Takeoffs and Landings Read Free

Fourth of July parade, and then there’s my 4-H projects—”
    â€œYou can miss a party for once in your life,” Gram said firmly. “The float’ll be there when you get back.”
    â€œAnd you never start your 4-H projects until July anyhow,” Mike chimed in, sneaking in under Gram’s arm to snatch a biscuit from the plate she was carrying to the table.
    â€œI do so!” Lori said. “And what about the 4-H pigs? I’m the only one who remembers to feed and water them—they’ll never make weight if I’m not around. They might even die.”
    â€œIt’d be good for the younger kids to take on some responsibility,” Mom said calmly. “And Pop wouldn’t let them die.”
    â€œBut why can’t we go, too?” Mike complained. Pretty soon Joey and Emma were whining the same thing.
    Chuck stopped paying attention.
    I’m going away, he whispered to himself.
    The crackle of a loudspeaker brought him back to the present.
    â€œWe are now boarding rows twenty-two and higher,” a woman’s voice announced.
    Chuck’s armpits were drenched now. His hair was plastered to his head with panicky sweat.
    â€œIs that us?” he asked.
    Mom nodded.
    â€œNo point in rushing to the gate,” she said. “We’ll wait until the line’s down a little.”
    She sounded so sure of herself, one of the other passengers sat down.
    Chuck gnawed his left thumbnail.
    It was Gram’s fault he was scared.
    A few nights ago, when he’d come in late from replanting beans (he hadn’t managed to avoid that chore entirely), she’d given him the supper she’d been keeping hot on the stove. Then she hovered over him.
    â€œI never got used to Joanie flying all over the place,” she said. “Every time I heard about a plane crash . . . Well, you know. I read someplace that takeoffs and landings are the most dangerous part. That’s when planes crash. So I always make sure I say a prayer anytime I know your mom’s schedule, the first and the last fiveminutes of every flight. But now with three of you all flying at once . . .”
    She’d bit her lip.
    Pop came up behind her and ruffled her hair, like she was just as young as Emma.
    â€œNow, Ida, you know Joanie says those planes are always delayed. Probably sometimes when you’re praying that she’ll have a safe landing, she’s just in the middle of taking off. Don’t you worry about confusing God?”
    â€œGod doesn’t get confused,” Gram said stiffly. “And you know you worry, too, Fred. You can’t say you don’t.”
    â€œAw.” Pop waved her concerns away. He sat down beside Chuck and began eating the beef stew Gram slid in front of him. “Haven’t you seen those statistics about how flying’s safer than driving? The way this kid gets to daydreaming, he’s probably safer on an airplane than driving a tractor.”
    He punched Chuck in the arm, to let him know he was just joking, but Chuck still wanted to protest: I didn’t make a single mistake planting this year. Can’t you ever forget anything? Next thing you know, you’ll be blaming me again for letting the cows out back when I was six.
    But Pop’s expression softened.
    â€œWon’t be the same baling next week without having to restack half your loads.”
    That was the closest Pop ever got to mushy and sentimental. Flying really must be dangerous.
    â€œChuck? Chuck?” Mom was saying. “Let’s go.”
    Lori was already standing—and making a face that very clearly said, Come on, stupid. Chuck scrambled to his feet. Mom picked up the small bag she was going to carry on to the plane. Chuck wondered if he should offer to carry it for her—be manly and all that. But she looked so right with the strap slung over her shoulder, bag balanced against her hip. Someone could take a picture of