Page 3 of Dear Alaskan Bush Pilot
I look back to Emery. “What is this?”
“It’s the letter you found under the counter.” She points to where I picked up the papers earlier. “It must have fallen under the counter when the mail was dropped off. It never got to him.”
Her voice breaks on that last word, and it cuts through me like a knife. I hate seeing her hurt, but I don't know what can be done.
“How old is this letter?” I ask.
She holds up the postmarked envelope. "Over thirty years."
Well, if I thought there was a chance of doing something before, that hope is dashed when she tells me this. What could be done with a thirty-year-old love letter?
"Emery, I know it's sad to think that this letter didn't get to—" I look down at the paper and read the man's name. "Patrick. But we don't know who these people are or if they are still around to give them the letter."
Emery’s eyes light up with a flicker of hope. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“We can track down Patrick and Jera and let them know what happened.”
“You think it’s going to be just that easy to track down these two. They are probably married to other people. How is going to help them to find this out now?”
"Wouldn't you want to know? If you were in love with someone and put yourself out there, hoping they would come back to you, but they don't. Wouldn't you want to know why?" She holds up the letter. "And what about him? He has no idea that she tried to contact him."
For a moment, my mind plays the scenario out in my head where Emery and I are put in the shoes of Patrick and Jera. Even just pretending, it tears me up to think about Emery about to marry someone else, and I missed out on a chance to be with her because of a lost letter. I can only imagine how the real Patrick felt when his love married someone else for real. If finding him and giving him this letter could somehow give him a little peace that she loved him, it's our responsibility to make that happen.
“Okay, I’m in.”
Emery squeals with excitement as she jumps out of her seat and throws her arms around my neck. The floral scent of her shampoo fills my nose, and my body instantly reacts to her closeness. I shift my hips to the side so she doesn't feel how hard I'm getting with her soft body pressed against mine.
"If we are going to do this, we need to have a plan," I tell her.
3
EMERY
The following day, as I run some errands before my shift at work, I go around town asking anyone and everyone I see if they know a woman named Jera. Her last name and address on the envelope were smudged, and neither Jack nor I could read it. She could be from anywhere, but I'm hoping that I might stumble upon someone that might know the name. There can't be that many women named Jera in the area.
That afternoon, Jack recognizes Patrick's full name when I asked him if it sounded familiar to him the way it did to me. He immediately knew that Patrick was one of the original pilots to fly for Brooks Alaskan Air back in the eighties.
“How could you possibly know that?” I ask.
“It’s one of the things that Thayer’s dad wants all his pilots to know, the history of the company and legends of the sky whose shoes were now flying in.”
I shake my head at him.
“What?” he asks.
“No, nothing. It’s just when I joined the company, all I got was a walk-through of the building and instructions on how to use the coffee maker.”
“I’d say that coffee is essential for running this airport.”
I cross my arms. “If that’s true, you’d think that you air jockeys would know how to make a pot every once in a while.”
Jack looks like he wants to laugh but isn’t sure how I’ll take it.
“Is there anything I can say that will get me out of this conversation safely?” he teases.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Probably best if you walk away slowly. And find out what Patrick Wilcox is up to nowadays.”
