Gathering String by Mimi Johnson Page A

accompanying them was entertained. So when he left them at Reagan National, surrounded by a mountain of Monica’s luggage, on a warm morning about two weeks after the accident, his relief was considerable.
    The fact was he had plans of his own.
    Their plane was probably just boarding when Sam picked up the phone on his desk at the newsroom, and dialed the number he’d found for Keith Benedict’s charter business on Switchboard. “I was just wondering how she’s doing,” Sam explained when Keith came on the line. “I haven’t heard anything.”
    “Tess is fine,” Benedict answered. “In fact, I saw her off at the airport yesterday. Ten days here was about all she could stand before the boredom got to her. She took off for Tofino. Couldn’t wait to get there.”
    Sam had never heard of Tofino, and Keith explained. A small town on the Pacific side of Vancouver Island, Tess had fallen in love with the place when she and some friends made a run up there while she was still at the Oregonian . “She’s always wanted to get back, says there’re a ton of pictures to take. Now that she’s got the time and is feeling better, she jumped on it. And honestly, I was glad to see something perk her interest. She’s been pretty quiet, a little down. It’s not an easy thing to get past, a crash like that. I’ve seen experienced pilots struggle with it. But don’t worry about her, Sam. She’s healthy. She’ll get on top of it.”
    “Well, she’s a fighter, that much I know,” Sam said. “Did she tell you she kicked open the hatch of that plane?” That made the old man laugh. “You don’t happen to know where she’s staying, do you, Keith? Maybe if the newsroom sent some flowers …”
    “Pacific Sands is the place. I don’t know a thing about it. She found it on the web.”
    Less than a minute after he hung up, Sam had the Pacific Sands website up on his screen. He could see Tofino wasn’t an easy place to get to. There would be the long cross-country flight to Seattle, or maybe to the city of Vancouver. From either place, a considerable ferry ride followed, then the drive over the mountains that ran down the spine of the island. He frowned. But then a small link to a charter airline out of Seattle caught his eye. He called the number. “A seaplane?” Sam didn’t like what he was hearing. “What do you mean? This plane takes off on the water and lands …”
    “In Clayoquot Sound.” The man on the other side of the line laughed.
    “There’s no runway?”
    “Mister, you’ve never been up-island have you? Tofino’s hanging on to the very tip of a spur of land hanging right out in the Pacific. It’s mountainous rain forest up there.”
    “How big is the plane?”
    “Cessna, four-seater.”
    “Fuck.” With all his heart Sam never wanted to ride in a plane that small again. When he heard the cost, he almost hung up.
    “Look buddy, if you’re a squeamish flyer, I don’t recommend this. You come in right over the mountains. Of course, the Sound is usually calm, but we’ve had more than one passenger freak out. Besides, it’s the start of the season. The earliest flight I can get you on is the day after tomorrow.” Sam booked it and immediately went back online and bought an outrageously expensive ticket to Seattle, a direct flight.
    Then he went to tell Steve Johnson that he wasn’t doing well. He hadn’t been sleeping: nightmares, that kind of thing. He needed about two weeks off after all.

Chapter 6
     
     
    If Sam hadn’t been terrified, he might have appreciated the beautiful flight. The sky was brilliantly clear, and coming in over the mountains, Clayoquot Sound lay below them smooth as glass, the colorful fishing boats reflected in the water. The pilot explained that a water landing is always rougher than on a runway, and she was right, the impact throwing spray above the windows in rainbow sheets. Jaw set, eyes closed, Sam held his breath, waiting to hear the screech of the prop hitting