Page 53 of The Moment of Letting Go

“Wait,” I say, looking out the window when I suddenly realize where we are. “Why are we at the airport?”

Luke’s smile borderlines mystery and encouragement and I don’t think I like it.

He pats the top of my thigh covered by the fabric of my dress. “You said you wanted to see where I live.”

“Yeah, but—” All I see are images of me on a plane, and the same images I always see that take five years off my life.

He takes my hand and leans toward me; the smell of his freshly washed skin and the heat coming off his body almost … almost, calms me down a little. “I just work on Oahu,” he says. “I live on Kauai. You’ll be OK. It’s only about a thirty-minute flight.”

My heart sinks like a stone and my mouth feels like a dry riverbed—I don’t even have my earbuds with me to listen to my rain MP3s. I want to protest—well, the fear in me wants to protest—but I can’t get the words to leave my mouth.

He smiles warmly and tugs on my hand as the bus comes to a stop in front of the terminal.

OK, I can do this. It’s not like I’ve never been on a plane before. My heart is banging against my rib cage and already I’m feeling sick to my stomach when usually that doesn’t happen until I sit down on the plane and prepare for takeoff. I think what’s different about this time is that I’m afraid of embarrassing myself in front of Luke, of all people. All three times I’ve been on an airplane without at least my MP3s to distract me, I’ve had small anxiety attacks. Once, on a flight from San Diego to Dallas, we flew through a thunderstorm and the turbulence was so frightening that I came unglued and the anxiety attack that I had was more than small.

“Luke, I don’t know … Isn’t there another way across? I mean, if it’s only a thirty-minute flight, surely there’s a boat that can take us over.”

“Not anymore,” he says, holding my hand as we enter the tall glass doors of the airport. “There used to be a ferry, but now the only way over is by plane or private boat, and that’d take a while.”

“Nothing wrong with a while.” I laugh under my breath uncomfortably, finding no real humor in it.

“Do you have a private boat?” he jokes. “Because I don’t.”

Luke stops and moves around in front of me, placing both of his hands on my upper arms. He looks into my eyes with a softness that I can’t help but surrender to. People walk past us in all directions. The tapping of shoes on the bright tiled floor, the squeaking wheels of suitcases, and the hum of voices carry throughout the vast space. The sound of the intercom speakers in the high ceiling crackles before a voice comes on to make a general announcement that I can’t pay attention to, not with those hazel eyes gazing in at me, claiming all of my attention.

“I’ll be right next to you,” he says. “Look at me.”

I didn’t realize my eyes had begun to stray.

I swallow hard and look back at him.

“Now, please just listen to what I have to say,” he begins; an intense look rests on his face, which initially puts me on edge. “I know you’re afraid. I understand that fear because I was there once, but I promise you everything’ll be OK. I’m not going to tell you what everybody else tells you, all that stuff about how being in a car is more dangerous than flying, or give you statistics, or whatever—that’s cookie-cutter bullshit advice that people give because they think it’s what they’re supposed to say.” He shakes his head. His hands are still fitted about my upper arms. I can smell his minty breath and feel my heart beating in my arms underneath his strong fingers. “Most people never let their feet leave the ground,” he goes on. “Whether they’re afraid of heights, or afraid of hospitals, or they stay in the same place all their life because they’re afraid of change—so many people go through life on the ground and die without ever knowing that they can fly.”

My mind hangs on every one of Luke’s words, as if he were some kind of remarkable mystery; I feel like I want to say something, but my heart wants to just listen.

“Where did your fear of heights come from anyway?” His hands slide away from my arms as he gazes at me with focus.

I have to think about it for a moment. I’ve been asked this question a few times, but I’ve never been able to give anyone a solid answer.

“Was it a bad experience like I had with my brother on that camping trip?”

I shake my head absently. “No … it’s not because of anything like that …” I stop to ponder, never sure of the only answer I’ve ever been able to come up with. “The second I step on a plane, I’m handing my life over to the pilot, and once I’m in the air I can’t change my mind. I can’t tell him to pull over and let me out.” My mind begins to drift, and my gaze strays from Luke’s.

“Fear will kill you,” he goes on. “A natural fear is good, but the kind of fear that you have, Sienna”—his hands squeeze my arms gently—“it’s the unhealthy kind, the terminal-disease kind.” Then he raises his chin importantly; a playful manner swaps with the serious one. “And as of today I’m making it my mission to cure you of it.”

“Terminal diseases have no cure,” I tell him smartly.

“Every disease has a cure,” he comes back. “They’re just waiting to be found is all.”

How does he do that—make me question my own stubborn thoughts?

Finally I begin to nod slowly. “OK, I’ll go. I mean it’s not that big a deal—I’ve been on a plane several times.”

“But have you ever been on a plane and not been afraid the whole flight?”

“No.”

“And have you ever sat by the window and looked down at the landscape without feeling like you might faint?”

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