Amelia Mary Earhart

Amelia Mary Earhart, America's most famous aviatrix, was born on July 24, 1897, at her grandparents' home in Atchison, Kansas.

Sabrina.

That's my daughter. She came into Emily and my life when all hope for a child was gone.

"It's a miracle," all the doctors agreed. We agreed too.

I cradled my life in my arms and glanced at my wife's weary face.

"Sebrina," she nodded.

"But I thought—"

"Sabrina."

I stared into Sabrina's colorless eyes and the abyss stared back. A chill ran through me like the doubt of faith proving doubtless.

Sabrina did not learn to talk. She spoke.

"Mommy," she said clear as a bell.

"And where's Da-Da?"

She looked at me and then searched elsewhere.

"Daddy?" Sabrina called from her bedroom. "Play with me."

Not a question. A statement.

"Precious, Daddy's very busy." And I was. Her mother was gone again for the weekend.

"I need my space," she announced.

"Space? Emily, space is the absence of anything. Nobody needs nothing."

"Look you're a great dad. And you've been wonderful to me–kind, gentle, and nurturing. But I need..."

"What do you need?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Rule number one. Never ask a question you don't want to hear the answer to.

"Please," Sabrina asked.

I could see her perfect face in my head, haloed by toe locks.

"What shall we play?"

"Teatime."

"Right," I said, thinking of a man my wife had smiled and smiled at. I crossed my bony legs and sat at my place on the floor at Sabrina's tiny table.

"Some tea, Amelia?"

"Who?"

"Tea?"

"Ah... Thanks." I hadn't thought about Amelia since college.

"How do I look, Stan?"

"Will you stop it!"

"Come on. I mean, do I look okay?"

"Look, it was your stupid idea to come dressed like that. Who the hell are you supposed to be anyway?"

"I'm America's most famous aviatrix."

"...Where's your whip?"

"Hey, lots of guys dress up as girls for Halloween. It's supposed to be fun."

"Not fun—funny. You don't look funny. You look—"

Suddenly the front door opened, and Captain Hook stood framed in the hall light.

"Hey Stan. Wow! Who's your date?"

"She's not my date. That's—"

"Amelia," I smiled. "Amelia Mary Earhart."