Free Has to Be Love by Jolene Perry

“Rhodes has never been in a small plane. Can you believe that?”
    So Rhodes is with him.
    I should probably tell Rhodes not to encourage my dad. He’ll drag him out of New York and shove him right into small-town Alaska, just like he did with Mom. Not that she minded.
    Rhodes is wearing a headset and gives me a wave from the copilot’s seat in the small plane. The backseat is empty—at least it looks that way from here.
    Dad folds his arms with a smile. “I know tonight is dodgeball, which means that you’ll be sitting on the sidelines with a book.”
    I hold my book between us because there’s really no escaping how well he knows me.
    â€œWe’re just going to take a quick trip over the glacier. I promise to have you back before closing prayer,” Dad says.
    I open my mouth to protest, but there’s no point. I haven’t seen Dad smile this wide in a long time. “Fine,” I say.
    He swings his arm over my shoulder and gives me a squeeze as we walk back toward the plane. “And we both know the Clellans don’t mind when I use their field.”
    I stay silent. Of course they don’t mind, but normal people use the runway.
    Dad opens the small back door of his plane, and I step on the small step above the wheel before sliding inside.
    â€œDo you ever get used to this?” Rhodes asks the second I scoot onto the small backseat.
    â€œYep,” I answer. “Did you ask my dad why he didn’t use the runway like a normal person?”
    â€œIt’s too far away from the church,” Dad says. “And I did take off from the runway.” He chuckles as he slides his thumb over the sheet with his preflight checklist. He could recite the thing in his sleep, but he still goes through every item. “I just know how you like to fly over the river, so I thought we’d come pick you up.”
    I look Rhodes over. He’s wearing a too-new North Face shell, pressed hiking pants, and unscuffed hiking boots. He screams tourist, which helps temper my reaction to him much better than the snug plaid shirts, which Jell-O my knees.
    I slip on my headset just as Dad yells, “Clear!” and starts the small engine.
    He loves flying in and out of this small field so much that he flew us to church a few times when I was small. We bounce up the field as the small plane picks up speed, and I feel the familiar lurch in my stomach as we leave the ground.
    Rhodes turns sideways in his seat to face me and presses the microphone closer to his lips. His eyes are as excited as a five-year-old’s in a toy store, and I find myself smiling back.
    â€œYou really get used to this?” Rhodes asks.
    â€œYep,” I answer. Rhodes turns back around and rests his forehead against the window. I do the same in the backseat.
    The river’s wide here, channeling paths over the expanse of gravel, winding between three and ten different paths underneath us. Dad banks hard to the left, and I know this is where the canyon narrows and the river will become one solid, churning mass for a while.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Rhodes points.
    Dad peers over, but he’s on the wrong side of the plane. I can look out either side from my place in the back, so I lean over. “Moose,” I tell him. About eight or so brown spots jog along the riverside.
    â€œThis is just like National Geographic,” Rhodes says, and Dad laughs. “Do you two fly a lot?”
    â€œThe plane smells,” I say, wondering why I’m even trying to counter Rhodes’s excitement.
    â€œSmells like adventure,” Rhodes teases, throwing me another kid-like grin from the front seat.
    We continue up the canyon, and finally Dad has to gain some altitude because our airspace is narrowing as the mountains come closer together.
    â€œIf Clara was up front, I’d have her take the controls,” Dad brags. “She’s pretty good.”
    â€œIs that legal?”