“It’s just a long, hard buildup and then a lot of emotions that follow. It’s not this way every time I come home, but this weekend is the same every year.”
I balled my hand into a fist and pressed my knuckles against the window. I wouldn’t let my mind go there. I wouldn’t let it process what she was talking about. I couldn’t. Or this phone call would go a very different way.
“I hate that you’re hurting, Billie.”
“You calm me. I know that sounds foolish, but I could really use some of that right now.”
“I’m here.”
“No, you’re not.”
I shut my eyes and kept them closed, my teeth gnawing on my bottom lip.
And just when the silence really started to swell, she added, “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I said it because I honestly wish you were here. I need you. So badly right now.”
“Billie—”
“Don’t worry; I’ll be fine.”
If I could, I would have pounded my fucking head into the glass until the entire window shattered. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I could feel her pain in the air.
I had to say something. I had to somehow make this better.
“Hey …” My eyes opened, and I gazed at the buildings across from me. I didn’t blink. My heart was screaming. If there were a tear in this body, I would have shed it. “I love you.”
I heard her take a breath. I swore, I could even hear her eyes close.
“I love you, too.”
I wanted to be there with her even if it was impossible.
Everything about this situation was fucking impossible.
But I loved her.
I couldn’t help it.
“I’m here if you need me. All right?”
“I know.” Her voice changed. “I was just telling my father how amazing you are.” She took a breath, and I could hear her try to smile. “He’s really excited to meet the man who’s made me this happy.”
My hand flattened against the window. “I’m looking forward to meeting him …” I felt a pain shoot through my jaw as it tightened, and I ground the top of my knuckles into the window. My chest was about to fucking explode. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Bye,” she said before I dropped my phone into my pocket.
In some ways, I wished I were back on Flight 88.
At least in the air, I was only worried about her survival. I wasn’t worried about destroying her fucking heart.
FIFTY-NINE
HONEY
WINTER 1987
“I CAN’T PICK ONE,” Honey squealed as Andrew tickled her from the floor of their living room. “You have to make the decision.” His hands moved up her sides, and with each shift, she screamed louder. “I refuse.”
“Then, I’ll just keep tickling you.”
“Nooo.”
Even though she was laughing through tears and squirming all over their throw rug, she didn’t want him to stop. That was why she didn’t tell him the movie she really wanted to watch when it was her turn to choose—the point that had started the tickle war in the first place. Because once Andrew got that answer, he would put the movie on, and Honey was enjoying his attention far too much for that to happen right now.
“Which one?” he said, his lips so close that she could taste the wine on them.
The same flavor was on her tongue from the bottle she’d opened earlier. It was part of the spread she had set up, an afternoon picnic on the floor of their condo with blankets and pillows while they watched movies and were lazy all day. Except now that the credits for Rocky IV had just finished rolling, it was time to make a decision.
“Ahhh!” Honey shrieked as his hands ground into her, upping the speed to make her howl the loudest it had been.
“Say it.”
“You’re going to hate it,” she cried, not able to hold him off any longer.
His hands softened, the smile staying on his face. “Try me.”
“It’s between two—St. Elmo’s Fire or Footloose.”
Andrew stayed close to his wife, holding her rather than tickling, his hands never leaving. “Footloose.” He nuzzled his nose across the tip of hers. “Because you’d rather see that one over the other.”