Course Correction
Shelley J Alongi

 

The sun was high overhead when Anne decided to get out of bed. She had slept rather well, she thought, she was happy with last night, and she was ready for a relaxing afternoon. She looked through the refrigerator and heated up left overs from last night’s dinner in the microwave. Turning on the music, she crossed the living room just as the phone rang.

“Hello?”
she walked across the kitchen floor holding the cordless phone, mixing up some dressing for a salad.

“Hello, Anne? You probably don’t remember me.”

It was a woman’s voice, Anne had to poke through the embers of her memory to try and resurrect an image to go with the voice. The woman on the line spared her this embarrassment.

“Rachel Kennedy, Andrew Crance’s sister! Remember me? It’s been a long time.”

“Rachel!” Anne put the bottle of salad dressing in the refrigerator, tossed the salad lightly.

“Rachel, of course I remember you. How are you?”

“Exhausted! My God, life can just get away from you at times! I hope you don’t mind my call. Andrew gave me your number. He said you told him in an email it would be ok to call, so I’m taking you up on it. I am sorry it has been so long. I think he sent that email two weeks ago, but, oh, goodness. Did you ever just have one of those months?”

“I know what you mean,” breathed Anne, knowing she had those kinds of months when year-end came around, and when the year started.

“I’m glad you called, Rachel. I really am. I haven’t seen you since the day I drove Andrew home after the accident. Did you know he came over last night?

“Yes. He told me. He sent an email last night about 2:00. Did you ware my brother out, Anne?”

Anne laughed.

“I think it was the movie.”

“I see. Well, okay, then. Andrew likes you.”

“Does he?”

“Oh, dear, yes, he just doesn’t know it yet. Well, anyway, enough of that! I’m glad to see you two have struck up a friendship. Andrew needs friends. Some of his friends are a little flighty. Oops, that’s kind of an appropriate term given his line of work, I suppose,” she chuckled and Anne heard her cover the phone and say: “Hold on, Anne” and then soft murmurings to someone.

“Sorry, Anne. My little girl, Katty. You remember her don’t you?”

She had remembered Katty, the one who had tacked the teddy bear on Andrew’s bed in the hospital. She had been watching Scooby Doo cartoons, Anne remembered, to pass the time in the waiting room. They wouldn’t let her in to see her uncle, but everyone kept telling her he would be fine in a few days.

“She wants to go play with someone, but we’re leaving here, soon. That’s why I called, Anne. My husband is out of town till Friday on business. Something to do with the courts, anyway, we’re going out for pizza tonight and I wondered if you would like to join us. Or have you had enough of the Crance factor for a while?”

Anne laughed.

“the Crance factor? The crance factor,” she said mysteriously, “can be pleasant. But you’re a Kennedy, that might be a different story.”

“Anne, you’re great! You are. Come join us for pizza!”

A call interupted Anne’s reply. She excused herself and took the call.

“Anne? It’s Mark whitney.”

“Hello, Mark?”

Mark was a math teacher at the high school.

“Got any plans tonight, Anne? There’s a new movie out. I thought you’d like to see it.”

Anne chambers had the distinct impression that Mark Whitney, though an excellent math teacher, probably wanted to se more than just the movie. She apologized.

“I’m sorry mark. I’ve just been invited to a pizza party with some people for tonight. Have fun finding someone to go with you.”

She clicked back to Rachel Kennedy.

“Rachel?”

“yeah?”

“Hey, thanks for calling. You just saved me from a date with a man with curious hands.”

“Oh?”
they both laughed at that.

“Oh, I would have told him no, but you were the perfect reason I needed. Give me directions! I’m coming!”


they met at the extremely noisy pizza parlor decorated in loud colors, absolutely crawling with people. Rachel hugged Anne, towing Katty, and followed on her own by Sara. Sara was sixteen years old. Anne knew that Sara had helped to take care of Andrew after the accident, but they had only met once, the day Anne had driven him to his house. Their greeting was cool, polite. Rachel’s greeting, however, was effusive.

“You look great! You do. That black short set with the white top looks really great on you. And those ear rings. I bet you’re busy about now with school in session.

“We have a few holidays coming up here, but it’s kind of hectic. I’m having all the students type on the computer and send email assignments, so that cuts down on paper. We just correct online and review work in class. Its kind of innovative, but it works. I go through a lot of ice tea that way! Do a lot of morning hours, too. I like to grade papers and email things early in the morning.”

They all got into line and ordered pizza and salad. Sitting down at a table, Katty gave Anne an inquering look.
“You probably don’t remember me,” said Anne, you were kind of young eight months ago when we saw your Uncle Andrew in the hospital.”

The girl got a frightened look in her eye.

“Katty’s afraid of planes now. Won’t go near one. When she sees them on tv she just cries. When we talk about Andrew she thinks of planes even though she’s seen him since then. He has to coax her into playing with him, but he’s pretty patient. He does things slowly. Remember that about Andrew if you ever have to remember anything about him.”

“Oh,” said Anne who was now dishing salad onto a plate, “I don’t think I’ll forget him. He is a pretty patient person.”

“But he hates pizza,” Rachel said, mysteriously, almost making Anne to believe that maybe she was trying to hint at something, “can’t stand it.”

“Likes chicken, though,” murmured Anne.

“Ah, yes, that he does. Can’t get enough of it.”

Sara and Katty went off to play video games. The den of noise precluded Rachel and Anne from having much of a conversation, but they did manage to have one.

“So can I be nosy and ask what you guys did last night? I mean Andrew is an adult and everything, but, well, sometimes I just like to keep an eye on him. It’s just the two of us.”

“Prying into his life?” asked Anne, frankly.

“Oh, no,” assured Rachel, “not at all. He lives his own life. Oh, goodness, I’d never do that. He’d shoot me for interfering! He’s a stubborn man, doesn’t like his lines crossed and that includes me nosing into his life. Besides, I’ve got two kids, a career, and a pretty busy husband, so Andrew, well, he takes care of himself.”

“Then I’ll answer the question,” said Anne, hoping her response didn’t sound too condescending. “We just had dinner and watched “Flying Tigers.”

“John Wayne, eh? Andrew likes John Wayne movies.”

“I didn’t know that til yesterday. He just dropped by because of something with the FAA but he didn’t tell me what it was.”

“Good for him.”

Katty came back, asking for a quarter.

“Here, I’ve got one,” Anne proffered the coveted piece of money.

“Don’t do that too often,” said rachel as Sara and katty ran off again, “she’ll bug you about more quarters.”

“You mean like that date I told you about with curious hands? The one I keep telling no?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Anne saw a look come into Rachel’s eyes, and she didn’t know whether or not she wanted to know what it meant.

“What’s that about?” she decided to ask.

“What?”

“That look. It’s like you’re dying to ask a question.”

“Does my brother have curious hands?”

“not,” Anne emphasized, “like that. Not like the one who wanted to take me to some movie tonight. Andrew has too much to do with his hands than to misuse them.”

“Andrew’s good that way. He’s not perfect, but he is a gentleman. He doesn’t take liberties.”

“I’d never let him into my house if he did.”

“Good girl, Anne. He won’t.”

Anne whimpered like a six-year-old to her best friend, Angela Stanley.

“Hey I couldn’t turn him down! I mean it’s just tonight! Thank God!”

“So what’s gotten into you, Annie Lynn! Since you’ve met that pilot you’re so picky!”

“No, I’m not picky,” she said petulantly, not even sure why she was acting that way, “John McGuire is just boring and I don’t care if he wrote a brilliant thesis on John Steinbeck. I don’t even like John Steinbeck.”

“Well, John likes you anyway,” her friend comforted her, looking through a closet full of new clothes, still not finding anything to wear. “Go and do your teacher’s duty, my dear. It will all be over then you can go back to your spinster ways and think of climbing into a plane with your pilot.”

“Angela!” now Anne was anoyed with her friends’ teasing, “stop! We’re not even seeing each other!”

“I know. Has he even written you?”

“No,” Anne said, almost with relief, “he’s the lucky one. He doesn’t have to be stuck on the ground with a Steinbeck nut! I do!”

“No, he’s probably drinking.”

“Maybe. I don’t’ know. He doesn’t check in with me.”

Anne looked at the clock.

“Well I have to go get ready for this affair, so let’s get together this weekend for lunch and go do something fun! I’m sick of grading papers even if I do it by email!”

the month was May, and the affair Anne was dreading was a retirement party for the principal of the high school where she worked. The party wasn’t so bad and she thought she could probably deal with John McGuire, though she had a sneaking suspicion that someone else liked him and probably would have been happy with him, but she thought she’d just go and pay her compliments and maybe slip away later and discuss ciriculum changes with the head of her department. She would try to take John steinbeck off the reading schedule! No, that probably wouldn’t do. She stood in front of her closet and resisted the temptation to call up and say she had a headache. She found a suitable outfit and was dressed when John McGuire showed up at her door. At least, she thought, as they walked across the street to the car and drove to the fancy restaurant on a hill near her house, at least he wasn’t late!


At the end of the evening, John drove Anne back to her house. She had to admit it hadn’t been a bad evening after all, but she did admit to being a little sleepy, probably because of the two glasses of red wine she had consumed with her fancy Italian meal. Even the strong coffee she had drunk with her lady fingers dessert drenched in some kind of cream wasn’t enough to keep her awake now. John had been compliant enough, handing her over to other men who wanted to dance with Anne. Anne had been pleasantly surprised to find that the music for the evening was swing and so she had danced a good deal with her date and with others, including the ever present Mark Whitney, whose advances she had sweetly ignored, dancing deftly out of his arms back into John’s arms, and then into the arms of the principal who had told her he thought she was one of the best teachers the school had ever had.

“We all thought it was grand of you to jump into that pilot’s plane,” he said over the DJ announcing some other song.

“Pilot’s plane?”

Was he drunk? He didn’t seem it, but Anne wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been just a bit tipsy. After all, it was his retirement party.

But in the middle of all that fun, when the principal mentioned the pilot’s plane, probably an event he really didn’t remember, especially after a couple of glasses of champaign, it had made her think of Andrew, somewhere overhead, or maybe out somewhere with his friends, probably dancing, too? Then someone else had come to claim her and then she was discussing the ciriculum changes with Mr. Jennings the head of the English department. Now here they were at Anne’s house and she thought she had better go into the house before she fell asleep. The ever pleasant John McGuire, Masters degree in some Steinbeckian theme, walked her to her door and said good night. Anne wondered if he was expecting a kiss, the way he stood lingering on her porch, but she resolutely turned away and said good night, and thank you, and closed the door behind her.


In the house, she quickly made her way to her bed room and undressed. She was so exhausted, she didn’t know if she would be awake long enough to put her clothes away. Standing beside her bed, ready to get into it, she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t checked the answering machine. The answering machine? She wasn’t expecting any calls! The answering machine could wait!


In the morning, refreshed, clear-headed, glad that night was over, she went to her kitchen and remembered the answering machine. She walked over to the machine.

“hello Anne!”

It was that pleasant, midrange voice, cheerful with some static behind it,

“hey I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier! I’m here for the weekend. Just got in this afternoon! This is a fly-by if there ever was one.”

It was Andrew’s cheerful voice talking onto an unfeeling piece of solid state memory while Anne had been dancing with half the staff at the principal’s retirement party.

“I was thinking I could come by and get you tonight.”

That would have been yesterday.

“I don’t’ know. I’m just rambling. You’re probably out with friends or doing something for the school. Anyway, I was just checking in. I’ll try to call you tomorrow. That is Saturday. I’m going to be pretty busy on Saturday diagramming airspace. Yes I have to file a flight plan and…” beep.

Anne ground up the coffee, poored water into the pot.

“Hi, it’s me again! Anyway, I’m going to take up all your answering machine tape!” Pleasant, shy laughter. “Um, well, I have to diagram airspace on Saturday so I’m going to be at home with charts all over my kitchen table. I leave on Monday. I’ve got some over night things.”

Andrew had been chattering on her answering machine while she was fending off the advances of Mark Whitney who thought a slow dance was an excuse for a passionate embrace.

“And I’ll be gone for two weeks because they’ve got me booked solid.”

Damn it, she had missed him!

“So I thought maybe if there’s room on your dance card, we could go to dinner on Saturday night. My head is going to be so full of numbers I am going to need a break. Call me, okay, Anne? Ok? My sister, she said you guys went for pizza! Good for you. Call me. Oh I already said that…” beep!

Anne didn’t know whether to be mad at Andrew for calling, or absolutely relieved! She had this sudden urge to jump in her car and drive down to his house and redeem the weekend! A night of John Wayne or looking at airplanes, or just talking anything but Steinbeck or ciriculum. Maybe he would like swing dancing! Yeah, maybe they could go swing dancing tonight! She picked up the phone and dialed the pilot’s number. No answer.

“Please leave a message. I’ll call you back.”

“Andrew?” she almost wept with desperation, “it’s Anne returning your call from last night. I’m so sorry I missed you! I got home at midnight, so tired I didn’t even check…”

there was a click.

“Anne?”

“Andrew, thank God you’re there!”

“Of course I’m here. I’m buried under charts!”

“Oh, Andrew,” she didn’t know why she was close to weeping, “damn! I’m glad you called! I had the most boring night last night. It was a retirement party and the company was..”

Andrew was laughing.

“Anne,” he said like a father comforting an overwrought child, “poor Anne. So what do you want me to do about it? Take you in my Cessna?”
Now Anne got ahold of herself.

“Take me dancing! Anything. I don’t’ care.”

“Alright then,” said the voluible pilot, who would definitely need a break after diagramming class a b c d e airspace from here to Arizona.

“I’ll do it.”

If there was a fairy tale, it was possible, that Anne was living it. Andrew made her tell him about Friday’s events, everything down to the unsure teacher expecting the kiss.
“He didn’t ask for one?”
“No. I thik he just expected it.”
“And what did you do?”
“I was so tired, I just went in the house. Besides I couldn’t do it. He’s, well, he’s not my type.”

He was holding her. They were sitting in his car, after dinner, after dancing.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he had told her,”but I’ll take you dancing if that’s what you want.”

“Andrew, you’re a doll.”
Getting to the club, he had taken a few lessons and they had danced across the floor for a while without any major mishaps. Andrew liked holding her. He had a lot of time to think about that. Anne liked it that he wanted to learn how to swing dance.

“Well, you let me kiss you good night once,” he gently reminded, gazing directly into her eyes.
He hadn’t moved his hands. They lay on her waste, discrete, no touching, all very proper. She was silent. He waited for her answer.

Andrew does things slowly, Rachel had said. Remember that, if you need to remember anything about him.

“I did,” she acknowledged. His head was close to hers, but he made no move to pull her closer or push her away from him.
She took her right hand and reached up and gently removed his glasses. She put them on the flor beside her. She reached up and pulled his head down to hers and their lips met, firmly, exploring, not roughly, only enough to express the sentiment that perhaps their friendship was more than that, but only a tentative step; a tentative, pleasant step. He separated discretely, she stroked his head. He lay his head on her breast, soft, warm, inviting. She stroked his hair and he looked at her, his eyes strangely softer in the lack of light. She felt his breath on her neck, it wasn’t so unpleasant.
“Andrew?”
“Hmm.”
“You’re going to call me when you get back?”
“Anne, I won’t be back for two weeks.”
“That’s nothing new, is it?”
“No.”
“Then don’t use it as an excuse.”
“An excuse for what, Anne?”
Was his patient voice a bit exasperated?
“I usually do call you. And I don’t’ know why. I just want to. Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Andrew, no,” her command was like a sharp knife, “I mean, don’t stop calling. I’m sorry.”
Now she was going to cry.
“Damn, I’m so touchy. I think” she said, gently moving his head to look at him, “I like you a lot. More than you want.”

Andrew was in a position to move back to the drivers side and drive her home and forget this nonsense and go back to the safer world of checking for debris in fuel and making sure cables were tight, and landing gear was properly extended, and checking a million other touchy little details that could make or break a plane. But he held his ground. He hadn’t achieved his experience as a pilot by running from impossible situations, so he said what he thought and let the chips fall where they would.
“Me, too, Anne. Me, too.”
He wiped her eyes. They were tearing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “sometimes I miss you. You’ve brought so much more excitement.”
“Well, then,” he said, taking her by the hand, steering this conversation back on course, “I’m going to do something about that. You miss me too, do you? You love planes and you’re begging me to take you flying. Tomorrow I’m taking you out and then when I get back from this business meeting that I’m playing taxi for, I’m calling you the minute I get back, because, come hell or high water, Annie, I miss you, too. How’s that for honesty.”

Anne sat up, returned his glasses to him.

“Drive me home, Andrew Crance. We have an early day tomorrow.”



      

 

 

Copyright © 2002 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"