Possibilities: A Contemporary Retelling of Persuasion Read online

  Frederick concentrated on persuading his aching back to cooperate during the climb into the plane. The midmorning sun belied the frigid temperature that ensured this to be the coldest winter in two decades. Thankfully, the ice storm that had frozen the southeast last week melted when the thermometer crept to a whoppin’ thirty-five for two days. But Old Man Winter was back with a vengeance, and this morning’s thermometer read 20. Frederick pulled his hooded parka closer and estimated the temperature now at 28.

  His complaining spine validated the claim. The Silver Star award the media wouldn’t stop crowing about involved an emergency airplane landing and a land mine. The explosion had caused a spinal injury that surgery had corrected. On cold days, his spine reminded him of the whole ordeal. But no pain had ever stopped Frederick from pursuing his dreams. He wouldn’t let a complaining spine stop him now.

  He grabbed the handle on the plane’s side and pulled himself into the aircraft. Frederick relished the exquisite leather seats and plush carpet, part of the reason the Beechcraft was called the Cadillac of the sky. The carpet freshener’s brisk smell attested to the cleaning crew’s recent presence. That would have been Frederick himself—yesterday. After a check of the pyramid cooler behind the copilot’s seat, he affirmed that they were out of bottled beverages. Darren was supposed to be bringing some ice for the cooler; Frederick decided to call him to pick up some drinks, as well.

  After unzipping his parka, he slipped it off and tossed it into the seat behind the pilot’s hatch. He whipped out his cell phone, pressed the speed-dial number, and waited for Darren Cosby to answer. During the sixth ring, his brother-in-law’s unceremonious “Yo” sounded over the line. “Sorry for the delay there. I was on the phone. I’ve got some good news, but it can wait until I get there.”

  “Well, I’ve got some bad news,” Frederick rapped out. “We’re out of Cokes, water, and even . . . are you sitting down?”

  “Yeeeaaaaahhhhh,” Darren’s drawl was laced with suspicion.

  “There’s no chocolate milk, man!” Frederick bellowed and slapped his forehead. “How will you ever survive!”

  “Go ahead, mock me, why don’t you! At least my addiction has vitamin D in it. What did Coca-Cola ever do for anybody but give them stomach ulcers? That stuff will eat your gut like battery acid.”

  “Now you’re getting nosy and downright annoying,” Frederick retorted. “Just stop at the store and get us some chocolate milk and a case of Coke. Maybe we can survive all the way to Atlanta. Who knows, I might even convert you to a grown-up beverage.”

  “Oooo! That was a low blow.”

  Snickering, Frederick lowered himself into the pilot’s seat and spotted a black BMW whizzing down the airport’s long drive. “Hey! Is that you I see already?”

  “None other,” Darren admitted. “And don’t worry. I’ve already got the drinks. I even brought an extra cooler this time. That baby icebox only holds six bottles. We’ll have those downed before we leave the runway.”

  “Get outta here,” Frederick chided and hung up without bothering to say good-bye.

  By the time Darren parked his car and walked to the plane, Frederick had already called to alter his flight plan for an earlier arrival. He’d also fired up the engine, received clearance delivery, and called the tower for clearance to taxi to the runway.

  Darren had a business appointment in Atlanta, and the man was on the verge of a heart attack because he was afraid he’d be late.

  Frederick planned a surprise visit with his friend Jim Bennington while Darren did his thing. Jim, a devoted doctor, had been instrumental in Frederick’s walking. Early on, he’d pushed Frederick just enough until he’d taken his first step. One step led to another, and another, and then victory.

  Jim now lived in Atlanta and wasn’t doing well since his fiancée’s sudden death due to an aneurysm in the brain. The poor guy was on depression medication and barely able to work. Frederick planned to pry him from his home, take him to the Bass Pro Shop, and get him to agree to a fishing trip next month.

  The sound of footsteps on the plane’s steps meant takeoff would be soon . . . and thirty minutes earlier than planned. “Yoo-hoo, brother, dear!” a familiar female voice chimed.

  Frederick’s eyes widened, and he swiveled to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, his elder sister, Sophia, was climbing into the plane wearing a smile bigger than Dallas and a full-length fox coat that matched her fiery red hair.

  “Ah, man,” Frederick complained, “what are you doing here? I thought Darren and I were gonna be bachin’ it!”

  “False alarm,” Darren announced as he stepped into the aircraft. He held a small cooler and a briefcase. His sandy hair was windblown, his cheeks were rosy, and his gray eyes were alive with expectation.

  “You could have at least warned me. I’d have never mentioned the Coke. You know she’ll tell Mom, and then I’ll get my lecture of the week about how—”

  “You should drink more water!” Sophia held up a six-pack of bottled water, broke one out of the plastic, and extended it to him. “The Cokes are off-limits until you drink this. You’re going to fry your brain with all that acid.”

  Frederick grimaced at the water but took it anyway. “It could be worse. I could be an alcoholic or something,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t start those diversionary tactics with me,” Sophia retorted, and her brown eyes were every bit as stern as his mother’s. “Just because you’re not an alcoholic or a drug addict doesn’t mean it’s okay to be a Coke-aholic.”

  He glanced toward his brother-in-law, who’d set down the cooler and was shrugging out of his wool coat. “You might be able to reduce him to chocolate milk and bean sprouts, but it’s going to take a whole lot more to get me to conform.” Frederick pulled himself from off the pilot’s seat, nudged Darren out of the way, and whipped open the cooler. Frederick dropped the water inside and pulled a Coke from the ice. After shooting Darren a defiant smile, he said, “Take a lesson,” then snapped shut the lid.

  “You’re both hopeless,” Sophia said. “And just for the record, I haven’t reduced Darren to chocolate milk. The guy married me drinking the awful stuff.”

  “That’s okay,” Frederick chided, “we’ll still be alive and kickin’ when you die at fifty from an overdose of sea kelp and tofu.”

  Darren draped his jacket over one of the passenger seats and laughed out loud until Sophia’s fake scowl ended his mirth.

  “I know henpecked when I see it,” Frederick commented.

  “Actually, somebody the other day asked me if I was henpecked,” Darren said and leaned closer to his wife with a flirtatious grin, “and I said, ‘I wish!’”

  “You wish,” Sophia said over a gurgling laugh. “I bet you do,” she taunted and smacked her lips against his.

  “Oh brother.” Frederick slid back into the pilot’s seat. “When are you guys going to adopt six kids and get over the honeymoon?” he complained. When they didn’t bother to answer, Frederick refrained from another backward glance. Those two had been married seventeen years, and somebody forgot to tell them they weren’t supposed to be so happy together. At least not in front of people whose marital prospects had been shattered.

  Frowning, Frederick unscrewed the Coke lid, downed a generous swallow, and relished the cold burn. Even at 28 degrees, he needed a Coke to fully function—and the colder the better.

  The bump and clank of the stairs indicated that Darren had stopped romancing his wife long enough to close and secure the airstair door. Darren was the only person Frederick allowed that privilege. With all other passengers, he insisted upon the door duties himself.

  Darren folded his stocky frame into the copilot’s seat. Frederick glanced toward him and said, “You’re going to ride up here? I thought you’d be in the back with Sophia.”

  “Nope. She’s at the end of a mystery novel and has banished me up here. She says she’s on the verge of figuring out who-done-it, and she’s got to finish the book or die.” Darren r
ubbed his hands against his ribbed sweater, cupped them together, and blew into them.

  “Well, I don’t fly dead people, so I guess it’s a good thing you’re up here.”

  Darren clicked his seat belt and chuckled. “I agree.”

  “So what’s so hot in Atlanta?” Frederick asked and shot a glance to his brother-in-law.

  “Nothing, if this weather’s anything to go by,” Darren said.

  “You know what I mean, man.” Frederick released the plane’s brake.

  “Actually, that’s the good news I was going to tell you. I just got the call. Looks like Sophia and I will be moving there.”

  “Oh really?” Frederick raised his brows and enjoyed the warmth filling the cockpit.

  “Yep. I made a halfhearted offer to one of our suppliers to lease his mansion and the acres of peach orchards with it. Believe it or not they’ve taken me up on my offer. We were flying in today to just look over the place and get better acquainted, but it looks like the owner is willing if I am.”

  “Wow!” Frederick said. “I guess that’ll cut out a step in buying your peaches, huh?”

  “Exact-a-mundo!” Darren nodded. “It will also give Sophia the bigger house she wants. Then maybe when the lease is up, we’ll build our own. Of course, we’re going to keep our house here in Charlotte as a weekender. As a matter of fact, we were wondering if you might like to live there. We could cut you a really good deal—as in free rent. It would sort of be like glorified house-sitting.”

  “I thought people got paid to do that,” Frederick quipped and snapped his seat belt.

  “Don’t push your luck.” Darren punched his upper arm.

  “Yeow!” Frederick rubbed his arm and scowled at his brother-in-law. “Do you have to get so violent?”

  “So what do you say?” Darren questioned through a chuckle.

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” Frederick nodded. “It’ll save me a chunk of money every month. My landlord loves that townhouse I’m renting—if the price is anything to go by.”

  “Good. And our move doesn’t have to affect your flying at all. I’m keeping the Beechcraft at the airport here. You can keep your schedule as usual.” Darren’s sly smile hinted that there’d be many flights between Atlanta and Charlotte.

  “That’s convenient for you, isn’t it?” Frederick teased.

  “You catch on fast!”

  As the plane coasted forward, Frederick applied the accelerator and pointed the aircraft’s nose toward the runway. A thought niggling at the back of his mind soon grew into a full-blown “what if?” that wouldn’t be quieted.

  No, it can’t be, he scolded himself. Allie Elton’s family would never consider leasing their place. It’s been in the family since Noah.

  While the plane rolled toward the runway, Frederick decided there was only one way to prove himself right. He’d just ask Darren. “Where is this new place, anyway?”

  “It’s called Georgia Gold Plantation. The house is named Elton Mansion. Been around since before the Civil War.”

  Frederick’s fingers dug into the yoke, and the stop at the runway’s opening jerked him against his seat belt.

  “Watch it!” Darren bleated. “You’re going to rattle my brains out.”

  “Sorry,” Frederick mumbled and shoved aside the latest bit of information for later consideration. The task at hand demanded that he focus on the details necessary for a safe flight. After doing the run-up checking of all engines and systems, he turned his head and asked, “Sophia, you buckled up?”

  “You got it, Captain!”

  Frederick picked up his mouthpiece and called the tower for permission to take off. Soon the plane was lifting off the runway with the ease and grace of an eagle. But the pilot had never been so tense.

  “Hey, man,” Darren said, “you want to go with us today to look over the mansion and help us give the final handshake?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Frederick growled and scowled straight into the blue horizon. “I was planning on visiting a friend. I’m not dressed for that kind of a trip anyway.” He glanced down at his wind suit. At least he’d graduated to top-of-the-line Nikes in his old age, but even that probably wasn’t good enough for the Eltons.

  No matter what he was wearing, the last thing Frederick needed was risking an encounter with Allie Elton . . . or whatever her last name was these days. Heaven help me if I had to be polite to her husband, Frederick grumbled to himself while wondering whatever had possessed the Eltons to lease out their operation.

  Probably something rich people do for entertainment, he caustically thought. As the plane gained altitude, Frederick gained a sour attitude that he wallowed in without remorse.

  Ten minutes later, Darren’s voice seemed to float from another time zone. “Are you okay? You’ve got a mean face on. Whatzup? We’re not, like, going to crash or anything, are we?”

  Frederick managed a tense grin that felt about as sincere as a disgruntled crocodile’s. The engine’s hum had never been surer. The day couldn’t have been more perfect for a safe flight.

  “Oh ye of little faith.” His attempt at a teasing lilt came out more like a snarl. “The flight is fine,” Frederick added and tried to soften his tone. “I’ve just got something else on my mind,” he mumbled and glanced toward the west.

  “Oh,” Darren replied.

  Feeling his brother-in-law’s scrutiny, Frederick decided to be honest. “I used to work there—at the plantation—actually,” he admitted and tapped his finger against the yoke.

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” He checked his gauges. As the plane reached its final altitude, he shot a glance toward Darren, who was twisting in his seat.

  “Hey, Sophia! Did you know Frederick used to work at Elton Mansion?” he hollered.

  Frederick rubbed his forehead and stifled a moan. He set the plane on automatic pilot and grabbed his Coke.

  “No!” Sophia replied. “Oh, wait a minute. Now I remember. He did work as a yard manager for a mansion years ago. Yes, we’d been married about seven years. I remember Mom was worried—” She stopped.

  Frederick guzzled his soda and lowered the bottle. “Go ahead and say it,” he blandly encouraged. “Mom was worried I was getting in over my head with a woman who lived there.”

  “Well, that obviously didn’t happen,” Sophia replied, and Frederick didn’t bother to correct her. He’d also never bothered to tell his mother that he’d bought a ring the size of a Ping-Pong ball and proposed. As far as his parents were concerned, the relationship with Allie Elton had just fizzled. Frederick had been far too hurt to explain the turn of events to anyone, even to his family or a store clerk. So he secured the ring in a safety deposit box, where it remained today, and locked the pain in his heart.

  “You need to go with us, then!” Sophia insisted.

  “Don’t think so,” Frederick replied.

  Darren’s scrutiny was still on—all the way on. Frederick felt it. No telling what the guy was thinking. Darren Cosby had a sharp mind that needed only a few clues to piece together the whole picture. Frederick wondered how long he would take to figure out the whole sad, sorry saga.

  “Yes, you need to go!” Sophia repeated. This time, she was closer—so close her Giorgio perfume wafted into the cockpit. Frederick had regretted buying her that stuff ever since she unwrapped it last Christmas. She’d sprayed herself down and had reeked ever since.

  Frederick glanced up and back to see his sister standing in the aisle behind his seat. Hands on her hips, all she needed was a whip to finish her dictator stance. Her snug black pants and dark gray sweater nicely rounded out the effect.

  “I never gave you permission to get up,” he snapped.

  “I don’t need your permission. This is my airplane,” she shot back. “I know when it’s safe to get up.”

  “Suit yourself,” he drawled, “but the tower says there’s going to be some turbulence. You might wind up with a knot on that hard head of yours before it’s over. Con
sider yourself warned.”

  Normally Frederick didn’t let his bossy sister sway him much. Of course, his stubbornness kept her exasperated beyond all reason. And that alone was enough to fuel Frederick’s resolve. While he sensed her glare, a stronger emotion emerged. Even though thoughts of facing Allie were laced with pain, Frederick was overtaken with a curiosity he could not deny. After all these years, he wondered what she was like . . . if she’d changed . . . and yes, if she’d ever married.

  “Okay, I’ll go with you,” he blurted. After another swallow of Coke, he placed the bottle back in its holder and decided he’d just call Jim.

  “You mean I win? Just like that?” Sophia snapped her fingers.

  “He must be going soft,” Darren mused. “Or there’s more here than meets the eye.”

  Frederick pretended a deep interest in a bank of clouds building in the south, the source of the turbulence.

  “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see,” Sophia drawled like a star detective. “I do have trouble believing Frederick would go soft.”

  “If he does, you’ll have him drinking eight bottles of water a day and asking for more,” Darren said.

  Frederick heard him—sort of—but was too engrossed with the dynamics of the coming meeting to form a retort.

  Allie’s probably not even living there now, he told himself and wiped his dampening palm on his pants.

  The plane hit a few bumps, and Frederick glanced back at his sister, who was heading straight for her seat. The snap of her seat belt assured him she’d detected the first signs of the predicted turbulence. And Frederick wished securing his safety for the pending visit was as simple as buckling up.

  Six

  Allie checked her appearance in the mirror and sighed. The Cosbys were due in thirty minutes, and she couldn’t remember when or why she’d left off wearing most cosmetics. She stood in her Victorian bathroom, peering into a basketful of mismatched leftovers from yesteryear. All that was in her new cosmetic drawer was a powder compact, a flesh-toned lipstick, brown mascara, and a barely-there blusher she usually forgot to apply. As for perfume, she did well to remember a scented hand lotion.