Fly Away (Firefly Lane 2)

I grab my small rolling bag and leave the condo. Downstairs, a black Town Car is waiting in front of the building.

“SeaTac,” I say, depositing my luggage at the curb by the trunk.

Surprisingly, the traffic is sluggish on this warm autumn morning. I look at my watch repeatedly.

“Go faster,” I say to the driver, tapping my foot on the floor. At SeaTac, we pull up to the terminal and I am out of the car before the driver can even open his door. “Hurry up,” I say, waiting for him to get my luggage, checking my watch. It is 11:47. I am late.

Finally, I get my bag and I run, holding my hat on my head and dragging the suitcase behind me. My big straw bag keeps slipping off my shoulder, scratching my bare arm. The terminal is crowded. It takes me a minute to find them in the crowd, but there they are, over by the Hawaiian Airlines ticket counter.

“I’m here!” I yell, waving like a game show contestant trying to get noticed. I run toward them. Johnny stares at me in confusion. Have I done something wrong?

I come to a breathless stop. “What? What’s wrong? If it’s the time, I did my best. ”

“You’re always late,” Margie says with a sad smile. “It’s not that. ”

“Am I overdressed? I have shorts and flip-flops. ”

“Tully!” Marah says, grinning. “Thank God. ”

Johnny moves in closer to me. Margie eases away at the same time. Their movements feel staged, as choreographed as something from Swan Lake, and it bothers me. Johnny takes me by the arm and pulls me aside.

“You aren’t invited on this trip, Tul. It’s just the four of us. I can’t believe you thought—”

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach, hard. The only thing I can think of to say is, “Oh. You said ‘we. ’ I thought you meant me, too. ”

“You understand,” he says, phrasing it as a statement, not a question.

Apparently I am a fool for not understanding.

I feel like that abandoned ten-year-old again, sitting on a dirty city stoop, forgotten by my mother, wondering why I am so easy to leave behind.

The twins come up on either side of us, jubilant in their excitement, amped up on the idea of adventure. They have unruly brown hair that is too long and curling at the ends and bright blue eyes and smiles that have returned since yesterday.

“You comin’ to Kauai with us, Tully?” Lucas says.

“We’re gonna surf,” Wills says, and I can imagine how aggressive he will be in the water.

“I have to work,” I say, even though everyone knows that I walked away from my show.

“Yeah,” Marah says. “Cuz, like, having you come would make it fun, so natch you’re not coming. ”

I untangle myself from the boys and go to Marah, who is standing by herself, doing something on her phone. “Cut your old man some slack. You’re too young to know about true love, but they found it, and now she’s gone. ”

“And, like, sand is going to help?”

“Marah—”

“Can I stay with you?”

I want it so badly I feel sick, and although I am notoriously self-centered—in fights, Kate often called me narcissistic—I know a bone-crushing fall when I see it. This is not about me. And Johnny is in no mood for this. I can see it. “No, Marah. Not this time. You need to be with your family. ”

“I thought you were part of the family. ”

Have fun is all I can manage.

“Whatever. ”

As I watch them walk away, I feel scaldingly, achingly alone. None of them looks back at me.