Chapter 18
K reston
Kreston fired up the engine in his pickup and started toward town when his radio crackled. “Mayor Collins? This is Janet. Do you copy?”
Cell phones were a hit and miss in Alaska’s remote towns and villages, though companies forever promised to provide Polar Creek with better cell service. Until then, he advised residents to keep the old-fashioned way of communicating with CB radios.
Kreston retrieved the mic from his radio unit. “This is Mayor Collins. Janet, what’s up?”
“Bob has had a heart attack. He’s conscious, but he needs medical help beyond what I can provide. Jessie said you were out this way. Any chance you can stop by?”
“Yes, I’ll be right there.” He returned the mic and frowned. Just last week, he’d gently commented to Hardware Bob about losing weight when he huffed and puffed in and out of the Crooked Spoon. Didn’t help he had bacon and fried eggs every morning for breakfast.
Kreston gunned it, slipping and sliding down the snowy road. He hadn’t had time to plow it after the storm dumped two more feet. With the multitude of holiday activities, routine tasks often fell by the wayside. He pulled into the wide driveway leading to Hardware Bob’s fancy digs. Owning a hardware store had its benefits.
Janet opened the door and invited Kreston inside. She led him to the couch where Bob lay, his face contorted and his breathing shallow and pained.
“Thanks for coming so soon, Mayor Collins. Bob needs a medivac. Can Lucky fly us to Anchorage?” Janet searched his face.
“He’s gone to McGrath, but I can fly you,” he volunteered, his mind ticking through what he’d have to do. “Get his winter gear on, and we’ll load him into my truck.”
“Thank you so much, Mayor.” Janet grabbed her and Bob’s coat and boots, then Kreston assisted her in getting Bob into his down parka.
They hooked Bob’s arms over their shoulders and half-dragged, half-carried him to the pickup, where they loaded him into the back seat. Janet climbed in with Bob’s head in her lap. Kreston sped back to the airstrip and pulled up next to the hangar. He skidded the truck to a halt and hopped out.
“Let’s get Bob into the back seat of my plane,” he instructed Janet.
They eased him out and got him on board. Janet sat in the back, cradling Bob’s head in her lap, while Kreston moved his pickup out of the way, then topped off the plane’s tank with av-gas.
The pre-flight checklist grounded him in his routine, even as his thoughts raced. Fuel level good. Oil pressure good. Systems checked green across the board. Lucky had promised clear skies, but Kreston had learned the hard way to always check Alaska’s wait-a-minute weather. He studied the forecast from Polar Creek to Anchorage—he wouldn’t let treacherous conditions blindside him. No flurries. No crosswinds. Finally, something going his way.
Kreston cranked the engine, spun the propellor, and turned on the heat. He handed Janet a set of headphones with a hot mic. Once she put them on, he asked her, “How’s Bob doing?”
“Holding his own, but we need to hurry,” urged Janet, her voice tremoring.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have you there in a jiff. Which hospital, Regional or Providence?” he spoke into his mic, turning to position his aircraft. He powered up the engine and taxied down the snowy airstrip.
“Whichever is closest to where we land,” she replied in a shaky, worried voice.
“Sorry about these bumps.” He didn’t want to cause Bob any more discomfort than was necessary, but there was no way to avoid some jostling as the plane picked up speed.
Kreston lifted one wheeled ski, then the other, and they were airborne. He guided his plane smoothly into the crystal-clear morning and the big blue. Below them, Polar Creek grew smaller, and the highlands took over.
As his DeHavilland Beaver floated over the snow-laden mountains, Kreston nudged the throttle forward and banked the plane to the left toward Anchorage. The engine hummed steadily as the Alaska Range spread before him like nature’s Christmas card.
He settled into his pilot rhythm—altitude, heading, airspeed....until Sadie interrupted his thoughts. That happened more often than not these past few days. He glanced back at Janet. She was a trooper, holding Bob’s head steady as Kreston increased his airspeed.
“Doing okay back there?” he asked.
“He’s still breathing, and his heart is still beating,” reported Janet. “I’m praying he makes it.”
“Don’t worry, he will.” Kreston wished he knew for sure, but he wasn’t a doctor. “It’s clear sailing all the way to Anchorage.”
At cruise altitude, the December air was smooth as silk. Kreston kept one eye on his instruments, the other on the spectacular view. The rugged Talkeetna Mountains gleamed in front of him, the morning sun glittering glaciers into rivers of silver.
Kreston tuned into Anchorage’s radio frequency. “Merrill Field, this is DeHavilland N565TA, do you copy?”
“N565TA, this is Merrill, go ahead.”
“Kreston Collins here, on a medevac from Polar Creek,” he reported, his voice steady despite his urgency. “Cardiac event with a sixty-eight-year-old male. ETA is one hour and ten minutes. Requesting an ambulance to meet us at Merrill Field.”
“Copy that. We’ll be expecting you. Merrill clear,” said the woman on the other end.
“N565TA, clear.” He twisted to see Janet and gave her a thumbs up. Dammit, he thought. He wouldn’t see Sadie before she left, but it couldn’t be helped.
He switched the radio to his local frequency. “DeHavilland N420TA, this is N565TA. Lucky, you copy?”
Lucky’s voice came back. “N565TA, what’s up?”
“Flying Hardware Bob and wife Janet to Anchorage. Heart attack. Can you...” He hesitated, his eyes on the empty passenger seat, picturing Sadie there. “Will you please tell Sadie I had an emergency and—tell her goodbye for me?”
He envisioned Jessie hovering around the Crooked Spoon kitchen radio, listening to his transmission. She’d no doubt tell Sadie before Lucky got the chance.
“I’ll tell her,” Lucky’s voice crackled through. “However, some things shouldn’t be conveyed through intermediaries. Not even devastatingly handsome Irish ones.”
Kreston let it hang there. “Thanks, Luck.”
“Sure, buddy. DeHavilland N420TA clear.”
Kreston flew the rest of the way in anxious silence, his navigation screen displaying the aeronautical route over the magnificent Matanuska-Susitna Valley, while Janet murmured soft encouragement to her husband. The empty co-pilot’s seat bothered him—Sadie would have known what to say to keep everyone calm. She’d handled Ten Second Tess’s crisis smoothly and efficiently, the way she undoubtedly dealt with her clients in the lower forty-eight.
“Merrill Field, this is the Polar Creek medevac. We’re ten miles northwest.”
“Polar Creek medevac, descend straight onto the main runway. We’ve cleared all traffic for your emergency.”
Kreston ticked through his descent checklist. Below them, the Mat-Su Valley spread out in pristine white, dotted with the gray ice of lakes and ponds. Not how he’d planned to spend Christmas Eve—he’d thought of flying Sadie around Mount Denali—if she’d stayed.
Cook Inlet slid into view, its waters dark and dotted with chunks of ice big enough to land on. Anchorage sprawled along the coastline, the city’s grid pattern clear in the early afternoon light.
“Janet, make sure Bob’s secure. Landing in five minutes.”
Kreston’s hands moved through the familiar patterns—power back, wing flaps down, trim adjusted. The city grew larger as he lined up his DeHavilland to land. Ambulance lights flashed near the small terminal and the Merrill Field traffic control tower, letting him know they were ready for Bob.
The landing was one of his smoothest, as if his aircraft sensed what was at stake. His wheels took over, and he taxied the plane toward the ambulance. Kreston caught his reflection in the windscreen—the focused pilot who could handle any emergency stared back at him.
So, I can handle this, but why can’t I tell Sadie how I feel about her?
EMTs swarmed his airplane as soon as he rolled it to a stop next to the Merrill control tower and cut the engine. He unbuckled and hopped out to open the rear door and give them a hand. The paramedics expertly helped Bob and Janet out, then strapped Bob to a gurney and loaded him into the ambulance.
In the controlled chaos of the transfer, Kreston’s cell phone sounded, and he tapped it. “Hey buddy, I’m preparing to fly to Talkeetna. Are you on your way back?”
“Not yet. Still in Anchorage. Just dropped off Bob and Janet.”
“How is he?”
“He stayed alive until we got here, so hopefully he’ll be okay,” replied Kreston.
“Wish I could delay my flight till you get here, but as you know, I’m not certified to fly IFR for night flying,” said Lucky.
“Right.” Kreston’s heart dropped. “Bad timing. Tell Sadie—uh, tell her to have a pleasant trip home,” he stammered.
“Copy that,” replied Lucky. “Have a good flight back.”
“You, too.” Kreston ended the call, his heart clenching as he watched the ambulance pull away, red flashes reflecting off the snow. After a quick hug, Janet had gone along, too, leaving him alone with his thoughts and a plane that suddenly felt empty.
He wished he were running his dogs right now, or removing Ten Second Tess’s mistletoe from the ice maker, or telling Sadie she was...what was she exactly? Someone he liked a lot? That sounded cheesy and sophomoric. Maybe was falling in love with? Couldn’t be love if he’d only known her a little over a week—could it? He wasn’t a fan of that insta-love stuff, but hey, miracles could happen. Maybe he should go with the feeling.
Merrill Field Tower cleared his aircraft for take-off. As he ticked through his pre-flight checks, Kreston’s heart sank with the realization he wouldn’t make it back to Polar Creek in time to see Sadie. Some things just weren’t in the cards.
Anchorage gleamed below him as he became airborne. The sun had dipped low enough to shed a rosy alpenglow on Denali, resembling the world’s largest pink-bubble-gum snow cone.
Today wasn’t what he had in mind for Christmas Eve. Not by a longshot. But tonight could be.
He made a decision. Now he had to act on it.