he saw the calling number he stopped and whispered to my wife, her hands moving to her mouth. He hesitated but finally answered.
