Lavender Beach (25 page)

Behind the wheel,
Eastlyn took the men through the string of ideas she’d earmarked as the best options for the chopper.

Cooper was impressed. “The charter service takes a backseat to the life flight option. This area could use that kind of deal. The nearest major hospital is fifty plus miles from here. Getting a patient with a major injury to treatment quicker than by ambulance would be a huge bonus for the town.”

Eastlyn chewed her lip and pointed out, “The only drawback with that idea is the H-13 is so small on the inside. It isn’t equipped with a way to transport the injured other than the litters attached to the skids.”

Sitting in the backseat, Wally had his own thoughts. “As a parent, either the life flight idea or the search and rescue would be the way to go. I know Lilly and I worry a lot that if the kids ever need emergency medical care other than what Doc offers at the clinic, we’re looking at a long trip to Santa Cruz.”

Once they reached the barn, Eastlyn ushered them to where she’d dug the trench around the base.

“It was buried in layers. The only way to get a better look at the condition of the bottom was to burrow down until I’d seen all of it. The skids were stuck in so much dirt it made me wonder if they’d rusted out. But as you can see, the metal isn’t even damaged all that much, certainly not like all the rest that was exposed to the elements. And look at this, there’s not a single crack in the bubble canopy, not one.”

Cooper gave her a little smile. “Sounds to me like you’ve already figured things out for yourself without any help from us.”

Wally bobbed his head in agreement. “It’s good you’ve determined for yourself what kind of shape it’s in. Otherwise, when you’re deep into the work, you’d be kicking yourself at finding an unexpected surprise waiting for you. Did you try to crank her up, see if she’ll start?”

She grinned back. “I did, but no luck. The thing is, if I go for it, I need to figure out which to work on first, the ugly exterior or the engine.”

“Definitely focus on mechanical. Every time,” Wally urged. “The cosmetic stuff will come later. Right now you need to concentrate on getting the engine in prime condition to fly. I can help you with that.”

She leaned back on the dusty chopper and looked at both men. “Okay then, I’ll talk to Nick and get the paperwork started for the purchase. Because I can’t wait to see this bird in the air.”

She made time
to meet with Nick the next morning at the bank and got a surprise. The man sat behind his desk and seemed downright elated that she’d already taken steps to getting her license back.

“Are we talking six weeks?”

“More like six months. After all, we’re talking about the FAA. But I’m not complaining. Six months will give me time to work on the chopper.”

“Do you have any idea how long it’ll take to get it up and running?”

“If you’re talking airborne ready, Wally thought it could be done in ninety days. That’s if I could dedicate eight hours a day to it, which I can’t. I have other responsibilities, other jobs. Nights and weekends are the only time I could spare. Then there’s the time it will take to rewire the instrument panel in the cockpit. The bright spot is that Wally’s already agreed to help me find an engine. As soon as he locates one, we’ll go pick it up or have it shipped here, depending on where it is.”

Nick leaned back in his chair. “What if I could get you some help? Logan Donnelly works with metal all the time. He could offer his expertise on finishing the outside.”

“Why would a sculptor want to work on an old aircraft out in a dusty barn?”

“Are you kidding? Logan loves that kind of stuff. Besides, it’s what we do around here.”

“But why? Why would he want to help me?”

“You still don’t get it, do you? We all want you to get your license back and be able to fly this thing. You do that, and you’ll not only help yourself but the town as well.”

“As long as you know I want to be the one who flies it, I have no problem sharing the load though. Since you’re giving me such a good deal on it, I’d be crazy to complain.”

“We’ll help you finance the engine if it comes to that.”

“Some days I wake up and think about that scene in
Field of Dreams
. You know the one, where Shoeless Joe asks Ray Kinsella, ‘Is this heaven?’ Are you sure I’m not in heaven?”

“No, it’s Pelican Pointe,” Nick said with a grin. “And Iowa is about two thousand miles in the opposite direction.”

Sixteen

E
astlyn sat on her front porch and listened as the Memorial Day parade got underway. The marching band started with a blast of
You’re a Grand Ol’ Flag
. At least she assumed the song signaled the start of the festivities by the roar of cheers that reverberated all the way to her little bungalow.

Despite the holiday she wasn’t in the same frame of mind as everyone else. It wasn’t like her to mope around the house in a sulky mood and then wonder why she felt this way.

She had the day off. She’d slept late. Later tonight she had a date with Cooper. But in the face of all that, she wasn’t in a celebratory mood. She didn’t think a line of cars driving down the street disguised as corny floats, rolling past a bunch of flag-wavers, would do much to lift her spirits.

“They mean well,” Scott said from the end of the stoop. “Parades are a big deal around here—for the kids.”

By this time, Eastlyn had grown accustomed to Scott’s habit of popping in at intrusive times. “I know they do. But I’m no kid. I don’t feel much like partying, not the way they do. I don’t really understand why.”

“You need cheering up. But today you’re thinking about Corporal Alan Silvestre, one of your early medics who one day hopped out of the chopper like normal to render aid to a wounded soldier and took a barrage of enemy fire to the chest.”

She narrowed her gaze on him. “So what if I am? Alan was twenty-one years old with the rest of his life ahead of him, nicest guy you’d ever want to meet. He left a pregnant wife behind in Brooklyn, two parents who loved him, a couple of younger brothers and a slew of cousins. I watched Silvestre die right in front of me. The damage to his chest was… We couldn’t save him.”

She hung her head, rubbed her eyes. “All those months we brought wounded onboard, some of them bleeding out, you don’t forget the iron smell of blood. It stays with you long after you wash the chopper down for the day. Sometimes the bird reeked of the stuff.”

She glanced up to look into Scott’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that… I told you upfront I didn’t feel particularly festive today.”

“You ordered members of your crew to get out and pull Silvestre back into the chopper in the middle of a hot zone. You did everything you could to save him.”

“And failed. It isn’t just Silvestre. There were others along the way.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Scott understood all too well the guilt she felt. “There isn’t a soldier alive who went through combat who doesn’t remember guys like Silvestre, who had potential, everything to live for, but it was all snatched away in one moment of war.”

“You were one of those who had everything waiting back here at home. I think I get it now. Cooper’s right. You’ve passed on but you came back because you don’t want to leave this place.”

“If you give this town a chance, you’ll like it here. One day you’ll wake up and won’t want to live anywhere else.”

As she sat there pondering that, teens Sonnet and Sonoma Rafferty skated by on their rollerblades.

“That looks like fun,” Scott offered.

“Is that your subtle way of telling me I should get up off my butt and stop feeling sorry for myself?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“You’re a man of many riddles, Scott Phillips. But you’re not as clever as you think.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re about as subtle as a brick through a window.”

Several blocks away,
Cooper wasn’t having any better day off than Eastlyn.

Because the store was closed today, he’d slept late. Then he’d stumbled into the kitchen at nine o’clock and found his illustrious coffeemaker—the pricey one still under warranty—had quit working. Instead of grabbing his keys and heading for the diner like any sane man would’ve done, he settled for a jar of instant he discovered in the back of his pantry.

While trying to get the foul-tasting stuff past his throat, he’d had the brilliant idea to go ahead and shave. Half awake, he’d cut himself, not the little nick that comes with wielding a razor but a nasty angled cut along his chin that refused to stop bleeding.

So when the phone on the nightstand rang at ten-twenty he wasn’t cheery, not even nice.

“What?” he barked.

That’s when the recorded message kicked in saying that an inmate, named Eleanor Jennings Richmond, from the California Correctional Facility in Chowchilla, requested that he accept her collect call. 

It took him several seconds of realization before he felt like he’d been hit with a stun gun. He held the phone to his ear until the message ended and then he promptly slammed it back on the hook without accepting the charge.

After all, if Eleanor Richmond was that pigheaded to keep calling, then he could damn well be just as obstinate in refusing to take her calls.

What he couldn’t figure out was why she bothered with him now. God knows, she hadn’t done it when he was a kid.