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The flight from JBLM to Tacoma Narrows Airport in Miranda’s Citation jet took less than three minutes in the air.
Only when everyone else was off the plane and she was airborne again and headed for her island did Miranda feel she could breathe.
For fifteen glorious minutes, she raced north in silence. She stayed down at five thousand feet so that she didn’t have to talk to anyone, not even air traffic control.
It was just her and the few other fliers enjoying the beauty of being aloft during a summer sunset. She considered extending the flight, perhaps circling up over the Olympics to watch the sun slide into the ocean. That such a flight would also pass over where the first Chinook had been felled by a wildfire was a good reason not to go there.
Besides, it had been so long since
