Free Flights by Jim Shepard Page A

while his sister pushed a spoon back and forth through her oatmeal. His father bustled by. His mother put together two lunches. He went to the screen door to let Lady out, appreciating the morning light for its clarity.
    In class Sister Theresa called the roll, calling the same names she had the year before, calling only the first names, twenty-seven of them. Our Lady of Peace was a small school, of a nice, manageable, personal size, Sister liked to say, serving a small parish. There was little turnover and no growth in the size of the student body. This year one boy had moved away and a new girl, Kathy, was added to the class. She was big and quiet and reminded Biddy vaguely of a horse. Their instructor would be Sister Theresa, the principal, for the second year in a row. They did not consider themselves fortunate.
    Books were handed out, new lessons begun, sides for kickball chosen, Mass and milk-money schedules announced, and the day went quickly. He trailed home behind his sister and a friend, who were banging lunch boxes in rhythm as they walked.
    In the backyard he found his father hanging half on, half off a ladder.
    â€œDad!” he called. “Are you all right?”
    His father didn’t turn around, spread against the house. “Yes, I’m all right. I know what I’m doing here.”
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œI’m trying to fix the aerial our paratrooper kicked over.”
    â€œWhy don’t you just move the ladder?”
    His father stopped and closed his eyes, exasperated. “Because I’m trying to keep a hand on this wire, too.”
    â€œYou want help?”
    â€œNot unless you’re taller than you look.”
    He went into the house, threw his book bag on the dog’s chair and his lunch box on the counter, and went down the cellar for an ice-cream sandwich. With the freezer open he heard the rattling metallic crash of the ladder.
    He bolted up the stairs two at a time and rushed past his sister, who was eating an apple at the kitchen table, and out into the driveway.
    His father was high above him swaying back and forth, slowly bending the lateral supports for the antenna downward.
    â€œDad!” he said. “What happened?”
    â€œWhat the hell do you think happened? Where is everybody? Didn’t anybody hear me yell?”
    â€œI was down in the cellar.”
    â€œYou got a good view of this? What are you standing there for? Get the ladder!”
    He ran to the ladder. It was stuck in the thick hedges near the garden.
    â€œWhat did you, lose interest? What’re you doing?”
    â€œIt’s stuck in the hedges. I’m trying not to wreck them.”
    â€œYou’re trying not to wreck them.”
    Mr. Fraser appeared near his garage. “You all right, Walt?”
    â€œFine, Bill. Can’t you tell? Biddy! Where’d he go now?”
    Mr. Fraser bustled over and took hold of the ladder and yanked it free. He swung it back toward the house, suggesting they put it up next to him.
    â€œNo, Bill, put it up on the other side of the house, and I’ll crawl around.”
    Kristi came to the screen. “Biddy, Mom wants you. Is Dad down yet? Hi, Mr. Fraser.”
    â€œHello, Kristi. Your father’s in a bit of trouble here.”
    â€œCould we hurry with the ladder?”
    â€œAll right, Walt, don’t get excited. Got your foot in it? Get your foot in it.”
    Biddy’s mother screamed. “Walt! What happened? Get down from there!”
    â€œIsn’t this something? Everyone’s gone nuts,” his father said. He swung sideways and hooked his leg around the ladder.
    It began to slip on Biddy’s side and he looked down to see it scraping across the cement and sliding away. He shot a look up and his father was tipping, the huge spiny antenna caught in his sleeve, the final twisted strip of metal holding it giving way with a tiny sharp sighing sound, and the ladder wrenched from his