Free Hot Point by M. L. Buchman Page A

screwed up the joke. And Yuri had been such a sweet old man. The world was a dimmer place for his gentle teasing now to be nothing more than a memory.
    Vern took a slug of his beer and looked around the room for a moment.
    She saw him take a deep breath, searching for equilibrium of some sort, and felt sorry she’d said anything. Maybe if she stopped speaking. She wished their food would come so that she’d have something to do.
    â€œYou knew Yuri?” His voice was steadier.
    She nodded without looking up.
    â€œHow?”
    â€œHe’d bring his Bell over to Boeing Field when I was still working there. That’s where I got my A and P—airframe and power plant certification.”
    When he didn’t speak, she glanced up out of the corner of one eye. He didn’t look upset. As a matter of fact he looked amused.
    â€œWhat?” She couldn’t imagine what might be funny about this conversation.
    â€œYuri is the one who taught me to fly.”
    Now, too late to save her earlier embarrassment, Rikki delivered their burgers, offering Vern a smile that spoke of a past. Well, apparently he’d left her happy, whatever had happened. She was nice enough to offer Denise a friendly nod that just might be interpreted as “Well done getting him; he’s a good one.”
    A moment later, she had whisked off and Denise looked down at the plates. There was no way on this planet she could have finished the monstrous meal that had landed in front of Vern. Even without the double sizing of her own order, she’d be taking at least half of her own burger home.
    â€œAnd”—Vern nipped a french fry between his teeth, having apparently missed the whole exchange—“Yuri always told me there was this AME I really had to meet. Like I’d be interested in meeting a stodgy, old aircraft maintenance engineer who would discover in the first thirty seconds that I couldn’t even change a car tire, much less fix a bird. He never let up on it. I’m guessing the old bastard meant you, but he never let on. Well, doesn’t that beat all. You’re a Seattle local, and I didn’t know.”
    â€œCloser than that. Fauntleroy.” It was the neighborhood where the Vashon-to-Seattle ferry landed, old houses and towering trees, mostly maple and oak. And it was funny how small the world was. “You know that big oak, kind of across from Thistle Street in Lincoln Park?”
    He nodded, looking more than a little dumbfounded. The traffic off the ferry ran right along one side of Lincoln Park.
    â€œI spent a lot of time up in that tree with a book. We lived about two blocks from there. No view of Puget Sound, so it was affordable, I guess, but right near the park which was all I cared about.” She’d probably watched him drive by at some time or other.
    â€œThat’s…wow. You’re not making all of this up?”
    She didn’t bother to answer. Yuri had loved teasing her about taking her home. At first she’d assumed it was the harmless flirting of an old man. But it wasn’t, and now it made sense. A crazy kind of sense, but it fit together nonetheless. He’d wanted her to meet…Vern.
    â€œWell”—Vern rubbed one of those large hands over his face as if trying to manually change his expression—“if you ever want to fly in it, he left the old Bell 47 to me.”
    It was horrid that Yuri was gone, but that his old helicopter had ended up with Vern was wonderful. It was such an immaculate old machine that it would be a pity if it went to a lesser place. She felt a little better about Yuri being gone. “You said he’s the one who taught you to fly?”
    Vern nodded. “Taught me to love to fly. Did six years aloft in the Coast Guard because of him.” Then he bit into his burger and chewed before mumbling around his food. “Of course if you want to fly in it, you’ll have to fix it up first. I