Starfire(81)

We stood on the dock next to the plane, and my father said, “What would you say is the absolute ceiling on this old girl?”

Then, I kid you not, he kicked the metal leg connecting the floats to the plane.

“Dad, don’t kick the tires,” I admonished.

Vern dodged the question with aplomb. “Don’t you worry about the maximum altitude we can reach under normal operating conditions. You just keep your eyes on the fluffy white clouds, and I’ll get you to wine country.”

“Are you wearing your magical socks?” I asked Vern.

“Of course I am.” Vern winked at me and ushered the three of us into the little plane.

Dad sat in the front on the left, as I’d expected, and my mother took the right. The first thing she did was pull out the paper airsickness bag and say, “Good thing we had a light breakfast. These barf bags are tiny.”

“Add that to your review,” my father said.

“You know I only formally review the showers,” she said.

“You’ll like the resort,” I promised them. Under my breath, I muttered, “It’s everything else I’m not so sure about.”

Vern did his safety spiel, asking my father to hold his questions until the end, and we were off.

During the flight, my mother read wedding magazines, occasionally handing me back torn pages of things she thought would be perfect for the wedding.

“I already have a dress,” I said for the tenth time as she handed me another gown.

“That style would also look good on Shayla. I’m worried about that girl. Her mother says she’s taken up smoking again.”

“That’s not the only filthy habit she’s got.”

My mother unbuckled her seatbelt and switched to the seat beside me. “What do you mean?”

I would have asked her to promise not to tell, but I don’t like making my mother lie to my face. Without getting into any specifics, like names, I told her Shayla had a history of dating inaccessible men, and she was seeing someone younger who was leaving for college.

“She must be so heartbroken,” my mother said. “I’m so glad my days of dating are behind me. I do enjoy looking back on the more pleasant memories, but there was also a lot of pain.”

I glanced up at my father, who seemed to be engrossed in his thriller novel, turning a page as I watched.

“Mom, this marriage to Dalton might not work out. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Don’t get married if you’re not sure. And be honest. Why the rush? Is there a baby?”

I patted my stomach. “I’m only pregnant with a cinnamon bun or two. Actually, I went to the doctor yesterday and got myself hooked up with birth control.”

“You’re on it now?”

“My uterus is closed for baby business. Sorry to disappoint, but you won’t have anyone calling you grandma for a while.”

“I’m too young to be a grandma, never mind what that yummy mommy at Kyle’s summer camp thinks. Silly woman in her yoga pants and her high-heeled sandals.” She patted her cheeks. “Look at this face. No soap. Just warm water.”

“Yes, Mom. By the way, Mr. DeNirro asked about my sister, as usual.”

She gave me a knowing look. “That man is always undressing me with his eyes, which is why I’m careful to wear my best underwear whenever we go out to dinner.”

My father closed his book and turned around to give us a stern look. “I’m right here,” he said.

My mother leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Monroe. We’ve got a king-sized bed, and they’re putting us in the honeymoon suite. You won’t have anything to complain about this weekend.”

I opened my own paperback and tried to climb into the pages, rather than imagining my parents in the honeymoon suite.

The rest of the flight was smooth and beautiful. We nudged down into the fluffy clouds and began our descent to the winery.

Vern spoke over the intercom rather than turning around in his seat to address us: “If you spot a lake down there, let me know, because there’s no runway at the resort. Heh heh. Just a little pilot humor. Don’t you folks worry, I know where the lake is. It’s that blue thing, right? Hey, what does this red Ejection Seat button do? You folks have your parachutes on, right? Heh heh.”

Despite Vern’s terrible comedy routine, we landed on the water and emerged safely on the dock.

A young man in a white shirt and red vest drove up in a golf cart to transport us up the hill to the resort.

Vern sent us on ahead, saying he would make the next trip with all the luggage, so we wouldn’t have to crowd into the cart.

My father took the front seat, next to the resort employee, and immediately asked him what kind of gas mileage the cart got. It turned out the vehicle was electric, so my father had a dozen more questions about where it plugged in and how long the battery took to charge.