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The burger was exactly as expected ... perfection. The meat was juicy, not quite cooked clear through, the pickle spears were crunchy, the lettuce was torn not cut, the caraway bun was thick, the condiments tasty. The vinegar was tart, salty and hinted at sweet. Followed by the root-beer, the meal was worth the 23 miles.
Max was polite ... poor soul. He had no idea ... but we never do.
A second root-beer in hand, they repaired to the back deck and watched the Lightning class sailboats drop spinnakers, round the Mill buoy and beat for the line and gun. The Optimist class had finished their single lap while the Lightnings were on their third.
The Club was a flurry of young sailors dismantling their craft and racking or trailering them out of the way of ‘the big boys.’ Parents were allowed to help until the young sailor turned 10 ... after 10 it was do it yourself ... learn responsibilities.
Thinking out loud, “I want my boys to learn to sail,” she said.
“I want my girls to learn to sail,” he said, thinking out loud.
They both smiled.
Neither of them noticed they had said it like twins.
Over Père Marquette Lake, the Ultimate was upside down and in the middle of a ‘square cornered’ loop, when Tyche said, “Yet.” Her smile was simultaneous with and mirrored the smiles at Pentwater.
She centered the stick.
The plane obeyed the four year old girl in the pipe seat. The pipe had been moved from the dock to the deck of the Flint. She wasn’t in the way of the charter boats.
“Come home little bird,” she said. “It’s quarter to seven. the Badger is entering the mole. It wouldn’t do to crash it. Might hurt someone. Daddy?”
“Yes Tyche?”
“Is the drive clear?”
“I’ll check the radar.”
“No ... you should land on the lot to the west.”
“Are those awful boys over there?”
The little plane had escaped some eight year old kids bent on catching the craft just this morning...”Dawn Patrol” she called her early morning practice. Up and down before the 9am sailing of the SS Badger.
“Um ... yes ... the anti personnel infrared shows several heat signatures hiding among the cars. Can you wait?”
“I’ll have to,” Tyche said. “I’ll practice the Red Baron.”
The Fokker DR1 was so maneuverable that it was possible ... with judicious use of the throttle ... to nose up and remain ... if not stationary ... at least close to it. You could call it a bounce. Tyche had seen several 3/4 scale Triplanes perform the maneuver on UTube. She was sure she could do it.
Daddy was watching. “Can you bounce the plane over to the boat?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Try it.”
Now she did the improbable ... she flew the plane nose up and backwards ... right into JW’s hand. He grabbed the craft behind the cockpit.
“Kill it!” He hollered.
She closed the throttle and JW set the plane on deck. He was as amazed as Tyche.
“That, little girl, is how you win. Smart.”
Junior was watching from the deck of the Basilisk.
“Tyche,” she yelled.
“You’re a better pilot than I ever was. That was slick.”
Then everybody noticed Tyche.
She was shaking and crying ... huge silent sobs and tears. “I never did that before,” she said.
It was hard to understand between the shudders ... but ... they finally got it.
She got the hiccups ... it’s hard to sob and hiccup at the same time. And that caused her to laugh...
“What I mean is ... nobody in the family ever did that ... nothing even like it ... it was a NEW thing. The first new thing. Everything I’ve done before is remembering what family has done ... that was original. Sure I saw it on UTube, but they only showed it being done ... no ‘how to.’ That was ME.” She looked up, “That was scary.” She started shaking again.
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