“I can’t do this without you.”
“Yes,” Logan presses. “Yes, you can. Owen will pick you up from the airport. And I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He grips my hands and starts to move.
“Where are we going?”
“You need to change,” he tells me. “And get your carry-on and wallet. I bought your plane tickets.”
My lashes come together, and I nod, so grateful for him right now. Plane tickets. Right. I need to get home. To say…to say…I can’t finish my thought. Tears fill my eyes, and I reach for the glass of red wine on Diana’s table, bringing it to my lips before anyone can stop me.
I get a mouthful down when Logan puts his hand on my wrist, moving the glass away from my mouth.
“Dani,” he whispers. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” The lump rises in my throat again.
“I don’t know. But I hope it will be.” He looks down at his phone. “I just texted Quinn.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, knowing that he texted Quinn to ask Archer to check in on my grandpa. Archer is a general surgeon and won’t be caring for Grandpa, but knowing he might be there to talk to me and explain things in terms I’ll understand is a little comforting.
“Come on,” he urges, brows pushed together. “Let’s go upstairs.”* * *
I shift my weight, watching the second hand of the airport clock tick by. We have seventeen minutes until we’re supposed to line up to board. I’m sitting next to my mother, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. It’s dark out now, and every minute that ticks by kills me.
I won’t have cell service in the air.
I won’t know what’s happening with my grandpa.
Archer called a few minutes ago, going over my grandpa’s chart with me and then again with my mom. He could say the same things over and over and I couldn’t understand it.
Because I had no idea Grandpa had a history of heart disease. That he’d been seeing a cardiologist for the last five years. Or that it seems like he stopped taking his blood thinners back in the winter.
How didn’t I know? Guilt sits heavily in my stomach and made me sick more than once. I hand Mom my purse and hurry to the bathroom once more before we get on the plane. I’ve gotten rid of all the alcohol in my system this way at least.
“Logan texted you,” Mom says, staring straight ahead.
I reach inside my purse and pull out my phone. Logan sent me all the photos he took, saying he hopes it’ll offer me a good distraction for a few minutes. I flip through them and wish I could go back to that moment when we were hiking through the Bamboo Forest when everything was fun and new.
Tears fill my eyes, and this time, I make no attempt to quell them. I miss Logan, and I’m terrified of what might happen.
“He’s lived a good life,” Mom starts, and I jerk my head up, glaring at her.
“Don’t,” I say as tears roll down my face. “Don’t talk like he’s already gone. Archer said he’s seen people pull through.”
“Danielle,” Mom whimpers as her own eyes fill with tears. And now I feel bad for her, because of all the time she lost with Grandpa. I’ve learned more from him in the last year than anyone could have taught me over a lifetime.
We’re called to board the plane before she can get another word out, and we silently line up and find our seats. Once we’ve taken off, Mom reaches into her purse and pulls out a pill bottle filled with Xanax. The strongest sedative I’ve ever taken is Benadryl, which isn’t a sedative at all.
I have an eight-hour flight ahead of me. Against my better judgment, I take one and put it in my mouth. The little white pill crunches between my teeth, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.
I grind it up and let it absorb under my tongue before swallowing hard. I’m sitting next to the window, and turn my head, looking out into the dark. Only a few minutes later, I pass out thanks to the Xanax.
I sleep for a solid five and a half hours. Waking because I have to pee, I carefully step over my mother, who’s asleep, as well as the person in the aisle seat. My hair is still done up in a fancy updo, and enough hairspray has been applied to keep things more or less in place. My mascara ran down under my eyes, and I wipe it up, smearing the remaining eyeliner across my cheeks.
I clean myself up the best I can and then go back to my seat, pulling Logan’s sweatshirt out of my carry-on bag. He packed it for me, as I sat on the edge of the hotel bed in stunned shock.