in Aspen with Ben, this time there was snow and lots of it. Even from the airport, we could see that some of the ski runs were operating.
Ben had called ahead, and the caretakers had opened up Chateau Eagle Pines for us. The large lodge belonged to the Case family and had more than enough space for everyone and their many guests.
As we entered the house with our luggage, a lovely fire burned in the large fireplace. Then I saw the ten-foot-tall Christmas tree standing majestically in one corner of the living room.
“Welcome back, Ben; Avery,” a stentorian voice said from the balcony.
I looked up, and Joe Wallace, the caretaker, came down the steps to greet us. I got a hug, and Ben gave a firm handshake and manly hug to the older man.
Joe said, “I’ve just finished setting the thermostats and making sure everything is how it should be when I heard your car. I think I even saw you fly overhead about three quarters of an hour ago when I arrived here to open up.”
“Great and thank you, as usual,” Ben told the man.
“Anna put a lot of groceries in the kitchen, so I think you can eat here if you want. You shouldn’t lack for anything. You know how to reach me if you need anything.” Anna was Joe’s wife.
We thanked Joe for his help, and he left us to our own devices. By now, late afternoon had arrived, and the shadows were long across the valley that Eagle Pines looked down on. I stood looking at the beauty of the area; Ben came up behind me and held me as we looked out.”
“Want some wine?” he asked.
“Please,” I said. He knew my ‘usual’ was any chardonnay with a lot of ice in it. I added, “No one is going to fly, right?”
“Not on my watch,” Ben tossed over his shoulder as he headed towards the kitchen.
My brain hadn’t entirely decompressed from the stress of the flight. I so wanted to please Ben and, of course, myself with my mastery of the involved aircraft. For the past four months, almost all my free time had been spent on aviation and aircraft, culminating with my private pilot’s license a few days earlier.
Now, I wanted to move right into my commercial instrument rating and eventually get type certified in the Citation. I’d told my flight instructors at Fairchild Field that we’d roll right into the next ratings. However, I had no idea how or where I’d get type certified. That’d come later, and I knew the winter weather would wreak havoc on scheduling lessons for my next ratings.
Ben returned from the kitchen with a tray holding our two glasses of wine, some cheese and crackers, and a mysterious little box wrapped with a giant red bow.
Without a word, he bowed to me and offered me my wine and the little box. I took one in each hand, moving to set my wine on an end table after I’d taken my first sip.
“What’s this?” I asked, holding the little box up at eye level and shaking it.
“Just a little something I know you’ve been thinking about recently,” Ben said. He added, “It’s an early Christmas present. I know what you’re thinking about, and I thought this might be better than Christmas morning.”
I pulled the ribbon and the gold wrapping paper off of the palm-size box. I half expected some piece of jewelry. The engagement ring Ben had given me on the sixth day we’d known each other. It was by far is the only thing I wanted or needed in my life, particularly as his ‘temporary girlfriend.’
I pulled the lid off the box, and inside were two pages, folded up many times to fit — two pages of printout from some Internet websites. I unfolded the pages.
The top page indicated that Avery Hart would be attending an eight-day intensive training program concluding with the commercial-instrument flight test. The course had been paid for and would be at Opa Locka Airport in southern Florida in February.
“Cool,” I said as I looked up at Ben. “Does this mean I won’t have to spend six months trying to fit in lessons around the rest of my life and bad Seattle weather?”
He nodded. “Yes, but read on,” he said.
I turned to the second page, straightening out some of the folds of the paper. I read that Avery Hart had also registered at the Flight Safety Wichita Cessna Center for type certification in the Citation, commencing in mid-March.
“YES,” I cheered and threw myself into Ben’s arms. He held his wine glass at arm’s length to avoid spilling the beverage. I showered him with kisses.
“This is so great. I’ve been wondering how I’d get to do all of this, plus I’ve been so focused on my private license. That’ll make it all go so much faster. Thank you so, so, so much.”
“The simple benefits of being my ‘temporary girlfriend,’” Ben said with a smirk. “Can you get off work?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Work will bend for these trips. We expect things to be a little slow this winter, so the timing is great.”
I knew he wanted me to get my ratings as soon as possible to play together and go to some exciting places. He said he’d hold back on some trans-oceanic flights until some vague date in the future. I’d complete my type of certification in the jet and could go with him as the second pilot. Of course, I couldn’t really do justice to the kind of certification without an instrument rating…