The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [8]
As the years in Emerald went by, Annie proved just how fast she was. She proved it on the ground as well as in the air. Her junior year in high school, she won blue ribbons in hundred-yard dashes. More and more ribbons hung from hooks on the walls of her room. She told a classmate who was urging her to join the cheerleading squad, “I don’t want to cheer somebody else on. I want somebody else to cheer me on.” By her senior year, the Emerald High band was doing just that, playing “Annie P. Goode” at track meets, scored to Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode.” As soon as she walked onto the field toward the starting block, they would start playing:
Go, Annie, go, go, go!
Annie P. Goode!
D. K. Destin dreaded every one of those track meets. He had nightmares that Annie would trip or that someone would knock into her, that she’d suffer some disabling injury (like his own) that would ruin her chance to be accepted at Annapolis where she would learn to fly jets.
His other nightmare was that her father would return out of the blue and take her away.
But Jack Peregrine never returned and Annie never was injured. In fact, ironically, her success in track was one of the reasons so many colleges, including the Naval Academy, wanted to recruit her.
By the time Annie was twenty-one, she was flying faster and higher than D. K. had ever gone, for by that time she was piloting F-14 Tomcats and then F/A-18 Super Hornets straight up into clouds at an acceleration fast enough to make her bones shake. Her white Navy helmet was stenciled “Lt. Annie P. Goode,” with D. K.’s logo of a black eagle under it, and her white jacket was decorated with commendation ribbons. The only midshipman at the Academy who could fly faster than Annie was the midshipman she married. Brad Hopper.
From the start, D. K. didn’t like Brad. When Annie announced she was marrying her classmate, D. K. bluntly asked her, “He can go fast but can he go slow? If you want to know if he loves you so, it’s in his kiss.”
“Don’t be gross,” Annie told the old flyer.
“Baby, that’s the last of your worries,” he rightly predicted.
Clark also had his doubts about the marriage. Only her optimistic aunt Sam kept saying, “Brad’s the One.”
He wasn’t.
Now, legally separated from him, Annie lived alone and taught flying, mostly to men, some of them men like Brad Hopper. She taught them to fly combat jets off carriers for Air Wing Three of the U.S. Navy. A few of her students afterwards sent her emails from Key West or Jeddah or Fujairah, telling their news or congratulating her on promotions or commendations. Their emails quoted back to her the blessing with which she’d sent each of them on a first solo flight. It was what D. K. had yelled at her morning after morning: “You’re Goode to go!”
***
Annie’s passion for velocity was a trait she knew she had inherited not from D. K. nor from Clark or Sam, but from Jack Peregrine. “We fly through the air,” he had sung to her at bedtime. “Jump, Annie!” And she would fly off the bed into his embrace; he would hold her tightly by her small forearms, swinging her around in a skipping circle until, dizzy, she would sail off, landing back on the bed, scared but laughing. “You’re a flyer,” he’d say, placing the too-large pink baseball cap on her head like a crown. “You’re off to see the gizzards of the wonderful wizard of Nod.”
“It’s not Nod, Dad, it’s Oz!”
“For the love of Mike, is it? Well, I’m the wizard of Nod, darlin’, and I’m going to make you the Queen of the World.”
Decades later, as an adult, she found herself humming, “Wonderful wizard of Nod,” when she climbed into bed. Long after her father was out of her life, she could still hear his voice singing. He would sing with the radio or the television; when he heard Latin music, he’d pull her into a dance. “Come on, one, two, cha-cha-cha.” And they would dance around the motel room and he would promise, “I’m going to leave you a million dollars. You’ll