The new day shone brightly through the small porthole windows. It was after ten by the time I got out of bed. I made a quick visit to the head and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Bed-head. My morning laugh, but it didn’t seem quite as funny here as it did staring back at me from my own bathroom mirror. I dressed and made my way upstairs. Jackson was sitting at the computer with his back to me and turned around when he heard me approach. His hair was wet and combed straight back. It changed his look from casual to formal, as if he should be wearing a tux and not yesterday’s faded jeans. He would look fabulous in a tux.
“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” he asked, looking at me as if gauging how much my attitude might have thawed overnight. He wore a torso-hugging T-shirt that gathered in folds overlapping the waistband of his jeans.
“Fine, thank you.” I was inclined to give him some slack this morning. A good night’s rest had helped me gain perspective. We still had trust issues, but the bottom line was that I needed them.
“Coffee’s ready,” he said, holding his own steaming mug.
I helped myself to a cup and carried it to the sofa. “What are you working on?” I asked, gesturing to the computer.
His expression morphed into annoyance. “Seeing if there’s any news,” he said, prompting me to think he hadn’t slept as well as I had.
Surely he could give me a tad more information than that. “Sandra news?” I prompted. “Jolene news?”
“My San Francisco contacts may have a lead on Jolene’s identity, but nothing solid yet. Are you hungry?”
“Sure, I could eat,” I said, noticing the change of subject.
We had fruit salad and toast. Our scant breakfast conversation was strained and of the “nothing important” variety—especially nothing about Sandra or any other missing Fliers.
It took a bit of conversational fumbling, but we finally found a topic he was happy to talk about: boats. After he got over the fact that I knew nothing about boating, despite living so close to the ocean, he helped me with some terminology. I learned that the living room is referred to as the salon, bedrooms are staterooms or cabins, and maps are charts. He even taught me a nifty way to remember which side of the boat was port and which was starboard.
“Think of a drunken sailor complaining, ‘There’s no red port left.’ Then you’ll remember the left side is port and the port-side navigation light is red.”
“Would you like a tour?” He stood and gestured behind the galley.
Those doors had been locked yesterday, so maybe Jackson was making some headway in the trust department. The chartroom was the size of a closet and housed a bank of wide, shallow drawers. Its top lay hidden under large paper charts. More neatly rolled charts poked out from cubbyholes beside the drawers.
He opened the door to the crew quarters. “I hire crew for everything from cooking to fish guiding to piloting, depending on who’s with me and where I’m going. The Symphony’s 102 feet, so I can’t always manage her by myself.” Two narrow double bunks crowded the room that also housed a built-in tallboy chest against one wall and a louvred closet door on the other.
He closed the door behind us and we returned to the galley, a term I was having difficulty remembering to use in place of “kitchen.” I resumed my barstool seat while he cleaned up. He put the leftover salad back in the fridge then washed our dishes. He seemed preoccupied, having gone quiet as he wiped down the counters then slowly dried the dishes with a painfully thorough tea towel routine.
He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “I know we got off to a rocky start, but I hope you now understand why I brought you here.”
He wiped the counter—again, stalling. Finally, he looked at me. “I also hope you know that you’re safe here and we’re not going to hurt you.” He continued to fuss unnecessarily. “It’s important, Emelynn. You need to learn how to fly and you need to learn quickly. The safest place for you to do that is right here.”
Something was troubling him.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, and my intuition twitched. Trust—that was it.
“I’d like to, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll hold off on that until I know you better.” His eyes grew wide and my intuition vibrated. “In the meantime, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Then it clicked. The tables had indeed turned. I took the direct approach. “You’re worried about the phone call to my mother. The one you promised me last night. You’re afraid I’ll say something.” Judging by his reaction, I’d touched the right nerve.
“I won’t break my promise. You should call her. She might be worried about you. But I want you to make the call right here.”
“Now who’s the one with trust issues?” I said, and laughed out loud. He was squirming and though I knew it wasn’t gracious, I got more than a little satisfaction from his discomfort.
“Where’s the phone?” I asked, holding out my palm across the counter.
He pulled it out of his back pocket and passed it to me, but didn’t let go. “You said you’d give me the benefit of the doubt,” he reminded me. “I’m counting on you to keep your word.” He released the phone but didn’t move. As if to emphasize his point, he folded his arms and stood his ground.
I dialled my mother’s lab in Toronto, turning my back to him as I slid off my chair and moved toward the sofa. Much to my disappointment, I got her answering machine. I left an upbeat message reassuring her that I was away from the house, but fine. I added, with emphasis, that I would call her again soon. I turned back to make sure Jackson had heard that part and nearly jumped out of my skin. He was right behind me.
“Jesus!” I yelped. “You could have warned me.”
“And spoil my fun?” He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. He reached for the phone and I handed it over. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust anyone—learned that the hard way. Let’s get underway,” he said, pocketing the phone.
He turned away, and I was left wondering who had burned him, and had it been business or personal? I would have asked but knew there was zero chance of an answer.
I tagged behind asking questions about the gadgets and switches he flipped, seemingly at random.
“Why don’t you put those dishes away?” he said, forcing a tight smile. He turned his back and went outside to weigh anchor. It was a noisy endeavour. His effort to get me out of his way gave me an opportunity to snoop in the cupboards. His well-stocked galley disproved my preconceived notion of a guy’s kitchen offering no more than beer, pickles and, on a good day, cheese.
When he returned, I poured the last of the coffee and handed him his mug. His hair had dried and was once again falling into his eyes. I caught myself thinking that I shouldn’t find him so attractive.
“Come on,” he said, and I followed him up to the observation deck.
The engines rumbled to life and I strolled to the stern to see what was happening under all the noise. The ocean frothed white and swirled out behind us as the engines revved up. The ride was smoother than I had expected, given our increasing speed. I easily wandered about on the deck with no fear of losing my balance in the boat’s movement. Jackson looked at ease in one of the tall captain’s chairs, his attention divided between steering and keeping his eye on two different computer screens. I glanced at the compass, noting our southeast bearing.
I reclaimed my coffee and settled onto the forward-facing sofa with my feet tucked under me, looking out at nothing but ocean and a distant land mass. This was almost as good as the view from the deck of the cottage. Thinking about it made me miss it more. A lifetime had passed since I’d landed on the Symphony. I looked forward to going home again, back to my sanctuary.
The next hour melted away in our wake as the waves, the birds and the ever-changing horizon competed for my attention. When the boat started to slow, the shore came into view. I could see a vast green space on the far right of the land mass that had to be Sunset Park. If I was right, then the tiny specks to the left of the park were houses.
Twenty minutes later, we had slowed to a crawl. Jackson passed me the binoculars. The tiny specks had grown to the size of matchboxes and indeed one of them was my cottage. It looked so insignificant from here.
Jackson got busy again once we stopped moving. He disappeared below and I soon heard the noise of the anchor. When the engines became quiet, I joined him below.
“Are we ready to go?” I asked. It was just after lunch and I was anxious to go home.
“A few more hours. We need to wait until dark,” he said, reminding me.
It was a restless wait. Jackson was quiet and poor company. He looked like a man with a lot on his mind. We passed the time making tuna salad sandwiches and small talk, but I was the one who did most of the talking.
What I really wanted to talk about was Jackson. He knew an awful lot about me and I knew virtually nothing about him. He proved quite adept at deflecting my questions, but I was determined and pressed on through his reticence. It was frustrating, but he finally relented. He had either figured out that I wasn’t easily deterred, or it may have had something to do with my bringing up the notion of trust over and over again.
“I was raised in New Orleans,” he said. “My parents were both Fliers.”
“Have they been gone for long?” I asked.
“Mom died when I was fifteen. Dad passed last year.” A heavy sadness settled on his shoulders. His father’s death was still a fresh wound. He was quiet for a minute and I thought I’d lost him again but then he straightened up. “Dad left me this ship. He really loved her. We had some great times here and now I’ve made her my home.” That explained the well-stocked kitchen. His face brightened and he looked around the salon with a contented smile on his face.
I pressed on. “Do you have sisters or brothers?”
“No.” He spit out the one-word answer. All the animation that had lit his face when he talked about the Symphony disappeared. Talk about stepping on a conversational land mine.
And he completely shut me down when I turned my questions to the missing Sandra. I’d asked how she’d been taken and what her connection was to the group here. He clenched his jaw in a stubborn line making it clear I wasn’t going to get any more information out of him.
This time, he changed the subject. “Let’s get your email access functioning.” The muscles in the side of his jaw twitched as he fired up the computer. He had already set up a guest user account. My bet was the guest user on this computer didn’t have access to much. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, surrendering his chair.
He had given me access to one webmail URL. Wow! I’d have to try not to wear out my welcome. I opened my email account and deleted the usual junk mail offering cheap Viagra and low-interest mortgage loans. Molly had sent an email saying she’d had a great time at dinner in Seaside and wanted to set up another dinner date. I replied with a quick “me too and yes, let’s do that again soon.” The last one was from my mother. I crafted a reply that would ensure she wouldn’t worry about me.
Before I shut it down, I explored Jackson’s computer system. I didn’t get far. Everything was either password protected or flat out “access denied.” He’d been thorough and my woeful computer skills were no match.
It was hours away from darkness and Jackson had made himself scarce. I headed to the sofa and flipped through a magazine, but nothing caught my interest. I had flying on my mind—pretty stiff competition. There was nothing quite like it and I couldn’t wait to learn more. Hmm, I thought, looking around. There was enough space right here to practice liftoffs. If it worked, I might bump my head on the ceiling, but no one was around to laugh at me. What the hell.
Standing in a bare patch of floor, I copied Eden’s liftoff motions. I gave it a couple of earnest tries before switching to Alex’s method. When that was likewise fruitless, I replicated Jackson’s moves.
I thought about Eden’s white feather. Maybe I needed a talisman. I figured it would have to be something meaningful and probably also represent flight. Trouble was, I was coming up with a great big blank on that front.
Discouraged, I sat down and went back to flipping through the magazine. At least I was going home tonight, and thoughts of the cottage lifted my spirits. I looked forward to getting out of the clothes I’d been wearing for three days straight.
Jackson eventually reappeared. He had those soft creases you get on your face when you first lift your head off the pillow. Maybe his mood had improved with the nap. He had also changed into black jeans with a dark turtleneck. He read a New Yorker magazine while we waited for night to fall.
Before too long, we were basking in the bluish glow that signalled darkness. I heard gentle thumps as Alex and Eden boarded the observation deck. Their quiet conversation preceded them. We said our hellos, but I couldn’t sit still. I jumped to my feet like a jack-in-the-box, anxious to set out.
“So, what’s the plan for getting me home?” I asked as I shifted from one foot to the other. Jackson sighed heavily. He didn’t appear eager to get on with leaving the boat.
He spoke like a sergeant major. “I’m going to escort you to shore. Eden will come with us. Alex will stay here. You pack enough clothes for a few more days. We can do laundry here.” His staccato proclamations didn’t leave a lot of room for alternatives. Apparently, the nap hadn’t worked. “We’re going to get you in and back out quickly, and then we need to head offshore away from prying eyes.”
“Let’s go then,” I said, and turned toward the stairs. Jackson followed but with considerably less enthusiasm. Eden and Alex were right behind.
Jackson called me over and I turned my back to him as he wrapped his arms around me. It was already a familiar move. We lifted off without any obvious effort and headed up and over the boat’s rail. Eden was right beside us.
The night air was cool and damp. Jackson flew faster than he had on our trip around the boat last night. My hair blew into his face and I felt his body jerk as he tossed his head aside to get it out of his way.
He spoke close to my ear. “I should have reminded you to tie your hair back.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll do it when I get home.”
We approached the cottage from the south and he landed us on a slab of sandstone. That was my longest flight yet and it had been exhilarating.
Jackson stayed close as he released me. “Brace yourself,” he said before he let go. I was glad for the warning. Gravity returned with force. At least this time I knew it was coming, and just like before, after a few moments, I was steady again.
We headed up the steps. Eden rested against the rail of the deck looking out toward where the Symphony waited offshore.
The big patio door was unlocked. “You could have at least locked it when you snatched me,” I said.
Jackson looked unapologetic. “Let me check it out,” he said, stepping inside ahead of me. He quickly scoped out the living room and kitchen then ducked into the bedroom. I watched him leave my room and head down the hall toward the bathroom.
“What a gorgeous view,” Eden said before she turned to follow me inside. “No wonder you love this place.” She walked to the bookcase and ran her hand over the wood. She looked appreciatively at the plank floor and my mother’s furniture. I was pleased that she liked it.
I heard the front door open and caught a glimpse of Jackson leaving. Checking out the yard, I assumed, or whatever else interested him out there.
“We’d better get busy,” Eden said. “Do you have an overnight bag?”
“Not really, just my knapsack,” I said, and headed to the front hall to find it. I grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie out of the dryer on the way back. I tossed them onto the bed then rifled through my dresser, adding bras, undies, T-shirts and jeans to the pile. Next, I headed to the bathroom to gather essentials. My big toothed comb was at the top of the list.
Eden sat on my bed shaking her head. “It’ll never fit in this little bag.” She glanced up offering a sympathetic look.
“It’s either that or a honking big suitcase,” I said, shrugging an apology. “I don’t have anything in between.”
“Let’s see the suitcase,” she said. I pulled one out of the guest-room closet and dragged it down the hall to show her. “That could be a problem.”
Jackson took that opportune moment to return to the house. “You can’t take that.” He pointed to the offending suitcase. “It’s almost as big as Eden and she’ll have to fly with it.”
“You fly carrying me,” I protested.
“You shed gravity. That won’t.”
Eden reluctantly agreed. “I don’t think I could do it, Emelynn. You’ll have to pare down.” Jackson headed to the living room.
I dug through the pile and removed the jeans. Eden reached over to take out the light-coloured T-shirts. “Don’t bring anything too bright to fly in.” I was left with two sets of dark coloured clothes. I went to the bathroom to change into clean jeans and a T-shirt. I added a nightshirt to the pile and pulled the clean hoodie over my head—one less thing to pack. The rest fit into the knapsack.
My cellphone! Damn, I should have thought of that earlier. They might let me take it, but I didn’t want to risk asking. I made a point of looking for my wallet. It wasn’t in the kitchen drawer I rummaged through, but the charger was. With Eden still in the bedroom and my back to Jackson, I slipped it into my hoodie pocket and headed to the front hall closet. I donned my jean jacket and stowed the charger into one of the hidden pockets I’d fashioned for weights. I transferred the phone from my purse to the other hidden pocket and breathed a sigh of relief.
I grabbed my wallet and made my way back to Eden in the bedroom. “You done?” she asked.
“Yes, I think so.” I fastened the bottom buttons of the jean jacket to secure the hidden pockets. We headed to the living room where Jackson waited.
He stood with his arms crossed, anxiety radiating off him like a heat wave. “Your hair,” he said, nodding to the offending curls.
I turned to the bathroom to get a hair elastic. “Sit down, relax.” I gestured to the sofa, but Jackson didn’t look much like he was about to take a load off.
“We can’t stay, Emelynn,” he said. Why was he so tense? He was killing any chance I thought I might have to soak in some quality cottage time.
“Let me take your things,” Eden offered when I returned. I passed her my knapsack then pulled my hair into a ponytail and joined Jackson at the patio door.
“Do you want to lock it this time?” he asked, and I thought I recognized a brief flash of chagrin on his face. Not a full-out apology, just a wee nod in that direction. Jackson waited for me to get the key into the lock before he followed Eden’s red head and my bouncing backpack down the steps. I pocketed the key then trailed behind them.
It was disheartening to realize that leaving the cottage had lightened Jackson’s mood. In fact, our moods shifted in opposite directions as we travelled between my cottage and his boat, which made me doubt that he and I were ever going to be on the same page. A disappointing insight, I thought, as I hit the second landing. Then the unthinkable happened; I lost gravity with my last footfall and rebounded upward, unchecked. This wasn’t a graceful liftoff like Eden’s. I didn’t have any weight in my pockets and I panicked, flailing my arms in a vain attempt at control. Terrifying memories of my uncontrolled flight through the park flashed through my mind.
I shrieked and both Eden and Jackson snapped their heads around. Their gaze shot to where I should have been—then followed the sound of my next shriek up into the air. Eden reacted first, vaulting up and reaching out to me. She got hold of my ankle and yanked me down, bowling me into Jackson, who was on her heels. He absorbed my momentum, wrapped his arms around me then landed us safely on the beach. Jackson and Eden tossed quizzical glances back and forth.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “That was embarrassing.”
“Is that what was happening to you before, in Toronto?” Eden asked, her voice shaking. Her anger seemed harsh and out of place. I had told her some of my more embarrassing floating stories last night, and she’d obviously put two and two together.
“Yes, but having weights in my pockets or a heavy book bag over my shoulder kept it in check.”
“Weights wouldn’t have stopped that,” she said, her eyes on fire. “What were you thinking!”
What was I thinking? “Are you kidding me?” I didn’t know whether to cry or scream as my own anger boiled over. “You think I like doing that? It scares the crap out of me!”
Eden backed away and lowered her head, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice calmer. “I know it’s not your fault. You scared me. That’s all.”
She looked genuinely apologetic, which sent my guilt meter soaring for having raised my voice. “I’m sorry for shouting,” I said to her, then turned to include Jackson, who looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. “I’m sorry,” I repeated emphatically.
Jackson nodded once, but his furrowed brow stayed firmly in place. “We need to get out of here,” he said. “Let’s go.” He twirled his finger directing me to turn around.
We landed back on the boat ten minutes later.
Alex was waiting. “Any trouble?” he asked.
“Not the kind you’d expect,” Jackson reported. “You?” Alex shook his head. “Why don’t you go unpack your things, Emelynn.” He motioned Eden to give me the knapsack. “We won’t go too far tonight, but we do need to move farther away from your neighbours.”
I had been dismissed again. At least this time, I was happy to go; I needed time to regroup and shake off the tension from that near miss. I headed below, hesitating for a moment at the bottom of the steps to eavesdrop, but their conversation was lost in the night breeze. I didn’t need to hear the words to know that I was the topic of their discussion.
The boat engines started up as I closed the cabin door and threw myself onto the bed. Thank god Eden and Jackson had been there tonight. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened in their absence or how many times I’d gone down those stairs wearing just my housecoat with four or six pounds of weight in my pockets—in broad daylight. My condition was getting worse. Was I provoking it by being airborne?
The boat was underway. My contraband phone was down to one bar. A quick search of the room revealed an outlet on the far side of the bed. I plugged in the charger and pushed the phone against the edge of the bed where it would be inconspicuous. It took but a minute to tuck my clothes and toiletries away, and then I lay back on the bed waiting for the engines to slow down. When I heard the anchor dropping, I headed back up.
It wasn’t even eleven o’clock. I rejoined them in the living room, where they’d gathered. Jackson was at the wheel, shutting down the electronic gadgets.
A pizza sat in the middle of the coffee table. “Help yourself,” Alex offered, an empty plate of crumbs in front of him. Eden sat quietly on the opposite sofa.
“Did you make that yourself?” I asked, going for polite conversation as I took a seat beside Eden and slid a slice onto an empty plate. Eden nursed a Coke and didn’t look up.
“No, it was delivered,” he said, straight-faced. I smiled, appreciating his humour. He watched me turn to check Eden’s expression for signs of amusement, but she was off in another world. Jackson, finished with his captain’s chores, joined us and helped himself to a plate. Alex’s stab at comedy was lost in the ensuing quiet.
Whatever the three of them had been discussing before I arrived undoubtedly concerned me because in short order they were all looking at me. Their undivided attention raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
“What?” I asked, taking another bite.
“We were talking about what happened to you earlier tonight,” Eden said. She didn’t look angry, just concerned. “The risk of exposing us is only part of it. You could have killed yourself.”
When my mouth was clear I apologized—again.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Alex said. “We just don’t know how to help you deal with it.”
“I think the unscripted flights will come to an end when you learn how to fly properly,” Jackson said as he helped himself to more pizza.
“Well, the sooner that happens, the better,” I said, and I meant it. The sooner I learned the ropes, the sooner I could get out of their hair and back to the cottage.
“Given your impromptu side trip tonight,” Jackson continued, “we think the most important thing for you to learn next is how to land.” They all nodded their agreement.
We polished off the pizza and while Eden cleaned up, we talked strategy. It was telling that they didn’t once mention the “paramount” liftoff skill. Apparently, my unscripted flight had shifted the priorities. It had also instilled an unsettling sombre mood. I hated that I was responsible for all of this: their efforts and now their worry.
Back up on the observation deck, the four of us assumed our positions from the previous night but with markedly less enthusiasm. Alex took the lead. “Jackson is going to get you in the air. Once you’re away from him and stable, we’ll show you how to land.”
“You ready?” Jackson asked, managing a weak smile as he came around behind me.
“Sure,” I replied. He folded his arms around me and we lifted off. We stopped two metres above the deck surface before Jackson carefully unwrapped his arms to hold me at arm’s length. When I stopped wobbling, he released me.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” I said quietly, marvelling at the wonder of being airborne. Eden returned my smile, agreeing with me, but not with the same excitement she’d shown last night. My wild sprint off the deck at the cottage had frightened her. It frightened me too; I just didn’t want to admit how much.
“So, landings,” Alex said, focusing our attention. “What goes up must come down, right? From this height, with no speed behind you, you need only a feather-light touch of momentum to get down. Don’t forget, without gravity, every movement you make will cause an exaggerated reaction. To land from here, all you need to do is raise your arms in a small sweeping motion. Jackson, you’re on. Show her how it’s done.”
Jackson had been rubbing his temples. It reminded me that he hadn’t wanted to take me on in the first place. He’d be glad when I was gone. I watched him rotate his arms in a small upward movement and gently drift down to the deck.
“Or,” Alex said, “you can drop your upper body by bending at the knees, and that will set you down. Eden, will you do the honours?”
Eden swung her arms above her head and bent her knees, as if she were doing a delicate squat, and then she too drifted down to the deck.
“You ready to try?” Alex asked, looking over to me.
“Here goes,” I said with a sigh, choosing the arm rotation method.
For once in my life, the effort paid off without a hitch: I landed like a pro, right where I was supposed to. What a relief.
“You did it,” Eden said, exhaling softly. I watched the tension in her shoulders melt away. We all needed a success tonight, and my smooth landing broke the spell of the dark mood.
“Let’s do it again,” I said, this time with enthusiasm.
Jackson came around behind me. “Ready?” he asked. Even he seemed relieved.
We drilled through the landing procedure dozens of times. It was midnight before we took our first break.
Eden said, “You’ll have to repeat this process until it comes to you intuitively.” She and Alex retired to the sofas while Jackson and I continued to practice. By the time we called it quits at two in the morning, I had successfully landed from heights of about thirty feet with no broken bones.
After Eden and Alex said goodbye and flew off, Jackson and I headed down to the galley. He handed me a bottle of water and then, just as he had last night, he locked the outside doors. We headed to the lower deck and he escorted me to my cabin. “You’re doing great, Emelynn,” he said as he laid his hand on my shoulder. “Do you have everything you need in there?” he asked, indicating my room.
“Yes, I’m good,” I said, distracted by his hand. He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning and heading to his own room.
I closed my door and retrieved my nightshirt. As I reached to turn out the light, I noticed my cellphone. It was now fully charged. It seemed as if days had passed since I’d plugged it in. I thought I’d been so clever to sneak the phone on board. Now I felt less like I’d gotten away with something and more like I was betraying the trust of the very people who were teaching me how to fly.
I checked the phone for messages. There was one from Charles; they needed to push back their scheduled lawn care until next Monday. I tucked the phone away. Even if there was someone I wanted to call, the hour was too late now. Maybe tomorrow.