Page 16 of Changed Plan

Physically, she doesn’t move, but I can see the retreat in her eyes, the emotional distance widening like the earth splitting apart with her on one side and me on the other. I want to bridge the chasm, say some perfect thing to draw her back, but no words come.

We resume our walk without talking.

Parents sit on the floor along the walls, keeping watch over their sleeping children and belongings. Some adults have given up and gone to sleep, too. Darby yawns.

“I’m exhausted. I’m sure you are, too.” She smiles, but it’s limp. “You should go on up to your room. I’m going to find a spot to get some sleep, but thanks for everything, Zane. It was really nice to meet you. You made a bad travel day much more bearable.”

“Darby, please don’t—”

“Zane, no. It’s time.”

“We’ll both still be here in the morning. Let me buy you breakfast and pick up where we left off?”

“Hopefully, we’ll all be getting on planes in the morning,” she says.

I see the smallest crack in the hard veneer she’s trying to maintain, but whatever it is that makes her need that shield holds strong.

“Let’s hope so, but in the event that we’re not, I’m buying you breakfast. Deal?”

“If you can find me, you can feed me. How about that?”

As if she can hide from me. Where’s she going to go? “I’ll find you.”

Every rational cell in my body knows I have to respect her wishes and leave her alone, but it’s so hard to walk away from her right now.

I tell myself she’d be safer with me, even though I know there are hundreds of eyes out here, and no one would be able to harm anyone without being seen.

I think about how she’ll be cold with nothing but a disposable airline blanket, assuming they even have any left to hand out.

I want to tell her I won’t be able to sleep if she doesn’t come with me because I’ll be worried about her, and I’ll feel guilty for being in a comfortable hotel room while she’s sleeping on the floor . . . but I don’t think a guilt trip would sway her.

It’s been a long time since the thought of wanting to rescue and protect someone made me feel anything other than angry or numb. Ever since Mom’s diagnosis, I’ve vacillated between the two, mostly feeling like life’s worst blows are inevitable. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.

I might still believe those things, but I want to take care of Darby in spite of them. No, not take care of—but maybe care for? The best way I can care for her right now is probably to walk away and prove that I trust her to take care of herself.

Logically, I know this, but I really fucking hate it. I want to do more. I want to help, but not at the expense of losing my chance to get to know her better.

“Good night, Darby.”

“Night.”

As soon as the elevator doors close to whisk me up to my room, I realize I didn’t even give her my number. She may never have used it, but I should have at least given it to her. I’ll give it to her tomorrow. The moment I find her. And I will find her.

A hot shower always helps to clear my head. If I make it hot enough, it should zap what’s left of my energy, too.

I leave my clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor and step under the running water. I should’ve known it wouldn’t get that hot here. There’s barely enough heat to cause the mirror to fog. And there’s not nearly enough water pressure to blast the tension from my muscles.

My shoulders ache when I reach up to saw the towel back and forth across them. There’s been a constant stiffness in them for weeks. A massage might help, but I don’t think I could hold still long enough. Relaxing has become a lost art to me. I’ll get reacquainted with it, eventually.

I hang my towel on the hook on the back of the bathroom door and kick my discarded clothes into the open space under the sink. Normally, I’d pick them up, but tonight, I don’t care. While brushing my teeth with a vengeance, it occurs to me that Darby and I might not be on the same flight when we can finally get out of here.

If our original flight hadn’t been canceled, we might never have met. I wonder what her seat number was. If I had her phone number, I could text her and ask.

And she would probably block me immediately.

I rinse, spit, and turn out the light. My towel falls behind the door, and I don’t bother hanging it back up.

The sheets are cool and soft against my skin, and all I can think about is her soft skin, how good she felt leaning against me on the train.

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