Dear Readers,
The most common question people ask me when they find out I’m an author is, “Where do you get your ideas?” That’s why I decided to start my Weekly Dose of Fiction with a short introduction to let readers know where these stories come from. What I find is that I’m surprised by the sources. I never used to think about that before.
The Last Jump comes from a personal experience in Laos many years ago. The character, Megan, is me, and Lia is someone I knew—not her real name, of course. Most of it is fiction, but the main event is not. Let me know what you think about this one.
The Last Jump (Part 1)
Vietiane, Laos 1968
Lia parked her Nissan Jeep in the driveway and hurried to the door. Before she could knock, it opened, and Megan pulled her inside.
“For heaven's sake,” Megan said, “Are you nuts? Why are you out this time of day?”
My first Lao compound and Nissan Jeep with my Laotian friend, ນ້ອງ (Nong), and my youngest son.
Everyone, especially the Laotians, knew to do everything outside before ten, then find shade until rain came at three and momentarily cooled the air. Night was when people returned to the dusty streets this time of year. Lia must have a compelling reason to drive from her compound to here midday. Megan had a bad feeling already.
“So sorry to arrive at your door like this, but Nick’s got this burr in his jeans.”
Anytime her husband had one of his daredevil ideas and Lia couldn’t talk him out of it, she wound up here.
“Okay, lay it on me,” Megan said. It was easier to take this news while seated under the slowly rotating fan that cooled her sweat and gave some relief.
“He’s going to jump one last time before we leave. He wants me to do it with him.” Lia knotted her hands together and stared at them. “Say goodbye to Laos together.” She stopped Megan from interrupting. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’ve told him no three times.”
Megan stifled a groan. These people were parents of two small children. They’d already moved into a country in the middle of a war, even if no one admitted it. Wasn’t that enough? She had no room to talk. She’d done the same—her two were napping, so she kept her objections to herself.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Lia reached out and took Megan’s hand. “I need to do this. For the marriage. But I can’t unless…well, I don’t trust anyone but you with my kids.”
Lia had confided a lot about her and Nick’s problems—the strain two children so close together had caused. When they’d been born, Lia had become more cautious. She’d stopped parachuting, Nick’s passion, and one he loved sharing with his wife.
“When?” Megan asked.
“Tomorrow. Early before the buildups*. It’s safest then.”
“Who’s taking you up?” There were a lot of pilots here, and Megan hoped her husband wasn’t the one who’d volunteered.
“Murphy. He’s not on the flight schedule tomorrow, so he’s free.”
“And he thinks it’s okay for you both to go?” Murphy was one of the seasoned Air America pilots. He’d survived here for two years, so Megan respected his judgment.
Lia nodded.
“I’ll take care of the kids, but if Murphy says it’s a no-go, listen to him. He knows this weather.”
They hugged, and as Lia walked to her jeep, Megan felt a chill—something she hadn’t felt since stepping off the plane in Vietiane a year ago.
*In this part of the world, those clouds (buildups) begin forming late morning. At three o’clock, as if set on a cosmic timer, they open up, and water cascades from the sky. That lasts about half an hour and then stops, and steam rises into the air to start the cycle again. These buildups can be dangerous for planes and parachutists because of the wind shears they create.
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Can't wait to read more!
Okay, so what happens next???