Chapter 31
That look in his eyes means he’ll never get over his first love
Alex
I woke to the morning sun streaming through our bedroom window, painting everything warm and soft.
Finn moved quietly around the room, already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a flannel shirt tied around his waist. My body felt fully human again for the first time in two days and my brain wasn’t wrapped in an awful cotton fog.
“Morning,” I stretched, sitting up against the pillows. He turned toward me and smiled widely.
“Hey there,” he kissed me lightly and sat on the edge of the bed, coffee cup in hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. Actually better,” I flexed my feet under the covers, testing.
“Up for breakfast at the house?”
“Stars, yes.” The idea of being around people and conversation again sounded lovely. “I’m going a little stir crazy in here.”
Finn’s face lit up with what looked like relief. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Shower first?” I was desperate to feel clean.
“Whatever you need, darlin’. I’ll run down and get you a coffee. They make cold brew in the restaurant.”
I showered quickly and dressed in a navy tank and black mom jeans that I rolled to above my ankles before pulling my hair back. Finn returned and grabbed his baseball cap while I slipped on a soft tan corduroy shirt and pulled on my Vans.
“You look like you belong here,” his eyes grew hungry as he handed me my coffee. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I blushed, letting him take my hand and lead me out of the room and toward the main house.
After breakfast, where Belle shared her detailed plans for her next art project and Jack asked approximately seventy questions about my job, Finn and I walked back toward the lodge.
“Feel like seeing more of the property?” Finn asked, hands in his pockets. “I could give you a tour.”
“I would love that,” I couldn’t stop watching him. He’d pulled his ballcap on after we left breakfast, and I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of the sight.
Finn’s truck was parked near the lodge, and he opened the passenger door for me. The moment I climbed in, Maggie appeared from nowhere and jumped in after me, settling herself on the passenger side and forcing me to scoot toward the middle. I caught Finn’s amused smile as he closed my door.
“She’s got her own agenda,” I grinned, scratching behind Maggie’s ears as he climbed in and started the truck.
“Always has,” he put the truck in gear and we rolled down the gravel drive. “She’s decided you’re her person for now and she takes that responsibility very seriously.”
We drove past the main house, where I could see workers moving livestock in the distance, then around the barns and equipment sheds.
Finn pointed out the different operations, hay fields, grazing areas, the vegetable garden that supplied the lodge restaurant.
The scale of it was incredible, thousands of acres spreading toward mountains that looked like something out of a landscape painting, all those layered blues and purples in the distance, the way the morning light caught the Tetons and made them glow white at the edges.
“There’s the old homestead,” Finn pointed to a small log cabin nestled in a grove of aspens. “My great-great-grandfather built it when he first claimed this land.”
“It’s beautiful.” The weathered logs had turned silver-gray, and the aspens framing the structure and the mountains rising behind it all created a picturesque composition.
We followed a dirt road that led away from the main ranch, climbing slightly through scrub brush and scattered pines. Maggie panted happily, her head completely out the open window.
“Where are we going?” I rested my hand on his leg.
“Got somethin’ I wanna show you,” he flashed a lopsided grin. “Think you’ll find it interesting.”
The road curved around a small hill and a large hangar building appeared ahead, sitting beside what was clearly an airstrip. The runway was grass with a windsock fluttering at one end.
“The airfield,” I whispered reverently.
“The airfield,” Finn confirmed, pulling up next to the hangar. The building was substantial but weathered, large enough to house a small aircraft and then some.
We climbed out of the truck and Maggie immediately trotted off to investigate the area. Finn led me toward the large doors that stood partway open. As we got closer, I could see the distinctive yellow wing inside.
“There she is.” I heard genuine affection in his voice.
The Piper J-3 Cub sat in the hangar like a piece of aviation history, her fabric skin gleaming in the morning light filtering through the open doors. Classic yellow with a black lightning stripe, just the way I’d seen them in photos.
“She’s gorgeous,” I walked slowly around the plane. The fabric covering looked pristine, the metal fittings polished and well-maintained. It was delicate-looking, with graceful lines that spoke to an era when aircraft were built by craftsmen. “Much smaller than I expected, though.”
“Most people say that,” Finn moved to the propeller, running his hand along one of the wooden blades. “But that’s part of what makes her so perfect. Every input you give her, she reacts immediately. No lag time, no computer systems between you and the sky.”
I moved toward the cockpit and peered through the side window at the simple instrument panel. Just the basics: airspeed, altitude, compass, and a few engine gauges. Nothing like the complex displays I’d seen in pictures of modern planes.
“She’s in such great condition.”
“Worked on her with my grandpa when I was younger and did some little upgrades between deployments when I was home,” Finn opened the cowling to show me the engine. “She was pretty rough when he got’er. Engine needed a complete rebuild, all new wiring, updated avionics for safety.”
His voice grew more enthusiastic as he talked, hands moving to point out different systems. He knew every component, every upgrade that had been made.
“Is she airworthy?”
“Absolutely. Annual inspection was done in March, and she gets flown regularly, Mom takes her up sometimes with the kids in the back, and they have a couple pilots on the ranch who keep her exercised,” Finn pulled out a logbook from a compartment behind the seats.
“Every flight recorded, every maintenance item documented.”
I flipped through the pages, seeing entries going back years. Finn’s neat handwriting from long ago, replaced by other hands, his mother’s flowing script, a mechanic’s blocky print, Finn’s handwriting reappearing every so often. Every entry was thorough, professional.
“Tell me about learning to fly in her,” I settled onto a wooden crate near the wing to rest a minute.
Finn’s expression shifted, becoming more nostalgic.
“I was nine when Grandpa first took me up. Scared to death and absolutely hooked at the same time.” He ran his hand along the wing strut.
“When I turned fourteen, he taught me how to fly. No fancy simulators or computer aids, just stick and rudder and learning to feel what the airplane was telling you.”
“What was that like?”
“Magic.” Just a single word, but his eyes lit up as he said it. “Up there, everything made sense. The rules were clear, physics, cause and effect. If you did something stupid, she’d let you know immediately. If you did it right, she’d reward you with the most incredible feeling of freedom.”
“I spent every spare moment I could out here with him,” he continued. “Learning pre-flight inspections, basic maneuvers, emergency procedures. By the time I soloed at sixteen, flying felt as natural as breathing.”
“That’s incredible,” I could picture it; teenage Finn and his grandfather, working together in this same hangar, building skills that would eventually take him to the Navy and around the world.
Finn was quiet for a moment, lost in the memories before turning to me. “I could teach you to fly her. If you wanted.”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” he moved toward the cockpit, gesturing to the front seat. “You’ve got the right kind of mind for it, systematic, detail-oriented, excellent at processing complex information. And this is the best airplane to learn in.”
I got up as Finn opened the pilot door, showing me the tandem seating arrangement. “Front seat for the student, back seat for the instructor. Everything’s in working order.”
“And would I actually fit in there?” I eyed the narrow cockpit with some concern.
“Absolutely. She’s roomier than she looks, and the seat adjusts.” Finn demonstrated the seat mechanism. “Plus, the J-3 was designed for training, they made sure students of all sizes could be comfortable.”
“Okay… what about your motion sensitivity? Would it be too much for you?”
“Teaching is different,” he lifted a shoulder. “I’ll be in the back seat feeling every bump, but I’m in control of what we’re doing. I know exactly what maneuvers we’ll practice, when we’ll turn, when we’ll climb or descend. It’s the unexpected movements that get to me most.”
“And you’re medically cleared to fly? After the accident?”
“My certificate lapsed after the discharge. Officially, I can’t provide flight instruction until I get recertified, which.
..” Finn’s eyes slid to the side before returning to my face.
“...may not happen with my disability rating. But this is an informal lesson in a simple aircraft. And I know this plane better than I know myself.”
I studied him, looking for any hesitation or uncertainty after that confession. His eyes were hopeful, and I knew how much this meant to him. I also knew I trusted him.
“The weather today?”
“Ideal flying conditions. Light winds, clear skies, unlimited visibility,” Finn glanced toward the hangar opening where I could see blue sky beyond. “Couldn’t ask for better.”
“All right,” I said, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Let’s do it.”
Finn’s face broke into a grin. “Really?”
“Really. But you’re going to have to walk me through everything, so I know exactly what we’re doing before we leave the ground. I need a fair chance at landing this thing if you stroke out up there.”
“Deal,” he laughed, moving toward the nose of the aircraft with an extra bounce in his step. “We’ll do a complete pre-flight inspection. I want you to know this airplane is safe before we even think about starting the engine.”
I stood up and followed him as he opened the cowling.
“First thing we check is the heart of the operation,” he began. “Oil level, fuel lines, general condition of everything that keeps us in the air.”
“What would we look for that would ground the plane?”
“Low oil, fuel leaks, anything loose or corroded.” He pulled out the oil dipstick and held it against a rag. “See this? Anything below that second line means we’re not flying today.”
“How often does that actually happen?” I asked as he wiped the stick, checked it again, and then secured it back in place.
“With proper maintenance? Rarely. But you never skip the check. Ever. Now we check the control surfaces. Push down here on the aileron. See how it moves freely?”
I pushed on the hinged part of the wing where he pointed. “It’s heavier than I expected.”
“That’s great. Means the cables are tight, everything’s connected properly. Try the other wing.”
He followed me to the other side where I pressed down on the second aileron. “What if it felt loose or stuck?”
“We’d be done for the day. Control surfaces that don’t respond properly can kill you.”
He set up a step ladder before moving a crate over and jumping onto it. “Up here,” he tapped on the ladder. I climbed it until I was at his level, and he pointed to a red cap with what looked like a wire coming out of it.
“Fuel gauge says we’re topped off, but you always verify visually.” He pulled the cap off. “Look here. See the fuel level?”
“Right up to the rim.”
“Exactly. Gauges can lie, especially in older aircraft. Your eyes don’t.”
“How long will that last us?” I asked as he screwed it back on.
“About three hours of flying.” We climbed back down. “We’ll only be up maybe thirty minutes.”
“Tires next,” he continued. “What do you see?”
I crouched down where he pointed. “They look... fine? No obvious damage.”
“Look closer,” he crouched down next to me. “Any cracks in the rubber? Uneven wear patterns?”
“No cracks,” I shook my head. “The wear looks even across the surface.”
“Good eye. Uneven wear means alignment problems. Cracks mean the tire could blow on landing.”
He stood and offered me his hand. “Last thing is cable tension. Put your hand here on this control cable and pluck it like a guitar string.”
I plucked at the cable and it made a soft twanging sound. “It’s tight.”
“Perfect. That’s just how we want it. These cables connect your controls to the flying surfaces.”
“So if this cable snapped...”
“We’d lose control of that particular surface. Not something you want to discover at three-thousand feet. But these look good.”
We spent the next few minutes checking wing fabric, cockpit instruments, and verifying entries in the logbook. Every item Finn showed me had a reason, a potential failure mode that could turn dangerous if missed. His knowledge and attention to detail was impressive.
“Satisfied with the inspection?” he asked, retrieving two headsets.
“As satisfied as someone who just learned five ways this plane could kill us can be.”
Finn grinned. “That’s exactly the right attitude for aviation.”
Maggie trotted back into the hangar, settled herself in a sunny spot near the door, and looked at us expectantly. Apparently, she was planning to supervise this entire operation.
“Ready to learn how to fly?” He handed me a headset.
“Ready.”