Free Flight to Paradise (Flight Trilogy, Book 1) by Mike Coe Page A

homemade quilt was spread atop a thin mattress with two white pillows. A fireplace, similar to the one in the downstairs den, sharing the same chimney flue, took up most of the far wall. A light blue drape was pulled back from the window revealing a spectacular view of the ocean.
    She slipped her arm around his waist. “If I were up here living with the person I loved and had everything I needed, well…I can see where it might not be so bad…maybe even a good thing,” she said.
    His ears perked up. Maybe it was the intimacy of the bedroom that sparked her romantic reflection. He could only hope.
    She said, “When I think about it, these folks had a good thing going up here. They could sleep as late as they wanted; their kids were off at school living with relatives in town; her husband was always at home. The more I think about it, it looks more like paradise than a prison. To answer your question, yeah, I think I could do this.” She looked up at him and smiled. “If I were with you.”
    He wasn’t sure how to interpret her comments. He heard two undertones in her response—one good, one not so good. She wanted to be with him; that was good. But how could she be happy sending her children off to live with relatives? He was certain she would think differently if they were her children.
    For the time being, he concluded the trip to the lighthouse had served its purpose. Time to move on to his third and final visual: the monument of J.R. Cabrillo.
    They walked back down the hill toward the visitor’s center. Sunset was thirty minutes away. Perfect timing, he thought. The view out over the ocean and toward Coronado Island would be spectacular.
    The temperature had dropped a few degrees as the sun lowered in the sky. He cloaked the extra jacket across her shoulders helping her slip her arms into the sleeves.
    “Did you bring that for me?” she said, snuggling in the new-found warmth.
    “I thought you might need it.”
    “You are so thoughtful.”
    The jacket hung down below her waist with her hands hidden in the sleeves.
    The last object was the Cabrillo National Monument which was built in memory of Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo: the first European to set foot on the West Coast of, what is now, the United States. He set out on his epic voyage fifty years after Columbus landed in America on the opposite coast.
    Holding hands, they walked out to where the monument of Cabrillo was located. The view was breathtaking: San Diego harbor, the skyline of the city, and Coronado Island with the Hotel Del Coronado in the near distance.
    “There’s your good buddy J.R.,” he said, attempting to remind her of the first time they talked on the beach, when she had agreed to give him a tour of Point Loma. She had jokingly mentioned in a later phone call she wanted to introduce him to her good friend, J.R. Cabrillo—who lived up on the hill. It didn’t dawn on him until they were standing in front of the monument for the first time that, “good old J.R.” was a block of stone.
    “Yeah, J.R. and I go way back. I think he’s ashamed of himself.”
    “Should he be?” They stood in front of the statue looking up at his face, some fourteen feet above them.
    “See how he has his head turned. He just can’t look me in the eye. I can’t stand it when a guy can’t look me in the eyes. And I never have understood why he has his back turned to the ocean. Shouldn’t he be looking out for a new place to go conquer? He even looks like he’s hiding behind that pole.”
    “Wow, you sure are being hard on the poor guy.”
    “Like I said, we go way back. I’m sure he understands.” Still holding hands, they circled the base of the statue observing the lifelike details of the stone carving.
    “Did you ever think about the risk he took to accomplish what he did?” Ryan was trying to turn the conversation toward his third point.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I really respect those early pioneers. They launched-out into uncharted waters in