“Ooh …” Charlene cringes. “That one’s just troubling.”
“And memorable,” Xav mutters. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at rest areas the same way again.”
Fionna smiles. “Thanks.” Then she turns to me. “So, you have Tanbyrn’s iPad?”
Charlene retrieves it and hands it to her.
Earlier, Fionna had said that she could hash the password in two minutes or less. I decide to time her. A password prompt appears on the tablet’s screen. She begins to tap at the virtual keyboard. I start my watch.
From behind us I hear Xavier talking with Maddie, the nine-year-old, who’s staring out the window at the receding lights of Chicago.
“So, a field trip, huh?” he remarks offhandedly.
“Yes.”
“Should be fun.”
“Yes.”
“A chance to get out of the house.”
Oh, don’t do this, Xavier. You’re going to regret it if you—
“Uh-huh.”
My watch tells me Fionna has one minute fifty seconds left. Without looking up, she calls back, “What makes the biggest difference in a child’s education, Mr. Wray? According to the latest research, what’s more important than the teacher’s educational background, the school district, technology available in the classroom, socioeconomic and racial demographics, even parental involvement?”
She’s still working on the iPad.
One minute thirty-five seconds left.
“Let’s see… the culture of the school? At some inner-city schools, no one even takes books home because of peer pressure. Because it’s not considered cool.”
“Yes, that’s a factor,” Fionna admits — her fingers are flying across the virtual keys—“but I’m talking about the most important factor: class size. The smaller the class, the better kids learn. Until you get down to twelve students, where it levels off. And what educational alternative offers that the most readily?”
“But what about socialization?” he counters.
Oh, bad move, Xav.
This was going to be brutal.
I look his way and notice Maddie staring at him questioningly. “Socialization?”
One minute left.
“Yes,” he tells her. “It’s how you make friends.” He directs the next part of his answer toward Fionna. “Some people call it preparing for the real world.” It’s not sarcasm, not even criticism in his voice, but there’s definitely a challenge there.
Fionna stops typing. Gazes at him.
Forty-five seconds left.
Here we go.
“Yes, that’s right,” she agrees, “socialization. It means preparing for life beyond school and learning to get along with people of all ages in a healthy manner. Maddie, why don’t you go ahead and answer Uncle Xavier. Does homeschooling do that?”
Back to the iPad’s keyboard.
Thirty seconds.
The socialization objection is such a typical one leveled against homeschooling that I wonder if Fionna has coached her children on how to respond to it. But Maddie doesn’t look like she’s trying to recall what her mother might’ve told her, she looks like she’s really thinking about it.
Xavier waits.
We all watch Maddie to see what she’ll say.
After a bit she replies, “So do you think the best way to prepare kids for the real world is to bus them to a government institution where they’re forced to spend all day isolated with children of their own age and adults who are paid to be with them, placed in classes that are too big to allow for more than a few minutes of personal interaction with the teacher—”
Twelve seconds left.
“—then spend probably an hour or more every day waiting in lunch lines, car lines, bathroom lines, recess lines, classroom lines, and are forced to progress at the speed of the slowest child in class?”
Two seco—
Fionna punches one final key. “Done,” she announces, looking up from the iPad.
Man, she really was worth her pay.
It’s quiet in the back of the jet for a moment, and Charlene whispers to me, “Not too many times you find Xavier speechless.”
“I heard that,” he calls to her, then clears his throat slightly, addresses Maddie. “Your mom taught you to say all that, didn’t she?”
“No.” She pauses, thinks about that. “But if she had, wouldn’t it show that she prepared me for the real world?”
Silence. Then Xavier’s voice. “Amil, do you have any more of that cheese?”
Fionna smiles faintly: Gotcha.
The password prompt clears away, revealing the desktop screen. “Now, let’s see what Project Alpha is all about.”
Fionna is fast, but most of the files require her to type in another unique password. I have no idea how Tanbyrn could have kept them all straight, but it’s taking Fionna awhile to work through them.
Finally she gets discouraged and sighs. “I think I need a break from this.”
“You probably need some sleep,” Charlene tells her. “Rest. Get back at it when we reach Philadelphia.”
The truth is, we probably all need some sleep.
So that’s what we do until the sun begins to glow on the eastern horizon and the City of Brotherly Love lies beneath us, its bridges straddling the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers, its skyscrapers rising into the cobalt-blue, unfolding day. Strands of high and lonely clouds stretch across the lower part of the sky.
And we land at the Philadelphia International Airport.
Philly
I’ve been to Philadelphia at this time of year before, and the temperature is usually in the midfifties. Today the temps are lower, the day is clear, and the wind bites fiercely at my face as I step onto the tarmac.
Everyone is quiet as we head to the terminal; no doubt they, like me, are still half-asleep, still transitioning back to the waking world.
Memories of the path that led us here, the events of the last thirty-six hours, pass through my mind, bringing with them a hailstorm of harsh emotions.
Fury.
Grief.
Curiosity.
Confusion.
Abruptly, my thoughts are interrupted by Fionna. “Did you get the hotel rooms all figured out?”
“Should be all set. Sorry, no pool, but the suites do have whirlpools.”
“How many rooms did you get?”
“Four. I figured I could share with Xavier and you and Charlene could stay in the same room, as could your boys and your girls — don’t worry, the girls’ room adjoins yours so you can leave the door between them open.”
“Actually, I’m more concerned about my boys. It might be best if you could room with Lonnie and Xavier could room with Donnie. Keep an eye on them.”
“Um …”
She smiles. “Just kidding. I appreciate everything.”
“No problem. Anyway, their room is beside ours. We’ll make sure they don’t party too late.”
“Much appreciated.”
We’re almost to the terminal. Amil has his cell phone out and asks me how many taxis we’ll be needing.
I’m about to tell him two when Xavier leans close to me and whispers, “Get a limo for Fionna’s kids. They’ll love it.”
Nice.
Good thought, Uncle Xav.
“One taxi,” I tell Amil. “And one limousine.”
On the helipad on top of RixoTray’s corporate headquarters, Dr. Cyrus Arlington boarded one of his company’s three Sikorsky S76A executive helicopters.
The drive to DC would have taken nearly three hours — more if traffic was bad — and he didn’t have that kind of time today. Too much to do before this afternoon.