Flight to Freedom (Flight Trilogy, Book 3) (5 page)

He would be waiting.

CHAPTER 6

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Saturday
morning
—
August
2004

Keri had the kitchen smelling like an IHOP Restaurant—homemade buttermilk biscuits in the oven, pancakes, scrambled eggs, grits on the stove, and bacon sizzling in the microwave. A “big breakfast”—as she called it—was a Saturday morning tradition at the Mitchell house.

Martha and David waited patiently at the table for the first delivery of pancakes. “Here they come,” Keri said, as she shoveled up two fluffy pancakes and transferred them to the kid’s plates like a seasoned short-order cook. “More where those came from when you’re finished,” she said. “Martha, would you please cut up David’s pancake and help him with the syrup?”

“Okaay,” Martha said, sounding like it was a burden to help her little brother, but Keri knew she loved mothering him.

On the outside, Keri gave the impression it was a typical, carefree Saturday morning, while her interior world wobbled on its axis, unbalanced and uncertain. Something wasn’t just right with Ryan. How could anyone explain the way he acted? She couldn’t believe hearing his words ‘Who is that boy?’ as he stood looking at his son; then to persist they had lived some
other
life she knew nothing about.

Could
it
be
dementia
,
or
even
worse
,
the
onset
of
Alzheimer’s
?
He’s
too
young
for
that
.

Researchers did not know the exact cause of the disease, but they did know it is most likely due to a combination of a variety of genetic factors. Ryan’s mom had Alzheimer’s which compelled Keri to be circumspect that Ryan might be at risk in his later years…but not this early.

“Thank the Lord for Saturday mornings,” Ryan said. He gave Keri a kiss as she passed in front of him on her way to scoop up more pancakes.

From now on she would listen watchfully to every word, always hoping nothing he said would reinforce her concerns of dementia. The thought of her losing him mentally at such a young age, and having to care for her young children alone, was unbearable.

“So who’s up for a field trip today?” Keri said.

“What do you have in mind,” Ryan said.

“I thought it would be nice to take a drive…maybe show the kids where we grew up. We’ve been here over a year and haven’t explored our old stomping ground yet. Let’s pretend we’re on a treasure hunt.”

“That’ll be fun mom,” Martha said.

The treasure hunt Keri was thinking of was not in the visible world around them, but instead, along the neural pathways of Ryan’s brain. Exposing him to his past might trigger the presence of damaged neurotransmitters responsible for disrupting the cell-to-cell transfer of electrical currents over synapses connecting neurons. She needed to confirm any confusion or loss of memory as soon as possible. Dementia and Alzheimer’s is a sneaky disease, often creeping into the mind of its victim as much as twenty years before a diagnosis can be made—long before family members recognize it. The earlier it is detected, the earlier treatment can commence.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Ryan said. “It’s definitely a beautiful day for a drive.”

* * *

This is exactly what Ryan needed—visiting their old high school, seeing Keri’s old family home where she grew up, and the overall feel and sense of a time when his thoughts were in a different place—not yet scarred by the consequences of unwise decisions.

He planned to drive into Keri’s driveway and sit in the exact spot where she had driven the dagger of separation into his heart. He wanted to remember every emotion and retrace every step.

Looking back, that one event on Saturday, June 23, 1974, was the catalyst that eventually destroyed all hope of the perfect life they had dreamed about—thanks to Barbara Ann Hart. It was only by God’s grace he and Keri found each other in the end, but the thought of “what could have been” festered in his mind.

His mother had warned him to be on guard for the deceptiveness hidden within the human heart, but his youthful ebullience blinded him from her wisdom. Instead, he defaulted to be schooled by life’s merciless teacher.

He wished he could live it over again, but this time with his current knowledge of the consequences that had transpired.

Wouldn’t
it
be
great
if
a
person
could
go
back
in
time
and
alter
past
mistakes
simply
by
the
whiff
of
a
sweet
perfume
?
Each
ounce
would
be
priceless
.

CHAPTER 7

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Saturday
morning
—
August
2004

S
tately
homes
and
jaw
-
dropping
grounds
and
gardens
make
Buckhead
the
Beverly
Hills
of
Atlanta
, the magazine article stated—the South at its best with Southern mansions spread atop rolling, green lawns sprinkled with magnolias, pink and white dogwoods, and beds of flowering azaleas.

Ryan cruised the quiet, tree-lined streets of Buckhead, while his thoughts and emotions explored his distant past, often sparked by the slightest remembrances—a curve in the road, an old oak tree, a particular house.

Turning off West Paces Ferry onto Habersham Road, a route he had driven thousands of times on his way to and from Keri’s house, he experienced an out-of-body sensation. “Surreal, isn’t it?” he said.

“As though it was only yesterday,” Keri said, “and it all looks exactly the same.”

After making a quick visit to Pace Academy on West Paces Ferry where Keri and Ryan first met, Ryan was eager to see Keri’s old house.

“I would love to meet the people who bought the house after the bank repossessed it from us,” he said.

“It would only make me sad, knowing we should be the ones living there.”

He slowed before pulling into the driveway. “Well…the gate is open…so I’m considering that an invitation.”

“Ryan, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I just want to sit in the driveway for five minutes. If someone comes out of the house, I’ll tell them this was your old family home and we just wanted to take a peek. All I need is five minutes.”

He turned into the driveway and through the opened wrought-iron gate. The winding drive cut across an immaculately manicured lawn beneath towering oaks and to the front of a large, Georgian-style home. He stopped the car. “This is it…the exact spot where you dumped me. It was a Saturday night…June 23
rd
, 1974.”

“Yep, I remember,” Keri said. “Can we, please, go now?”

“I’ll never forget the shock when you said ‘I think we need to break up’. It totally caught me off guard.”

The house was quiet. So far, the owners were unaware that strangers had driven into their driveway. Ryan imagined a maid hard at work inside polishing silver, the lady of the house out shopping for more clothes to stuff into one of her many closets, and the breadwinner flipping deals worth hundreds of thousands over a weekend game of golf.

Keri said, “I was young and stupid. I remember running inside and meeting my mother at the door, waiting for me like a prison guard. I screamed at her, pushed her aside, and ran to my room and cried. I was so confused and my heart ached like never before. Even after having broken up with you, I still felt connected to you. After you left for the Naval Academy, I was determined to write you every day. However, it didn’t take long before my letters went unanswered. I assumed I’d lost you.”

“I was a fool. A stupid fool. I should’ve kept writing. I should have visited you on my breaks from school. The longer we were apart, the less it seemed possible we would ever be together again. Keri, if I had it to do over again, it would be different.”

“How?”

“I would have never let you leave my car that night. Maybe I would have kidnapped you. I don’t know what I would have done…probably something crazy.”

“Mommy, I’m tired of sitting here. Can we go now?” Martha said from the backseat.

“Ryan, I think we better go.” Keri faced Martha with a big smile. “I think it’s time for that ice cream we talked about, don’t you?”

“Yipeee! Ice cream!” Martha turned to David in his carseat and said, “Can you say cookie?”

“Cookie…cookie…cookie,” David said. On special outings to get ice cream, David always preferred a cookie. It was a special cookie in the shape of a windmill.

“Ryan,” Keri said, “look in the rearview mirror.”

“Why, are we in trouble?”

She reached up and adjusted the mirror so he could see Martha and David in the backseat. “We might have made some mistakes along the way, but I think we have a lot to be thankful for.”

“That’s for sure.” Ryan smiled.

“I’m not so sure I would change anything. How could our lives have turned out any better?”

He didn’t answer.

He drove the car around the circular drive and eased down the driveway and back onto Habersham Road. He continued to cogitate on that Saturday night in 1974 when he left Keri’s house.

He pulled to the curb.

“What’s wrong?” Keri said.

“After I left your house that night, it was this exact spot where I remembered the note you slipped into my front pocket. This is where I pulled to the curb and read it.

“Dated June 23, 1974, it read:
I
believe
if
we
are
meant
to
be
,
nothing
can
keep
us
apart
.
As
long
as
I
live
,
I
will
patiently
wait
on
each
sunrise
and
follow
each
sunset
into
tomorrow
,
for
I
believe
it
is
the
path
of
the
sun
that
will
lead
us
to
our
hopes
and
dreams
.
Promise
me
that
you
will
never
lose
hope
in
tomorrow
.
I
love
you
,
Keri
.”

“Wow! I’m impressed.”

“I reread that note hundreds of times…if not thousands, eventually memorizing it. I never understood how you could write such a note, knowing you were about to dump me.”

“You missed one thing when you read the note that night,” she said.

“What?”

“The tears that had dripped onto the paper while I wrote it.” With compassion in her eyes, she said, “Ryan, I am so sorry for the pain I caused you that night. It shouldn’t have ended like that.”

“If only I could go back and live that night over again...just that one night.”

“The first sentence in my note held true:
if
we
are
meant
to
be
,
nothing
can
keep
us
apart
. We were definitely meant to be…and we are together. What more could we ask for?”

“I guess you’re right. Who needs a time machine when we have everything we could have ever hoped for?”

“I’ve never told you, but I must give your mother most of the credit for the note.”

“My mother?”

“I’m sure you remember the needlepoint she gave us on our wedding day…the one that hangs in the foyer by our front door.”

“Yeah. I even remember watching her make it.”

“The words on the needlepoint were her mission statement in life:
I
will
continue
to
patiently
wait
on
each
sunrise
and
follow
each
sunset
into
tomorrow
for
I
believe
it
is
the
path
of
the
sun
that
will
lead
us
to
our
hopes
and
dreams
.”

“She was an amazing woman,” he said. “I miss her.”

“After you left for the Academy, I spent many hours that summer being counseled by your mother. I can hear her saying, ‘The rest of your life begins right now. You need to forget the past, embrace the present, and put your hope in the future.’ Ryan, we can’t change the past…all we have is the present and the future. Your mother would have never approved of a time machine. Her focus was always on the present.”

“I wish I had not been so butt-headed and had paid more attention to mom’s advice. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t need a time machine. I even remember her warning me about girls like Emily Anderson.”

Keri chuckled. “Did she warn you about me?”

“She loved you. She always believed we would eventually get together. I’m sure she’s looking down from Heaven now with a smile on her face.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“Mommy…”

“Okay, darling. We’re going.”

Ryan continued down Habersham Road to Wesley Road and then north on Peachtree toward the ice cream shop—the one that sold David’s favorite windmill cookies.

The idea of a time machine might sound a bit far-fetched, but he was determined to give the sweet smelling fragrance one more chance. But first he had to find the woman named Angel.

CHAPTER 8

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Sunday
morning
—
August
2004

Ryan woke early, quietly dressed, slipped out of the house, and arrived at Starbucks at 5:30 a.m.