Chapter 5 Brynn
“You’re not afraid of flying, are you, Orly?”
While it was undeniable that I had been lost in my own thoughts for much of our endless day of travel—from JFK to Denver on
a real plane, and then from Denver to Telluride on a twelve-seat commuter—I certainly hadn’t noticed anything amiss with my
traveling companion. But now, as we made our descent into the county’s municipal airport on a craft I was fairly convinced
was typically used for crop dusting, Orly was shaking. And not just from our rickety transportation.
“Uh, not typically, no,” Orly called out to me in a loud voice. Almost loud enough to overpower the frightening soundtrack of our flight—something akin to water erupting from a whale’s blowhole
during the countdown to a NASA rocket launch. His eyes were squeezed closed, and his knuckles were literally white.
I couldn’t claim to always be the most observant about other people, but I did know that Orly Hillill had been a Black man
as long as I’d known him, so that didn’t seem quite right.
I took a quick look out the window. No imminent danger in sight .
. . I mean, provided the pilot saw that fourteen-thousand-foot peak directly in front of us.
He’d managed to dodge them all so far, so I took the risk, unbuckled my seat belt, and hurried across the aisle to sit next to Orly.
As soon as I sat down, his eyes flew open to see what was happening.
He seemed to regret that instantly, in light of the sharp angle we took just then to avoid the aforementioned mountain.
I latched my belt and then placed my hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Orly. This is totally normal.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I could remember three flights into Adelaide Springs in my life, prior to this one. They’d all
been terrifying.
“When I was eleven, I flew on a plane for the first time. It was a plane a lot like this one.” I dared not share with my trembling
cameraman the thought that passed through my mind—that there was a very good chance that flight all those years ago had been
on exactly this plane. “My friend Addie’s mom had died, and her dad had to go up to Denver to deal with the will and stuff. I got to
tag along to keep Addie company. And it was awful. Much worse than this. You know how we kind of had to go between the mountains out of Telluride and gain a lot of elevation really
fast to get over the peaks?”
Orly peeked at me with one eye, as the other remained closed.
You’re not helping, Brynn. “I’m just saying, it used to be worse. The runway was shorter...” Still not helping. “But as awful as it is, it’s totally normal. And it’s almost over.”
I leaned over him enough to peer downward. The sun was already starting to set, and no matter how much I was dreading touching
down, I couldn’t deny that the orange of the sky glistening on the snow of the valley was a sight to behold.
“Hey...” I nudged Orly with my elbow. “If you can stand it, I think it’s worth taking a look.”
He opened his eyes and looked at me first, and I used my chin to motion his eyes toward the window. In an instant his fear
was replaced by wonder. “It looks like a postcard.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. Enjoy the view. This is the town’s best vantage point.”
Orly spent another moment soaking in his view of the snowcapped mountains and the ever-closer aspens and spruce trees, all
saturated by the dazzling orange and blue sky that Coloradoans liked to use as evidence that God was a Denver Broncos fan,
and then shifted in his seat to face me. There were no more mountain passes to avoid between us and the runway, so it was
beginning to feel—finally, just as we prepared to land—like we might not die on this flight after all.
“So tell me. What’s so awful about this place?”
He had asked the question softly enough that it was tempting to pretend I hadn’t heard him. But I figured he would just ask
again. Besides, I needed him to be my ally for the week. I’d been in the business long enough to know the camera was capable
of forgiving a multitude of sins—and therefore never allowing viewers to see them at all—if you had the right crew on your
side.
Orly probably didn’t want to be here any more than I did, but Colton said he had the most on-location experience of the entire
crew, and Bob Oswell had insisted one cameraman was enough. He may have been coming at it from a budgetary standpoint—and
quite possibly even an “If she crashes and burns, at least my daughter is ready to step in” standpoint—but I was still inclined
to agree with him. I wanted my week in Adelaide Springs to have a grassroots feel to it. It needed to feel cozy. Homey. It
needed to feel like a postcard.
“Where did you grow up, Orly?”
“Baltimore.”
I chuckled. “Okay. Well, I daresay growing up in Adelaide Springs was a little different from growing up in Baltimore. Small
towns are like foreign countries. There’s almost a separate language, you know? Different currency. Different laws. Different
rules of engagement. I don’t know how to explain it exactly.”
The pilot called to us over his shoulder. Something about landing and making sure we had our seat belts on. As if we would
have dared to sit there without them as the wings wobbled in a way that resembled Annette Funicello dancing on a surfboard.
“I bet you don’t remember every time a new family moved to Baltimore when you were growing up, but I could name every person
who moved to Adelaide Springs from the time I was five until I graduated from high school.”
I opened my mouth to add some sort of joke—“Both of them,” maybe—but my brain had begun doing exactly what I knew I couldn’t
allow it to do. It was getting a little too real a little too fast. I was thinking of those people who had moved in and out
of town—the rich, retired snowbirds who used to spend summers there and winters in Tucson; the ski bums who wanted to be close
to the slopes but couldn’t afford to live too close to the slopes; the guilt-ridden parents determined to get their kids away from crime and drugs and peer pressure, but
who ultimately realized they still wanted to be near a McDonald’s PlayPlace—and before I knew it I was thinking of the men
who came to town in pursuit of my mother. She’d meet them in bars all across the western slope of Colorado, and each of them
was the love of her life just long enough to wreak havoc on mine.
I cleared my throat and pulled my eyes away from the trees just below our elevation, right outside the window, and forced a smile onto my face as I focused on Orly again.
“Some places are nicer to visit than to live in. There aren’t a lot of postcards highlighting droughts and dried-up economies and limited opportunities and zero romantic options and not being able to escape the people who make your life a living hell.
” The smile was still plastered on my face, but Orly was studying me a bit too intensely, trying to see what was underneath it, I was pretty sure.
Too real too fast, Brynn. Better keep it on Ray of Sunshine terms. “But it really is such a gorgeous area. On a clear day when the sun is out and the mountains are still covered in snow... I’m serious, Orly,
you never knew a sky could be so blue.”
The weather is beautiful. Wish I wasn’t here.
After we came to a rocky, screeching halt on the runway, we unbuckled our belts and began grabbing our things. Orly first
made the sign of the cross and then carefully tucked the rosary he’d been holding on to for dear life into his backpack.
“I didn’t know you were Catholic,” I said, and then felt immediately uncomfortable. “Not that it matters. Sorry.” Religion,
politics, sex. Those were the issues you only discussed with someone if you were interviewing them. And usually only if you
were interviewing someone running for office.
“Nah, it’s okay.” He threaded his arms through the straps of the bag and hoisted it onto his back. “I don’t mind talking about
it. My faith’s important to me.” He leaned his elbows on the headrest of the seat in front of him while we waited for the
pilot to open the door. “I won’t be ostracized in Adelaide Springs for being Catholic, will I?” There was a smile on his face,
but I seriously considered the question.
“No. I mean, you’ll probably be the only one in town. We’re very Protestant up in here.” I rolled my eyes. Not at Protestants
but at the pronoun that had grouped me in with the locals. “But you won’t be ostracized for it.” The door opened, and I led
the way toward the front, adding over my shoulder, “You’ll just be ostracized for being ‘city folk.’”
We were almost to the steps—it wasn’t much of a journey—when I halted so abruptly that Orly ran into me. I turned around to face him.
“Look, Orly, this is probably going to be weird. Okay?” I’d spent forty-eight hours trying to convince myself it was just
another assignment. I would get in, do my job, and get out, and then I’d get my life back. It would be like those twenty-three
seconds on Friday morning never even happened. But the truth was, I had no idea what to expect. Would I have to pretend to
care about people I hadn’t thought about in twenty years? Would I even recognize anyone? Would they be happy to see me? Colton
had said the mayor told him it was a split decision by city council as to whether I could even come for the week and film
around town, and that was surprising on a lot of levels, because when I left town the mayor had been a yellow-bellied marmot
named Lady Xanadu. “The truth is, I don’t know what to expect.”
“Have you been in touch with anyone? Since Friday, I mean.”
I shook my head. “No. Not since Friday.”
“But there are people here you’re on good terms with?”
I leaned back and tried to look out the open door, but I couldn’t angle my neck enough to see anything. “I’m really not on
any terms with anyone.”
He shrugged. “Okay, so you’ve lost touch. That happens when we leave home. Don’t sweat it. I’ve seen you charm the uncharmable