Page 65 of Passing Ships

Lennon

I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white as I watch the planes taxi in the distance. The parking lot is crowded, but I don’t move. Not yet. My eyes dart to the digital clock on the dashboard—11:48 a.m. They should be coming through the terminal at any minute now.

Avie texted me right before they boarded the plane. She’d been keeping me posted since they’d arrived in Atlanta. The last message was brief.

Avie: We’ll be there in an hour and a half.

That was all.

I keep tapping my fingers against the wheel, a nervous rhythm that’s doing nothing to calm me down. The hot June sun filters through the windshield, but I don’t feel its warmth. I just feel this knot in my stomach, this tight ball of worry that’s been growing ever since I talked to Amiya last night.

Avie had called after they saw the doctor. I asked to speak to Amiya.

Her voice was so small, so quiet, when she said the words, “Lennon, my grandmother’s dying,” and it was like someone had punched me in the chest.

It’s heartbreaking. Amiya and her grandmother are—were—so close. I mean, she is Amiya’s person.

I think back to just a few days ago, how her eyes lit up when she talked about the woman. Her grandmother was the one who had raised her. The one who was her constant, the one with the advice, the star in all Amiya’s stories, the one who must have had endless patience because I imagine Amiya was a handful as a teenager. I chuckle at the thought.

I glance at the terminal entrance again, searching for them. People filter out, dragging suitcases and hugging loved ones, but no sign of Avie and Amiya.

I want to run in there, find her, and just hold her, but I know she wouldn’t want that. Not here, not in front of all these people. She’s not the type to show too much emotion in public. I might not know her well, but that’s one of the things I’ve figured out about her—she’s so composed, so in command of herself. She thinks I’m the one who needs to always be in control. But she’s the one who needs it.

With this unexpected blow, I don’t know what to expect.

Another wave of people comes through the sliding glass doors. Then, I catch sight of her.

Amiya walks out of the terminal, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun, strands falling out, framing her face. Her shoulders are slumped, her usual confident stride replaced by something slower, more deliberate. She’s clutching her phone in one hand, a small backpack slung over her shoulder, and she looks so … lost. Avie follows her, looking much the same. She’s just as weary, but her hand reaches out and clasps Amiya’s elbow, and she steadily guides her.

Their bond is tight. I saw it the other night when Avie refused to let her friend face what she knew was coming alone. It didn’t matter that she had a job, a child, a wedding day approaching. Hell, I’m convinced that had Amiya gotten that call the day of the wedding, Avie would have stormed onto the plane in her gown.

I jump out of the car, jogging toward them. Amiya spots me, and for a second, there’s no reaction. She just stares at me, like she’s still processing everything. Then, she starts walking faster, almost running, and suddenly, she’s in front of me, crashing into my arms.

I wrap her up tightly, holding her as close as I can. She buries her face into my chest, and I can feel her shaking. She doesn’t make a sound, but I know she’s crying. I can feel the wetness through my shirt. Looking over her shoulder, my eyes meet Avie’s surprised ones.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, though I know it’s not. I just don’t know what else to say. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

She nods against me, her arms tightening around my waist. We stand there like that for what feels like forever, people moving around us, the world continuing on even though hers has just stopped.

Eventually, she pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry, Sailor,” she mumbles, her voice thick with tears. “I’m being such a girl.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say softly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

She gives me a small, weak smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her big blue eyes, usually so full of life and mischief, are dull now, like the light inside her has dimmed.

“Come on,” I say, taking her backpack and slinging it over my shoulder as I reach to take the suitcase from Avie. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nods again, following me back to the car. I open the passenger door for her, and she slides in without a word. Then, I open the back door for Avie and load their bags in the trunk. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I glance over at Amiya. She’s staring out the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, the hum of the engine the only sound. I want to say something, anything, but everything that comes to mind feels wrong and inadequate. I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know how to make this better. I think about Nana and Gramps. How I’ve been thinking about time slipping away. Worrying that I’m missing important years in their lives. If I had gotten the same call … shit, I don’t want to even think about it.

“How’s she doing?” I finally ask, keeping my voice as gentle as I can.

Amiya doesn’t look at me. She keeps her eyes fixed on the passing cars, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “Not good,” she whispers. “The doctors … they said she doesn’t have much time. Maybe six months. Maybe less.”

My heart clenches in my chest. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. Losing someone I love … it’s something I’ve always feared, something I can’t even think about without feeling sick to my stomach. And now, it’s happening to her, right in front of me, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.

“What can I do?” I ask.

---