Chapter 32
She’s responsive
Finn
“Now let’s get you strapped in,” I opened the front cockpit door and gestured to the seat. Alex climbed up carefully and settled in. I checked her harness—shoulder straps snug, lap belt secure, everything positioned properly.
“Comfortable?” I asked, making minor adjustments to the seat position.
“Yeah, actually,” she flexed her feet, testing the rudder pedals. “More room than I expected.”
I climbed into the rear seat, running through my own harness check before reaching forward to point out the primary controls.
“Stick controls your elevator and ailerons—push forward, nose goes down, pull back, nose comes up. Left and right banks the wings. Rudder pedals control the rudder and steer the tailwheel on the ground.”
Alex nodded, hands resting lightly on the stick. “And the throttle?”
“Left side of the cockpit, that black knob,” I gestured to the power control. “Forward is more power, back is less. Simple as that.”
She wrapped her fingers around it, testing the movement. “How much pressure?”
“Light touch. She’s responsive. Doesn’t take much input to get a reaction.” I checked her position again, making sure she could reach everything comfortably. “Ready to start her up?”
“Ready.”
I primed the engine and called, “clear prop!” before hitting the starter. The Continental A-65 turned over twice before catching with a distinctive rumble that had been the soundtrack to some of my best memories. The whole aircraft vibrated gently around us, familiar and alive.
“How’s that feel?” I asked through the intercom.
“Like sitting inside a very friendly earthquake,” Alex’s voice came through the headset with a smile in it.
I laughed, adjusting the mixture and checking engine parameters. Everything looked good—oil pressure solid, RPMs steady. “All right, let’s taxi. Remember, steering’s all rudder pedals now. Give me some right rudder to get us moving.”
Alex pressed the right pedal and we swung toward the grass runway with too much input at first—the Cub’s tailwheel configuration making us zigzag slightly.
“Lighter pressure,” I said. “Like you’re guiding her, not forcing her.”
“Like this?” She made a gentler correction, the plane tracking straighter.
“Perfect. Now we’ll do some S-turns so you can see around the nose.” I talked her through the pattern, left rudder, right rudder, keeping us moving down the centerline while giving her visibility ahead. She picked up the rhythm quickly, cataloging every input and response.
“Why can’t I see straight ahead?” she asked, executing a smooth S-turn.
“High nose attitude in a taildragger. That’s why we weave—gives you visibility around the cowling.” I was already impressed with how naturally she was handling the aircraft. “Ready for takeoff?”
“How much runway do we need?”
“She’ll be off the ground in about three hundred feet. We’ve got a thousand,” I advanced the throttle partway. “Your aircraft. Add power nice and smooth.”
Alex pushed the throttle forward, the engine note rising. The Cub started rolling faster, eager to fly.
“Bit more back pressure on the stick,” I said as we picked up speed. “Feel how she wants to lift off?”
“Oh!” Alex pulled back slightly and the nose came up. “How much more?”
“Just enough to keep her level. You’ll feel it when she’s ready.” The aircraft was accelerating beautifully, control surfaces coming alive in the airstream. “Little more—there you go.”
The moment happened the way it always did in the Cub—no dramatic liftoff, just a gentle transition from rolling to flying, the rumble of wheels on grass replaced by the smooth hum of flight. Alex’s sharp intake of breath came through the intercom.
“We’re flying,” wonder filled her voice.
“We’re flying,” I couldn’t keep the grin out of my own voice. “Climb straight ahead, maintain back pressure. See how the horizon looks through the windscreen?”
“Level with the bottom of the frame?”
“Exactly. That’s your attitude reference for level flight,” I watched her make small corrections, learning to feel the Cub’s responses. “Now let’s try a gentle turn. Stick to the right, little bit of right rudder to coordinate.”
Alex banked carefully, the ground sliding away beneath us. “More rudder?”
“Exactly. Feel how smooth that is when everything’s coordinated?” We carved a gentle arc over the ranch property, climbing gradually. “You’re doing great.”
She was. Better than great—she was flying the airplane instead of fighting it, reading its feedback and responding appropriately. Natural ability combined with her beautifully complex mind made her exactly the kind of student every instructor hoped for.
“Try the other direction,” I said. “Left turn this time.”
Alex reversed the controls, banking left in a smooth coordinated turn.
Below us, the ranch spread out in summer greens and browns, fence lines and pastures arranged in familiar patterns I’d grown up with.
But seeing it from the air again—seeing it from the cockpit of this plane with her—hit me in a way I hadn’t expected.
The lodge where we were staying, the main house a little ways away, Maggie probably still supervising from her spot by the hangar.
The cattle Luke kept track of scattered across distant pastures, the fields my folks managed, the small family cemetery where my grandfather was buried.
All of it spread out below us like a living map of everything that mattered.
I’d forgotten how right this felt—not just flying but showing someone what I’d been shown. Sharing this particular magic.
“Finn?” Alex’s voice brought me back. “How am I doing?”
“You’re doing incredible, darlin’.” And she was. Relaxed on the controls, making smooth inputs, completely absorbed in the task. “Want to try some straight and level flight?”
“Yeah.”
“Make sure the horizon stays in the same place relative to the windscreen,” I reminded her. “Use tiny corrections—she’s sensitive.” I watched her settle into level flight, making tiny adjustments. “That’s it. Perfect.”
We flew over the old homestead cabin I’d seen from this same cockpit some twenty years ago. Over the creek where I’d learned to fish, the pasture where I’d fallen off my first horse. The mountains rising beyond the valley, the Tetons catching afternoon light on their peaks.
“This is incredible,” Alex’s voice was soft. “I can see why you loved it.”
Love it. Present tense. Because sitting in this cockpit, watching someone else discover the magic of flight, teaching her the same skills my granddaddy had taught me—I realized something I’d been too afraid to acknowledge.
I wasn’t done with flying. I might never be cleared for commercial aviation again, might never fly fighters or be assigned instructor duty at a major base. But this—sharing what I knew, giving someone else the gift I’d been given—this was still possible.
“Want to try the pattern?” I settled back into instructor mode. “We’ll do one circuit and landing.”
“You trust me to land this thing?”
“Trust you with my life. I’ve got the controls if things get exciting.” Though honestly, watching her fly, I doubted we’d have any problems. “Turn left toward the runway—see how it lines up?”
Alex banked into the pattern, setting up for our approach. I talked her through power reduction, pitch attitude for descent, the sight picture she needed for a good approach.
“A little steeper descent,” I said as we came around final. “Reduce power just a touch.”
“Like this?” She pulled the throttle back slightly.
“Exactly like that. Now as we get close to the ground, you’ll gradually reduce power and raise the nose slightly to flare.”
“How close is close?”
“You’ll know. Watch the ground come up—there.” The runway was rushing up toward us, Alex holding a beautiful approach slope. “Easy back pressure, keep it coming.”
She flared at exactly the right moment, the Cub settling onto the grass in a landing that would have made my grandpa proud. We rolled to a stop near the hangar, engine idling.
“Holy shit,” Alex laughed. “Sorry. But holy shit, I just landed an airplane.”
“You did,” I was grinning so hard my face hurt. “First lesson and you greased it on like you’ve been doing this for years.”
“Can we go again?”
The pure excitement in her voice, the way she’d thrown herself completely into learning something entirely outside her expertise—watching her experience what I’d been experiencing since I was fourteen—made everything else fall away.
The accident, the aftermath, the uncertainty about what came next. None of it mattered in this moment.
“We can go again,” I nodded. “But maybe we should let my family know we’re both still alive first.”
Alex laughed, reaching up to pull off her headset. Her hair was a mess, cheeks flushed with excitement and adrenaline. I pulled out my phone to check the time and found seventeen missed messages in the family group chat.
Mom: Was that the Cub I just saw??
Elowyn: FINN IS THAT YOU FLYING??
Mom: Please tell me you’re not up there alone!
Dom: wait what’s happening?
Enzo: IS FINN FLYING AGAIN??
Luke: Saw them taxi out about an hour ago
Nolan: Both looked pretty confident from here
Mom: BOTH??
Elowyn: Alex is flying??
Dom: ALEX IS FLYING?
Enzo: Does this mean Dom gets a private pilot again???
Dom: enzo that’s not how this works
Enzo: But think of the DATES we could have!!
Elowyn: Finn why haven’t you added her to the group yet?
Mom: Everyone brEATHE. Are you both alive?
I leaned forward and showed Alex the screen—she burst out laughing. “Your family’s having a moment.”
“They’re excited.”
I spoke back quickly:
Me: We’re both alive and on the ground. Alex just landed like she’s been flying for years
The responses came immediately.
Mom: Oh thank goodness!
Elowyn: I KNEW she was perfect for you!
Dom: proud of you both
Enzo: STILL waiting for an answer about the pilot situation!!!
Claire: pictures!!
“Claire wants pictures,” I couldn’t stop smiling. “El wants you added to the group text.”