Lone eagle

But even those feelings seemed dangerous to him at times. He didn't want to be vulnerable to her. It would be too easy to get hurt then. He didn't analyze it, he just knew it at his core. He told himself that if she had been older, it might have been different, but she wasn't. She was an eighteen-year-old girl, and he was thirty, no matter how much he had liked flying with her. In spite of all his resistance, and the walls he'd built up over the years, the time they had spent in his airplane that morning had been magical for both of them.

The last day they shared passed all too quickly. They went back to her house for a while, and played cards in the library. He taught her to play liar's dice. She was surprisingly good at it, and actually beat him twice, which delighted her. She clapped her hands and looked like a child as she chortled. And that night he took her out to dinner. They had had a very nice weekend, and when he said goodnight to her, he had no idea when he'd see her again. He was planning to be back in New York by Christmas, but he and Charles Lindbergh had a lot of work to do, on the design for a new engine. Joe knew it would be difficult to garner much of Charles's time. He was so busy making speeches and appearances for the America First movement. And Joe had a lot to do too. For the first few months at least, he doubted if he'd have time to come to Boston. And he hesitated to ask her to come to see him. Asking her to visit him seemed a little too forward, and he didn't think her parents would approve.

She seemed quieter than usual when he said goodbye to her. They were standing on the front steps outside the house, and for the first time in three days, he looked painfully awkward again.

“Take care of yourself, Kate,” he said, looking down at his shoes and not at her, and she smiled as she looked at him. She wanted to touch his chin, and force him to look at her, but she didn't. She knew that if she waited long enough, he would meet her gaze again. And in another instant, he did.

“Thank you for taking me flying,” she whispered. It was a secret they now shared. “Have a safe trip back to California. How long will it take you?”"

"“About eighteen hours, depending on the weather. There's a storm over the Midwest, so I may have to fly pretty far south, over Texas. I'll call you when I get there.”

“I'd like that,” she whispered. Her eyes were full of all the things they hadn't said to each other, and which she wasn't even sure she understood yet, and the new bond they had formed in his plane. She still had no idea what he felt for her, if anything, other than brotherly affection. She had been almost certain that the only thing that had brought him to Boston was friendship. He hadn't indicated anything other than that, and he didn't now. Sometimes he was almost fatherly to her. And yet, there was always an undercurrent of something deeper and more mysterious between them. She was not sure if she was imagining it, or if there was something else there that they were both afraid of. “I'll write to you,” she promised, and he knew she would. He loved getting her letters. The intricacy of them, and the skill with which she wrote, amazed him. They were almost like short stories, and more often than not they either touched his heart or made him laugh.

“I'll try to see you over Christmas. But Charles and I are going to be pretty busy,” Joe said as she thought that she would have liked to offer to come to see him, but she didn't dare. She knew her parents would have been deeply upset by it. Her mother was already concerned that she had spent so much time with him over Thanksgiving, and even Joe sensed that. He didn't want to push it, and offend them.

“Just take care of yourself, Joe. Fly safely.” She said it with a tone of obvious concern, which touched him. She looked so sweet as she said the words.

“You do the same, and don't flunk out of school,” he teased, and she laughed. And then, with a funny little pat on her shoulder, he opened the front door for her with her key, and then ran quickly down the stairs and waved to her from the sidewalk. It was as though he had to get away from her before he did something he knew he shouldn't. She smiled as she walked through the front door, and closed it quietly behind her.

It had been an odd three days with him, they had been times of warmth and ease and friendship. And the wonder of flying with him. She told herself, as she walked slowly up the stairs, that she was glad she had met him. One day she would tell her children about him. And there was no doubt in her mind that when she did, they would not be his children. His life was already full, with airplanes and flying and test flights and engines. There was no room for a woman in it, not much anyway, and surely not for a wife and children. He had said as much to her on Cape Cod at the end of the summer, and again over the weekend.