Page 46 of Reaching Gavin

“I don’t think I could repeat it without blushing,” he said with a chuckle. He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead. “You’re going to be fine. Trust me.”

For a second that appeased me. Then I remembered that my issue wasn’t Gavin’s 12 years of flight experience. It was with the Cessna. The plane didn’t care about me. The plane could not be trusted. I kept these thoughts to myself lest I unleash another stream of foul-mouthed, verbal diarrhea.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on everything Gavin had said about how safe we were. Nothing helped. I tried to picture being in my happy place – a white, sandy beach. All I saw was fiery wreckage on the sand. When the engine turned on, I nearly jumped out of my seat, which would’ve been hard given how tightly I was strapped in. The propellers whirred to life and Gavin’s voice filled my ears. “Sound One requesting the runway.”

Sound One? Later, when I wasn’t about to vomit, I’d have to ask if there was a Sound Two. Although, I didn’t want him to think I was interested in flying in it. I never wanted to be on this thing again. Wherever the San Juan Islands were, I hoped they were nice, because I was going to be living there forever. He’d talked me into this once. It would take drugging me to get me on it again.

“Sound One you are cleared for takeoff.”

We taxied forward, gradually gaining speed. I felt it in the pit of my stomach, but I kept my eyes clamped shut. So far it was a lot like every other flight I had taken, except that I could feel air rushing in at me. There wasn’t much separating me from the outside and as the wheels left the ground I realized that I must be suicidal.

“How are you doing?” Gavin’s voice filled the headphones.

“What happens if I barf all over the cockpit?” It probably should have occurred to me this question before take-off.

“There should be air sickness bags on the floorboard.”

I didn’t risk trying to bend over to search for them. My belt would have made it harder and I didn’t want to risk pressure to my already queasy stomach. Instead, I began to count. One number after the other. Gavin, wisely, stayed mostly silent. I had no idea how much time we’d been in the air until he spoke again. “If you look out, you can see the islands.

I cracked open one eye, followed by the other and dared to look out the window. There was nothing but blue water hatched with lines. Waves, I realized. In the distance, I could make out land. I imagined that if I turned around I might still be able to see the rest of Washington. But while it was beautiful, my stomach did a nose dive when I looked at the open water. One of the perks of mostly flying between Washington and Texas was that there was usually land below. Not that I wanted to crash into that either.

Gavin cautioned me as we began to circle the Friday Harbor Airport. “This is going to be a little rough. It always is.”

Thank God, he wasn’t a nurse or doctor. He had terrible bedside manner. Still, I appreciated the warning. That said, I was pretty excited to see solid ground.

The plane descended rapidly, much faster than I was used to. As the landing gear came out, I closed my eyes again and braced myself. We hit the tarmac fairly hard and then braked with a whoosh. When we finally stopped, I couldn’t even bring myself to open my eyes. Finally, my door opened and Gavin began to unlatch me. I practically fell into his arms. Pushing him aside, I stumbled a few steps away and proceeded to hurl all over the pavement. I tried to wave him away, but Gavin was at my side instantly, making sure my hair was out of my face. He rubbed circles over my back as I dry heaved a few more times.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I just thought you were nervous. I promise we'll find another way home.”

I straightened and forced a small smile. I was grateful when he found a napkin for me to wipe my mouth with.

“We can either take my motorcycle up to the house,” he said, quickly reversing when I blanched at the suggestion, “or we can walk into town. Is there anything that might make you feel better?”

“Besides a new stomach?” I was only half joking. “Maybe a milkshake and no more motorized vehicles on land or sea.”

“A milkshake?” he repeated as though he expected me to spout some WebMD bullshit about how it settled the stomach.

“I figure there’s still a 50% chance I’m going to throw up, I might as well have my favorite thing in the world,” I explained.

He settled for that logic. “Done.”

Gavin wouldn’t let me carry anything other than my purse. I was glad that I had packed light for the weekend, since I’d been hoping to spend it mostly nude. He looked a little like a pack rat with his bag and my bag slung over his shoulders, but he didn’t complain. Downtown Friday Harbor was only a mile away. We took it slowly, allowing my stomach to make peace with finally being back on two feet.

“I didn’t expect you to take flying so badly,” he said, obviously feeling guilty.

“I probably just need some Dramamine or something.” I didn’t bother to tell him that I doubted I would ever take flying well. I hated that something he loved made me lose my breakfast.

“There are other ways to get here. That was just the fastest.”

“Fast isn’t always better,” I said, allowing a hint of suggestiveness to creep into my voice. Now that I didn’t want to toss my cookies all over him, I was starting to think about what I had planned for the weekend. He was the only item on my to-do list.

Friday Harbor was a charming collection of local restaurants and shops, all owned by community members. As far as I can see, there were no corporate stores or big chains. There wasn’t even a Sound Coffee. The various establishments were brightly painted, standing out against the blue background of the marina. It was a refreshing change of pace from downtown Seattle.

I had wanted to ask if he’d come here before, but I’d been too nauseous during the flight. Walking through downtown, I realized everyone here knew him.

Every corner we turned on and every street we walked down, someone waved hello or stopped to catch up. They knew his name. They felt comfortable around him. It was clear he came here often. By the third time I was introduced to a total stranger, it began to dawn on me that he hadn’t simply asked me on a weekend away, he had invited me into a deeply personal part of his life. I tucked that realization away for later contemplation.

His familiarity worked in my favor because he knew exactly where the ice cream shop was. Friday Harbor Ice Cream Co was a local establishment, like everything else here, and given that it was the height of summer, there was a line. That was fine because there were 72 flavors to choose from. In the end, I opted for a classic: chocolate and strawberry mixed together. Gavin watched me nervously as I took my first sip, probably worried that it would come back up immediately. Instead, I moaned with pleasure. It had been a crazy summer and I hadn’t taken enough time for milkshakes.