Flying Too Close to the Sun by George Jehn (most inspirational books TXT) 📗

musical lilt in her voice and once again extended her hand and for a second time there was some undefined electricity. He found himself constructing a false past for her, fighting off the guys, turning down offers of marriage. Getting back to reality he wrote a description of what they had done in flight in her new logbook and suggested, “Give it a few days to sink in. Right now it all probably seems like a lot. After reading the book you’ll have some questions, so jot them down.” After hesitating a second, he added with a wink, “Better yet, why don’t you give me your phone number. In case of bad weather or a scheduling problem I can call and save you a needless drive.”

She readily provided it. She wanted more time with him, so while scanning her new logbook she flirtingly remarked she couldn’t read his signature. “How do you spell your last name, P-r-i-z-e?”

“The pronunciation only sounds that way.” He gave her the correct spelling.

Feeling as though she was peering into a tender soul, she offered, “What about if you write down your phone number? In case I have some questions before the next…”

He immediately jotted down his home number, simultaneously thinking he would have to purchase a cellphone, something he could have with him all the time in case she called and no one could overhear him speaking with her.

“Sure you don’t mind if I call?”

“Any time.”

On the drive home Carol was thinking how she could really get into flying, especially with this cute guy. Arriving at her modest English Tudor brick home she found her parents, Sal and Anita Rodriguez seated at the kitchen table with faces betraying their anxiety.

“We were worried,” her father told her. “It’s late and I tried calling the flight school. There was only a recorded message saying it was closed.”

“I’m sorry. I should have phoned. But my instructor kept me up a bit longer and then went over some stuff I need to know.”

“Then you got to fly?” her mother interrupted; the don’t-spoil-her-excitement look sent her husband’s way.

“It was incredible, with the endless blue sky and tiny houses below, just like in the movies. And my teacher is absolutely gorgeous!” She couldn’t suppress a giggle. “His name’s Erik Preis. I’d guess he’s mid-twenties and tall, with flawless skin, blond hair and luminous emerald eyes, as green as an orchard of trees right after they bloom. Not regular eyes but the calm and assured type you’d expect on a pilot.” She next pleadingly asked, “I’ve scheduled some more lessons with him starting next Saturday, if that’s okay?”

As her mother’s animated look changed to concern she quickly added, “Erik said I don’t have to pay for the instructor, only the plane. Oh, please?”

“I guess under the circumstances a few more hours would be no big deal,” Sal hesitantly answered. She thanked him, bounded up the stairs and disappeared into the bathroom before he could change his mind.

Erik stopped at a diner and grabbed a quick burger. His parents were having a drink when he arrived home, with the old man drinking Wild Turkey out of a beer glass. If Erik wanted to have a serious discussion with his father it had to be when he was still clear-headed. Was he sober now? An uneasy Erik sat down with both parents in the living room with the fragrance of freshly cut flowers competing with the stench of the booze.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” his father replied, sloshing his fingers around in the glass and looking at him through brown eyes as frosty as the street outside after a snowstorm.

Erik got a whiff of the familiar halitosis cigarette and whiskey mixture, heard the heavier than normal accent. Was he already zoned-out? But there was no alternative. “You recently raised my rent, but I would like to go for a while without paying you. I’ll reimburse all the money I owe with interest once I resume the payments.”

Joe ran his nicotine-stained hand over his face, washing it without water and after a silent communion with his drink inquired, “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Always rapid fire, whiskey-based questions, Erik thought. “No. I’m just short on funds and will be until I get off probation.” There was no way he could tell him about the loan.

“But if you lived anywhere else you would have to pay more than you do here. Why should this be any different?”

“Because you’re my father, I figured maybe—”

“I’m stupid? Well, I’m not.”

“Those are your words, not mine. I’m simply asking for help,” Erik replied, looking to his mother for support but none was forthcoming.

“Let me make certain I understand. You don’t want to pay rent, yet won’t tell me why,” his father said through slurred words.

“I told you. My first year wages stink. I’ll repay with interest what I owe next year, when I’ll be making a lot more.”

Joe Preis looked to Ursula, then at Erik. “You’re a big shot airline pilot. If you didn’t live here we would rent your room to someone else and charge even more.”

Erik knew it was pointless to pursue this discussion further because even if Joe agreed it still wouldn’t be nearly enough. Fueled by the years, simmering resentment surfaced like a scorching flame and Erik broke his silence. “Maybe you’d better understand if you really listened and cared?”

Joe slammed his glass on the table and stood up, ready to unleash his blitzkrieg of cutting diatribe. Another dysfunctional family gathering quickly came to an end as Erik took the stairs three at a time, slammed and locked the bedroom door. As he cooled down, an ice cold finger of fear touched him between the shoulder blades not knowing what was he going to do.

Ursula stood, hand to her mouth and speaking in their native tongue, she pleaded, “Why won’t you help? He isn’t asking much.”

While glaring back through teeth clenched so tightly she feared his fillings would crack, Joe told her.