Page 6 of The Two of Us

I go to respond but she beats me to it with another message.

Helen: I promise you can keep your workaholic tendencies intact with the smaller projects I’ve added to your docket but try to do any more than that and I’ll fire you.

Me: That seems a bit excessive.

Helen: I’m an excessive woman, dear. Excessively rich, excessively genius and excessively tired of this conversation. I’m logging off now, goodbye!

Me: You can’t log off of text messaging, Helen.

Me: Helen?

Me: Helen!!!

“Miss, we need you to put your phone on airplane mode as we prepare for takeoff.” The flight attendant’s smile is warm but her eyes are tired so I nod and do as I’m told, not wanting to make her job harder than I’m sure it already is.

The man in the window seat leans slightly over the empty middle seat between us and gestures toward the shade. “Do you want the window open so you can see out when we land?”

I give him a small smile. “Oh, no. That’s okay, thank you.”

He smirks. “Not interested in the view, huh?”

I shrug, putting on my headphones. “I’m from there. It’s a view I’d never forget even if I tried.”

***

The flight to Maine is fast. Too fast. The pilot is obviously racing his fellow airliners, and quite frankly, I find it irresponsible. Reckless. He can and should take all the time he needs; there’s no rush. Seriously. I haven’t been back to Speck Lake in seven years and here I am, arriving in less time than it takes for me to reach the halfway point in my novel. My nerves are shot and I avoid eye contact with the stewardess every time I order another Bloody Mary.

Just keep them coming, Carol. Nothing to see here.

Before boarding my flight, I’d called my dad’s nurse, Laura, for the fourth time to make sure I had all the information I needed to make his transition from the hospital seamless. She must have heard the panic in my voice because she assured me all I’d have to do is head straight home and she’d take care of the rest.

Home.

I haven’t thought of that word in a long time. I’m not sure I’m allowed to use that title anymore. Can I call a place home if I’ve abandoned it without a second thought?

When I left, I swore to myself I’d never come back. It feels masochistic, returning to the place where it all went wrong. Where I made the biggest mistake—stop it. Don’t go back there. There’s no reason I can’t stand by my dad’s side and leave everything else at the proverbial door. He needs me.

Dad never complained about the fact that if he ever wanted to see me post–high school, he had to fly to New York. I still allow shame to eat away at me for not coming to his side when he first told me of his cancer diagnosis a year ago. All I can do now is be the daughter he deserves. My mind ruminating on just how little time he has left causes my hands to tremble and I set my plastic cup down. There aren’t enough napkins on this plane for the Bloody Mary bath I’m giving myself. I wait for the tears to fall but my face remains dry and I remain numb. Mitsu would have a field day with me.

“Are you visiting?”

The woman sitting near the aisle of her row mirrors my own seat assignment. I attempt a smile, but the alcohol makes it look like a grimace. A scuffed-up book on the history of the Latin Church rests on her lap. Her gray-speckled auburn hair drapes over one shoulder and she’s the picture of ease in a sweater and faded jeans. I crave that kind of comfort in my own skin, but mine always feels itchy and unwelcome—like it’s not the right fit.

My laugh is shaky. “No, I’m from here. But I haven’t been back in years, so maybe I am visiting.”

“Oh, how nice. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wouldn’t have pegged you for a local.”

Years ago, I might have been offended, but I don’t consider myself a local anymore. I glance down at the clothes I threw on this morning, positive they’re what threw her off. A crisp white button-down hugs my chest while a pair of structured black trousers accentuate the calf muscles I attribute to my fifth floor walk up. They’re tailored to perfection, but only because it’s impossible to find pants that don’t drown my short legs. Suddenly, I feel too overdressed for the small lake town we’re approaching.

“I guess I wasn’t really thinking when I got dressed this morning.”

A voice blares from the speaker overhead, informing the cabin that we’ve begun our initial descent, and I lift my drink back up to my lips, not caring if my trembling causes it to spill again.

“Not a fan of flying?” She smiles.

“Something like that.”

The plane drops and my heart with it.

---