Free A Place We Knew Well by Susan Carol McCarthy Page B

Van wheel toward a silver T-39 transport already on the flight line, hoses dropped, twin engines at fractional power, ready to go. In mere seconds they had the boxes and an armed escort officer aboard, and the T-39 was taxiing for takeoff. Somewhere, Avery thought, there were men in high command waiting for whatever secrets that film might…
    “Sorry, sir.” A brusque baritone demanded his attention.
    Avery lowered the binoculars and felt a shiver at the nearness of the muscle-bound air police confronting them. He’d been so intent watching the runway that he’d ignored Charlotte’s warnings and completely missed the staff sergeant’s approach.
    “Sir, observation of base ops is strictly limited to
approved
personnel. Please return to your vehicle immediately.” The man’s gaze was direct, his tone no-nonsense.
    “Of course, Sergeant,” Avery said, and watched the E-5’s eyes glide toward Charlotte in an appreciative once-over.
    “Let’s go, Kitten.” He took her arm, stepped back onto the asphalt, and headed toward the dairyman and his uneasy herd of onlookers.
    “So what do you think, Dad?”
    “About what?”
    Charlotte gave him her
don’t baby me
look. “All this…” She opened her palm toward the jam-packed runway.
    Avery exhaled guilt. It was a mistake to bring her here; he should have insisted she wait in the truck. “Hard to say, honey.”
    “But…”
    They’d reached the dairyman, who, after accepting the binocs and Avery’s thanks, observed, “Looks like Gen-rill-leesimo Castro’s ’bout to get his clock cleaned, don’t ya think?”
    Avery shrugged.
    Charlotte waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “He’s right, Dad, isn’t he? About Castro?”
    “Maybe, maybe not, honey. The U-2s mean they’re investigating something. But with their range, it could just as easily be the Panama Canal or somewhere in South America.”
    They drove home in silence, Avery’s thoughts darkened by dread. How in the world have we come to this? Why
now
? And why
here,
on Florida’s front porch? Wasn’t my war the one that was supposed to end all others?
    —
    A VERY WAS WATCHING TV with Charlotte when Sarah limped in around eight-thirty. She was in stockinged feet, purse in one hand, both pumps in the other.
    He rose to greet her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
    “Sore
feet,
” she said, holding up her shoes. “
Very
sore feet.” She sounded hoarse, and looked exhausted, spent.
    “Get you something?” he asked.
    “If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”
    “ ’Night, Mom.” Charlotte waved, eyes intent on comedian Rip Taylor and
The Ed Sullivan Show.
    Hobbling toward the hall, Sarah stopped and turned back. “Anyone remember to feed the birds today?”
    “I did,” Charlotte replied. “Cleaned the cages, too, while Dad mowed the lawn.”
    “Well…thanks,” Sarah said.
    Avery nodded acknowledgment. After the unsettling discoveries out at the base, he’d attempted, for Charlotte’s sake, to make the rest of the day as normal as possible.
    The routine had calmed them both. But then the evening news announced that President Kennedy had unexpectedly cut his campaign trip short and returned to Washington. He’d caught a cold, a spokesman said.
    A cold, my butt! Avery thought. More like a cold war turning hot.
    “ ’Night, darlin’, sleep tight,” he called to Sarah, relieved she was too tired to ask about their trip to the air base or his true thoughts on Civil Defense.

D ragging with exhaustion from very little sleep, Avery dressed quietly so as not to disturb Sarah, and padded to the still-dark kitchen to make his own coffee. He took a fragrant mug out onto the screened porch that spanned the back of the house.
    Already Sarah’s parakeets were up and chattering to have their cages uncovered. There were only three left of the four birds she’d brought home last summer. Originally, she’d named them Dianne, Peggy, Kathy, and Janet after the singing Lennon