He maintained a father’s enduring patience. “I’ve got a buddy down in Florida who runs a charter business, fishing trips and sightseeing. He can’t keep up with the demand.”
“What about the NTSB?” she asked. “Are you still going to do investigations?”
“Larry has my number. I was always more of a consultant, anyway. Wait until you see how smooth she flies. There are six seats, although the two in back are a little cramped. Three customers and all the fishing gear they can pack, I’m thinking.”
At the end of the dock Davis began his preflight, checking the fuel level and flight controls. As he went about his chores, Jen said, “Did I mention that I voted last week?”
She’d been showing a temperate interest in politics lately, an affliction that caused Davis to revisit her mental state.
“Did you? That’s great! Your first presidential vote.”
“I’m not a Republican, but I had to vote for Paulson.”
“Well, yeah — I can definitely understand that. Have you talked to Kristin? Who did she vote for?”
“Are you kidding? She and her mom have been volunteering at the Paulson campaign for a month.”
Davis stopped working a docking line long enough to smile at his daughter. “Now that’s just perfect.”
“The whole election seemed so weird,” Jen continued, “the way Stuyvesant fell down that flight of stairs and shattered his jaw at such a critical time in the race.”
“What are the chances?” he replied, untangling a knot. His moment of madness in the hangar had been completely covered up — he hadn’t even told Jen. He didn’t like keeping things from his daughter, but in this case he made an exception.
She said, “The guy is scum, no doubt about it… but I almost felt sorry for him. The way he had to back out of the debate and so many campaign appearances. That one interview he tried to give was comical, mumbling through a jaw that was wired shut — you couldn’t make out a word he said.”
“Heck of a way to campaign.” He was holding the Lake close with a hand on the wing.
“What about you, Dad?” she asked. “Did you vote?”
Jammer Davis took his daughter’s hand as she stepped into the seaplane. He said, “Well, it wasn’t last week… I sort of voted early this year.”
Jen looked at him suspiciously, a hauntingly familiar expression. Then he made the connection — it was same look that had so often visited her mother’s face.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s go fly.”
Davis pushed off the dock at noon that Sunday. His daughter was at his side. It was one of the best days of his life.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to all those who helped bring this story to life. The brilliant staff at Oceanview Publishing, Lee Randall, David Ivester, and Emily Baar. To Bob and Pat Gussin for their support over the years.
To my agent Susan Gleason, whose expertise, not to mention sense of humor, is always appreciated.
And of course, to my family for their primary editing and unfailing encouragement.