Chapter Fifty One

By Chris Fulmer

Del glanced over at Neal, who was half-slumped over his controls looking ready to succumb to his emotions. "There wasn't much you could have done, Neal," he told his friend, "They'd've killed you too, and poor Susan would have had the worst Christmas gift of her life, hearing that you were cut down so brutally."

"But she was going home," Neal said softly, "and she died for me. It should have been me who he killed. Sparky was right; I am a terrible parent."

"No you're not," Del said, "You're a great father. You just haven't had much of a chance to show it to your kids, that's all. "I've seen you with the kids; you're great with them. My dad never read me bedtime stories over the phone every night when he could."

"Well Del, he would have gone broke from the long distance charges," Neal said, unconvinced, "and at least he......."

"Stayed out on the road fifty weeks a year? You come back every chance you get," Del pulled up on the stick, and the plane made a quick hop over an overpass, "I wouldn't call that uncaring."

"Forget what I said, Neal," Clark told him from the navigator's seat, "I was a little out of control there. I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Sparky, but I should be more sorry," Neal said, extending a hand to him, "I've been treating you like slime the whole trip, and really, for the last twenty some years, and I think I need to apologize for that."

"No problem there, Neal," Clark shook the hand firmly, "Clark W. Griswold may be a moron, but he's also understanding and forgiving."

"Well I wouldn't go THAT far," Neal said, "If you were understanding and forgiving as you just said, you would have stopped that road trip seven years ago in Arizona after you left your aunt on the porch, since if Ellen told Susan right she wanted to bail out at that point. And you'd have also come back home after that German polka slap fest during the European disaster. And after your uncle burned up your Christmas tree....."

"All right, I get the idea, so I'm not THAT forgiving," Clark interrupted.

"I'd also like to apologize to you, Del, for what I said about John Bender," Neal told him, "I guess if you care for him, I can't really tell you how to take care of him."

"Don't mention it," Del said. He looked a little disappointed. "I'll be honest with you here, sometimes I do feel frustrated that he keeps shutting me out. And I have come close to losing it with him at times when he spits in my face. But I can sense goodness in him, and I'm not giving up until I coax it out of him. He needs a friend, I can see, and I'd really like to be that friend."

"Well you'd probably be the best person in town to take that route," Neal said, "And probably the most likely to pull it off."

"Thank you," Del smiled. He continued, "As for what you said about younger kids, sure, I'd love to start with a younger kid. Get a chance to take them in and really grow up with them. I'm going to see what the state adoption board can do after John moves on. No infants, though. I'm too old to be changing diapers every hour."

"Let me ask you something Del; did you and Marie ever try to....you know, have your own kids?" Neal had to ask.

Del now grow rather self-resentful. "Well, on that matter, Marie did bring the subject of kids up a couple of times over the years," he said, "and I in my blissful ignorance of the future said, 'There'll be plenty of time for that down the road.' If only I known then how short that road would be for the two of us."

"Have you ever thought of remarrying? You've got be lonely living by yourself most of the time."

"True, I do get lonely sometimes, and yes, the thought of remarriage has occurred to me from time to time, but no, I don't want to tie the knot again," Del admitted, "For me, Marie was the perfect love, and there'd be no way I'd ever be able to top her. Besides, it would be a disservice to her memory. Love is meant to last forever, and a remarriage would terminate that from my end."

"Well not necessarily," Neal pointed out, "I understand being faithful to a person's memory, but she IS gone, you know, so......"

"In the physical sense, yes, but I don't think loved ones ever really leave us," Del said, "As long as you remember them fondly, they'll always live on." He breathed deeply and continued, "That's what my Aunt Fran told me after my mom died. I don't think she expected it to really have much of an impact on a scared little six year old, but it's helped me keep Marie alive all these years in a way. And since she's in the spiritual sense still here, any relationship with another woman, no matter how well-meaning, would be disrespectful to her."

"You do have a point there," Neal said, feeling enlightened. "I should probably tell you two this, but promise you won't tell Susan before I do, which might be never, okay?"

"Okay," they said.

"Last night, Nan made a pass at me in the hotel, and, um, although I turned her down, I feel like I've, as Del just said, disrespected Susan's memory," Neal said slowly, "So I feel like I've been even more of a deadbeat to.......

"Like I was saying before, Neal, you're not a deadbeat dad," Del told him,

"I might have said this already, but I've seen hundreds of deadbeat dads over the years, and they do a hundred times worse with their families than you do. Susan and the kid love you, and you love them, so why are you worrying?"

"I don't know," Neal said, "I guess I've just gotten so used to the worst possible thing happening,.." He looked forward out the front window. The snow was starting to wind down now, and the sky was starting to lighten, but his world couldn't have been darker. "You see people die all the times in films," he went on, "and you think it's not as bad as it seems, but when death strikes you, it's worse than you can imagine. Especially when it hits friends and family. And she was always a good friend. And now she's gone for good.....in the physical sense, like you said." He gave the sigh of a man confused by life. "There was a time when I did love her," he went on, "but I've since loved Susan a hundred times more. So is our love a perfect one now that I've had the thoughts of leaving, even for just the fleetingest of moments?"

"Does love even have to be perfect, Neal?" Del counter pointed, "Forget that I said about Marie and me having a perfect relationship. We had our rough spots, like every couple does--no marriage is ever rock solid. There were times I would be too annoying, and she'd go barricade herself at her folks for the night to get away from me. But she always came back, and I was always respectful of her feelings, and that's why our love lasted so strongly. My best piece of advice would be to just be up front with Susan. As long as you're honest and respectful with her, you'll be fine. And like you said, you didn't take the hook, so what should there be to worry about?"

"Well, I do know one thing we should be worried about: this," Neal held up General Blum's briefcase, "First thing we do when we get to Chicago is turn this over to the authorities, because General Bloomington or whatever he name is could still be after us as we speak, and if they trace it to our homes and anything happened to Susan and the kids, I'd never forgive myself."

"Good point," Del admitted, "Well, I'm sure the airport has some connection to the feds, and we'll just drop it off at the main desk or so." He looked back over his shoulder. "How're we doing, Clark?"

"If I'm reading this right, Captain Griffith, we are about five miles from the Chicago city limits," Clark announced as if he were reading the name of a beauty pageant contestant.

"There's the city now," Neal pointed at the window at the Chicago skyline, off of which the first rays of light of the new day were shining, making it a dazzling homecoming sight.

"Sweet home Chicago," Del said in awe, "One thing my Dad always did say was that vacations are nice, but the best part of them is always coming home. Right now I couldn't agree with him more."

"You may find this hard to believe, but so do I," Clark said.

"Think you'll adopt it as your new vacation motto now, Sparky?" Neal asked him.

"Not a chance," Clark gave him a wink.

Del picked up the cabin intercom. "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, we hope you've enjoyed your flight with us," he announced to the otherwise empty plane, "We're going to need to do a little climbing here to clear the Chicago skyline, and then we'll begin our quick descent into O'Hare. Local time is 7:30 a.m. Christmas Eve morning, with last night's killer storm winding down. At this time we'd like to ask you to fasten your seatbelts and make sure your tray tables are in their upright and locked position. Thank you for choosing Page, Griffith and Griswold Airlines for all your traveling needs." He motioned for Neal to mimic him, and the two of them pulled back on their sticks. The plane roared up into the early morning sky, well over the tallest buildings on the lakeshore. Del picked up the radio now. "Breaker ten niner, this is Flight....well, I don't know the number, but we're coming in from Gary. Please give us a report of the runway conditions, over." There was no sound from the other end of the line. "O'Hare tower, I repeat, this is the Gary flight, please report the runway conditions to us," he repeated. Still no answer.

"Is anyone even in the airport?" Clark wondered.

"Well I'm sure they'd have someone on duty, Clark," Del told him, "I've been laid over in four snowstorms in my life, and they may have shut down the planes, but the airport still...."

"There's O'Hare," Neal pointed to the airport out the right side of the craft. "Christ, the runway's completely snowed in!" he lamented, seeing even from a distance that the landing field was just an expanse of white, "There's no way we'll be able to land in it!

"Okay, I guess we'll just have to try Midway then," Del suggested.

"No Del, I've been on the road too long," Neal said firmly, "This journey ends at O'Hare where it should have over three days ago, even if it means we stay up here for another three hours and wait for them to clear...."

A buzzer of some kind started ringing. "Um, we're not going to be able to stay up another three hours," Del told him, "We've got about twenty minutes worth of gas left."

"Out of gas on a flight from Gary to Chicago!?" Neal was frustrated by the ever-continuing bad luck, "Why couldn't they top this out before we took control of it!?"

"I guess they were going to, but the storm cut them short," Clark theorized. His face lit up. "I know," he said, "If we can't land, we just parachute out."

"Parachute!?"

"Yes Neal, we just take the chutes, open the door, and jump...."

"Won't work Clark; this bird doesn't have parachutes," Del told him.

"Oh," Clark looked briefly crestfallen, then brightened again and said, "Wait, the seats have floatation devices under them. We just fly over Lake Michigan, take the life preservers, jump in the water, and swim to shore."

"And freeze to death in the ice-choked water," Neal said sarcastically. "And what about the plane, Sparky, do we just let it crash on top of us?"

"No, we put it back on autopilot and it can land itself," Clark told him. Neal put his hands over his face. "Now we're dead for sure!" he muttered.

"The streets look pretty clear," Del said, assessing the situation below them, "right up to the parking garage. The elevators should still work."

"What are you saying, Del, that we land directly on the road?" Neal had reservations about this development.

"Um, the street longs long enough for us, so I think we'll be in good shape," Del picked up the intercom again. "All passengers, please hold on tight to your belongings, we are coming in for a landing," he said, and pushed the stick forward. Neal reluctantly did the same. They dropped out of the sky toward the street, which fortunately for what they had in mind was deserted. In close-up, the street wasn't quite as wide as Del had envisioned, and the plane's wings tore into the sides of the warehouses flanking it. In their quest to keep their craft in the center of the road, they inadvertently knocked down several streetlights and totaled a traffic signal. But touchdown was otherwise smooth. "Now where's the brake?" Del asked, looking over the control panel.

"You don't know?" Clark said in mock disbelief.

"They should really mark these things better," Del said, growing a little frantic now. A dead end loomed ahead of them. He opened the wing flaps, which slowed them a little but not enough for a complete stop.

"Turn the engine off," Neal pressed the same button that had started the plane. The engines died, but they kept going forward. In a flash of ingenuity, Del swerved the plane to the right, lodging it into the entrance to the O'Hare parking garage. The wheels spun for a few moments, then went still. "You may now take off your seatbelts," Del said over the intercom,

"Thank you and have a very merry Christmas."

"Well this is going to look interesting to the airport crew when they report for the second shift today," Neal commented as they picked up their belongings and strode toward the door.

"Yep, they should have it out of here in about, oh, Martin Luther King Day," Clark projected.

"Hey, you wanted it stopped, so it's stopped," Del said. He pulled the release for the emergency slide, pushed his trunk down it, and then slid after it. "I'm on the fifth level, section J," he told Neal and Clark as they slid after him, "I can give you guys a lift to your places--if the roads into Shermer are still open, that is. But at least we shouldn't hit any traffic, being Christmas Eve."

"The big question, though, is can we get out of the garage with this parked here," Neal gestured up at the jet.

"Oh, yeah, I think we'd get this baby beat by at least ten inches," Del suggested, giving the plane's clearance a quick looking over, "Well, the final leg of our journey awaits us."