New Start, Old Wounds

"Supplies delivered to Montreal, check. Upcoming food delivery to Manitoba has been noted. Plane repaired?" 

Chuck looked out his office window, out upon Lake Superior, the snow falling gently down from the dark clouded sky. His seaplane was parked by the dock. He smiled at the sight of his business partner, Ryan, who was down by the plane attempting to fix the engine. 

"Attempted," he said with a slight chuckle.

Chuck had earned a name for himself around Copper Harbor as the town supplier and local mailman, or as the children called him, "the flying mailman." With the supply company he had formed after acquiring his pilot's licenses, he had done essential work for the people of the U.P and the surrounding north, delivering food, supplies, and mail all around where he could fly and land safely. He had even developed his network of pilots and drivers to assist on busy days and weekends. And the added bonus of a Sunday off was always a nice treat to look forward to. 

"You did it, Chuck. Dad would be proud," He said to himself with a smile. "Everything is changing. Mostly for the better. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"He would be proud." A voice said from behind him

Chuck jumped at the voice and whirled around. He froze stiffly, and his eyes widened. A woman stood before him, bundled up in warm winter clothing. The woman carried a large, polished, dark brown oak box. The woman looked down at the ground, clenching the box close to her chest. She spoke softly. "Hello, Chuck."

Chuck cleared his throat and wiped his brow, removing his hat and jacket.

"Hello, Elizabeth. How are you doing?"

"Chuck, I'm going to cut straight to the point. I need your help. You are the only person I know, well, heard about, who has a pilot's license in Michigan and offers cheap rates on air tours, supply runs, and flights. I was thinking that maybe you would be able to assist me."

Elizabeth said shyly as she looked at the ground, avoiding eye contact. Chuck walked over to his desk chair and rested his hands on the back of the chair. Chuck sucked his teeth and spoke.

"So, you expect me to help you? After what you did? You dared to leave back in 1990. You ripped everything away from me and Ryan, destroyed me as a person, almost got me arrested, then left me waiting for you countless times, and now you come to my door after being gone, and you expect me to help you? What type of person does that, Elizabeth?" Chuck shouted, his face turning red from sadness and anger.

Elizabeth stood in silence, tears streaming down her face. She took the box and placed it on the desk, unlocking it. Chuck walked over to Elizabeth and peeked into the box. The box contained a picture of an elderly man, a small urn, a map of Alaska, and a view of a city near a lake. Chuck took a minute to process the events. He raised his hand to place it on Elizabeth's shoulder but lowered it, not touching her.

"Henry's gone, isn't he," Chuck said as he stepped back and walked over to the window. "Let me guess, old age?" Chuck asked as he leaned against the wall, facing Elizabeth. "Using clues from the box, I guess his final wish was to be spread in Anchorage. I'm sorry for your loss, Liz."

"Drop the sympathetic bullshit, Chuck. I know you don't like me or him," Elizabeth closed the box and tucked it under her arm, heading for the door. "I don't even know why I came here," she said. Chuck ran in front of her, blocking her exit.

"You're right. I don't like you. I liked you at one point, but you changed. However, when someone in need comes to me, I will do my best to help them, no matter who they are," Chuck sighed and hung his head. "I know we had our differences, but I will help you get to Alaska. The thing is, though…" Chuck said, pausing.

"What is it? Let me guess, a condition, huh? What? Do I have to go fishing with you? Cook you a meal? Do your laundry?" Elizabeth said, shoving Chuck out of the doorway and heading out into the Michigan winter.

"Nope. I'm just not going," Chuck said, laughing as he headed down to the seaplane, the snow crunching underneath his boots. Snowflakes now becoming entrapped in his bushy mustache.

"What do you mean you aren't coming? Aren't you the guy who does the whole pilot thing?" 

Elizabeth asked, confused and angry as she followed him to the dock. As the two approached the port, the seaplane door opened, and a man stepped out. Elizabeth's eyes widened as she became visibly uncomfortable. 

"Ryan? Is that you?"

Chuck gestured towards Ryan and then to Elizabeth. 

"Ryan, this is your mother. I don't know if you remember her, but she needs our help."

"Unfortunately, I do remember. Long time no see, Mom," 

Ryan spoke demeaningly, wiping the oil grease off his hands. "What's it been, 28 years since you ditched Dad and me for New York? Looks like things didn't turn out well. Must feel really uncomfortable seeing the fruits of your labor. Hurts like a bitch doesn't it?"

"Ryan, enough. I got us a job to do. I need you to take Elizabeth to Alaska. One of her relatives has passed and wants to be spread across the open wilderness,"

Chuck said blankly to him as he took the box from Elizabeth and handed it to Ryan.

"Why can't you do it?"

"Call this spending time with your mother, whom you haven't seen in 28 years. And I've got to settle some paperwork to settle back in the office.

"Can it wait for one more day?"

"No," Chuck said, his words turning sharp.

Ryan gritted his teeth and sucked his lips.

"Well, Mom and I can finally catch up. I can show her the archery trophy I got when I was seven. The one she never saw us participate in.." 

He opened the door to the plane and boarded. Ryan waved at Chuck through the window. Chuck saw Elizabeth in the passenger window, her hand resting on the window, staring back at him. The plane taxied out to the open lake, took off, and disappeared into the clouds. Chuck sighed and headed up the hill to his office. 

"I always knew you would be back. A person like you doesn't know when to truly let go." 

Chuck stared at a framed photo of himself, a woman, and a child on Chuck's shoulders. Chuck wiped away a tear from his eye and held the picture. 

"You build things up just to tear them down. I'm sorry, love, but I can't let you back in; our son isn't ready." 

Chuck reached into the cabinet drawer, pulling out a bottle of scotch and a shot glass. Chuck poured himself a drink and threw it back down his throat, gently placing it next to the picture. 

"And neither am I."