She worried that it wasn’t enough, that it was too unwieldy . . . she worried about everything. Her daughter looked so young suddenly, her tall, thin body swamped by a baggy denim dress that stopped an inch above her scuffed black combat boots. Two metal clips held her long, silver-blond hair away from her pale face. Three silver ear
rings formed a curved ladder up her left ear.
Annie wanted to manufacture a conversation—toss out bits of advice about money and passports and the importance of always being in a group of kids—but she couldn’t do it.
Blake walked on ahead, carrying the two lonely pieces of luggage, as Natalie and Annie followed silently in his wake. She wished he’d slow down and walk with them, but she didn’t say anything—just in case Natalie hadn’t noticed that her dad seemed to be in a rush. At the ticket counter, he handled everything, and then the three of them headed for the international terminal.
At the gate, Annie clung to her navy handbag as if it were a shield. Alone, she walked to the huge, dirty window. For a split second, she saw herself reflected in the glass, a thin, flawlessly dressed housewife standing by herself.
“Don’t be so quiet, Mom. I can’t take it. ” The words contained a tiny wobble of anxiety that only a mother would hear.
Annie forced a laugh. “Usually you guys are begging me to keep quiet. And it’s not like I can’t think of a million things to say right now. Why, just yesterday I was looking at your baby picture, and I thought—”
“I love you, too, Mom,” Natalie whispered.
Annie grabbed her daughter’s hand and held on. She didn’t dare turn toward Natalie, afraid that her heartache would show. It was definitely not the image she wanted her child to carry like a bit of too-heavy baggage onto the plane.
Blake came up beside them. “I wish you had let us get you first-class tickets. It’s such a long flight, and the food in coach is horrible. Christ, you’ll probably have to assemble your own beef pot pie. ”
Natalie laughed. “Like you would know about the food in coach, Dad. ”
Blake grinned. “Well, it’s certainly more comfortable. ”
“This isn’t about comfort,” Natalie answered. “It’s about adventure. ”
“Ah, adventure,” Annie said, finding her voice at last. She wondered how it felt to have such big dreams, and once again she was envious of her daughter’s independence. Natalie was always so sure of who she was and what she wanted.
A voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “We will now begin boarding flight three-five-seven, with service to London. ”
“I’m going to miss you guys,” Natalie said softly. She glanced at the plane, chewing nervously on her thumbnail.
Annie placed a hand on Natalie’s soft cheek, trying to memorize everything about this moment, the tiny mole beside her daughter’s left earlobe, the exact hue of her straight blond hair and blue eyes, the cinnamon sprinkling of freckles across her nose.
Annie wanted to implant it all into her memory so she could pull it out like a treasured photograph over the next three months. “Remember, we’ll call every Monday— seven o’clock your time. You’re going to have a great time, Nana. ”
Blake opened his arms. “Give your old dad a hug. ”
Natalie hurled herself into her father’s arms.
Too soon, the voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the boarding of Natalie’s row.
Annie gave Natalie one last long, desperate hug—not nearly long enough—then, slowly, she drew back. Blinking away tears, she watched Natalie give her ticket to the woman at the doorway, and then, with a last, hurried wave, her daughter disappeared into the jetway.
“She’ll be fine, Annie. ”
She stared at the empty doorway. “I know. ”
One tear, that’s how long it took. One tear, sliding down Annie’s face, and her daughter was gone.
Annie stood there long after the plane had left, long after the white trail of exhaust had melted into the somber sky. She could feel Blake beside her. She wished he’d take her hand or squeeze her shoulder or pull her into his arms— any of the things he would have done five years ago.
She turned. In his eyes, she saw her own reflection, and the misty mirror of their life together. She’d first kissed him when she was eighteen years old—almost Natalie’s age—and there’d never been another man for her in all the years since.
His handsome face was as serious as she’d ever seen it. “Ah, Annie . . . ” His voice was a cracked whisper of breath. “What will you do now?”
She was in danger of crumbling, right here in this sterile, crowded airport. “Take me home, Blake,” she whispered unevenly. She wanted her things around her now, all the reminders of who she was.
“Of course. ” He grabbed her hand and led her through the terminal and into the garage. Wordlessly, they got into the Cadillac and slammed the doors shut. The air-conditioning came on instantly.