Chapter 4: What's This?

“Honey? Watch your elbow. Food’s here.” Said a voice from across the table.

“Huh?” said Megan, coming out of her reverie.

Her mother had nudged her in the shin with her toe from under the table. “Food’s here.” She repeated.

Megan looked over at her mother, then over to where the waitress was standing. She was in the process of doling out the plates of food from a large tray she was holding in one hand. Megan’s plate was hovering in mid-air. The woman smiled expectantly as Megan moved her elbow.

“Oh, sorry.” She said to the waitress, who reached over smiling.

“Not a problem.” The waitress straightened up. “Anyone need anything else? No? Enjoy your meals.”

She sauntered off, carrying the tray under her arm and went back to the kitchen.

“Man, this looks great!” said Brad Jr. tucking into his breakfast. Being the largest of the Wolfe family, he’d opted for the Grand Slam breakfast, which included four slices of whole wheat toast, lightly buttered. A portion of home fries that took up half the plate. Two slices of bacon, two slices of ham, two sausages and four eggs over-easy.

“Remember when we could eat like that, Pinball?” said Brad Sr. from across the table, now tucking into his breakfast which was about a third the portion.

“Yep. Sure do. But Junior’s in his prime. A college athlete. Aren’t ya tank?” Said Topher peering over his cup of coffee at his nephew.
Brad Jr. unnecessarily flexed both biceps, filling the space of the booth and grinned with a mouthful of food.

Brad Jr. certainly had the athletic gene. Tall like his father, as well as muscular, too. He was a sophomore at his Division 1 college and was already a starting wide receiver. He’d set school records for receptions and yards.

Megan unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lithe lap, scooting forward in the deep booth to be closer to her food and tucked into her meal. She was mildly hungry and usually enjoyed a larger breakfast. She’d opted to get two eggs sunny side up, unbuttered toast. Swapped the home fries for fruit, had three sausage links and asked for some grilled tomatoes on the side.

The family dined mostly in silence with the waitress coming back a few times for refills of water and coffee.

“Anything for dessert today, folks?” She had asked.

The whole family looked at Brad Jr. expectantly.

“What?” he said, his plate cleared.

“No reason, hollow leg.” Said Topher from the window seat.

The table declined on dessert and the waitress returned a moment later with the bill and put it in the center of the table. Megan’s mother picked it up and put it between her husband and brother-in-law.

“You got this?” Brad. Sr. asked, sliding the black tray with the receipt over to his brother with the tip of his finger.

“Nope. I got the fun planned for this afternoon. All you big brother.” Topher said, turning his head to the table, stopping when he got to Megan. He bore a grin that said, ‘just you wait’.

Brad Sr. picked up the receipt, putting on his glasses and scanned down to the bottom. He raised his eyebrows, “not bad for four people and a trash compactor.”

“Hey!” said Brad Jr. in mock offense.

Brad Sr. fished in his wallet and left a generous tip. “Okay, time to hit the head, then hit the road.”

They all scooted out the booth and when everyone refreshed themselves, they headed back to the car.

“Hey, Megs. Why don’t you sit shotgun for this one?” Her uncle said casually as he unlocked the Tahoe and the family began to pile in.

“Uh, sure. But why?”

“No reason.” Her uncle said, shrugging.

Megan got into the front seat and there on the seat was a tiny little box with a navy-blue ribbon. Her mother had sat shotgun previously, so this must have been prearranged. It appeared that Megan was the only one not in the know; for she looked from her uncle to her father, to her mother and lastly at her brother. They were all looking at her, smiles on their face.

“What’s…this?” She said, picking up the box. It was light weight, and the ribbon was poorly tied. This was definitely her uncle’s doing.

He looked at her, then to the box. An invitation to open it.

Megan smiled, her expression perplexed as she pulled the ribbon off to reveal its contents. Sitting atop a little note was a red pitot tube cover. On it was stamped in black letters the words: US NAVY, CORONADO.

Megan gasped, then grinned, as she clutched the piece of fabric. This item, she knew was an instrument cover for planes. Turning over the fabric in her hands, she ran her thumb over the words ‘Coronado’ which she knew was a large naval air station in San Diego, only a brisk 90-minute drive from where they were currently.

She flashed a smile at her uncle, wanting to run around the vehicle to give him a hug.
Sensing her joy, he held up a hand. “Don’t forget the note.”

Megan picked up the folded note and opened it. It was brief and in the tiny, cramped handwriting of her uncle. It read:

Get ready to go inverted.

You pick the radio station.

Congrats on graduation.

Time to fly.


T.


Megan twisted her body and let out a whoop of triumph, punching the air with her pitot-tube clinched fist. Her family broke out applauses and congratulations.

“Save it for the car ride, folks. If we head out now, we’ll beat some traffic.” Said her uncle with a grin.

They all hopped in, and Topher got the Tahoe promptly up to 75 on the highway and as promised, did not protest when Megan picked her favorite radio station.

Megan looked around at the changing landscape. She looked around in the car at the happy faces of her parents and brother, who had always been able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Her uncle was tapping the steering wheel in time to the song on the radio, smiling. His eyes on the road even though he was wearing his aviators.

Megan breathed out and sighed contentedly. Today was going to be a great day.