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"I had hoped you would say something like that," she said and put a finger over my lips. "You said enough, and you said it more beautifully than I could have. We'll both go back," she added. "Only let's treat ourselves to a quiet dinner together, before we go back, if we can. We need to celebrate what we have built here. That's an acknowledgment, too, isn't it? We need these celebrations."
I replied with a nod and a gentle embrace. "I know just the place," I said. "There is a great restaurant not far from here. It's a small place and right at the beach. There is a large tree growing right through the middle of it. We must celebrate our day there! This would be fitting our first day of really being together. Afterwards, I'll give Honolulu a call. I promised then that I would call to see what time they need us."
"Why don't you call before we go for dinner?" she said, and kissed me. "While you call, I will freshen up."
I raised my hand, slightly. I didn't like the idea. But she didn't respond.
"If you call now, we could plan our time better," she said moments later.
Of course she had a point there. Deep down, however, I couldn't shed the feeling that this was not what I ought to do.
"Maybe, they won't need us," she added.
"Ah, there is little chance for that," I replied.
Without saying another word, she went into the bathroom. Reluctantly, I went to my flight uniform and got the 800 number of the refugee center from my top pocket. I kept hoping that I wouldn't get a line through, but I also felt bad about this thought. The thought was that Honolulu was on another island and might be hard to reach. Still, I took the phone off its shelf and brought it to the chesterfield near the open balcony door as if I would be dialing for a long time. I knew I would give it my best in spite of my nagging reservations, because going back was in both of our thoughts. Skipping out in this hour of need was not an option.
As I waited for the circuits to create a channel to the operations desk of my airline, the desperation in Vancouver came to mind and our experience in Abbotsford. Would the chaos have become worse? It seemed logical that it should have. It might be absolute hell by now. We had to expect that. Fallout would surely have risen past the critical level. I was just about to hang up when I finally got through.
"Yes, can I help you?" said a voice.
"Do you still need volunteer pilots for the airlift?" I said. I stuttered out of a hidden fear when I asked for my airline, hoping in some slight fashion that the voice would answer, No!
"I'll connect you," said the voice.
I was connected to our Honolulu office. I was told that our company didn't exist anymore.
"I would like to speak with someone who is in charge of the airlift," I added.
I was passed back to the switchboard, then to security. Someone switched me through to the control tower. The tower, however, was too busy for anyone to answer the phone. Eventually I reached someone who had some dealings with what was going on.
"Just come any time you're ready," the man said, "we'll fit you in. The traffic's unbelievable. It busier than it was during the war. They group them into squadrons before they land or take off. And this goes on hour after hour. And the crowds we have here, like you wouldn't believe!"
"Do you know what the situation is like in Vancouver?" I asked.
"Vancouver was terrible to the end! It's closed now. They've got three-hundred-mile-an-hour winds that are feeding the firestorms in the South. Vancouver was shut down an hour ago. At midnight we'll have the last run coming in from there."
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