Good Day and Goodbye
*
Getting what you need to go.
I stood in the dealership, aghast. The salesman, stationed at his standing desk, shrugged as William and Jennifer hovered behind Robert and me.
I turned to Robert, who shook his head.
“That wasn’t on the report when we bought it.”
The salesman added, “They probably didn’t mention that the odometer was rolled back by 60,000 miles either.”
I had bought that car when it read 60,000 miles.
“What will happen to it?” I asked.
The salesman sighed. “We have to destroy it.”
I paused, forcing myself to accept the truth. I couldn’t take it with me.
I just hoped the car rat got out in time.
As we sat in the backseat of Robert’s dad’s truck, I scanned the dealership check and deposited it into our bank account.
The balance appeared in bold numbers on the screen: $10,000.
It was the most money we had ever had. All we had to do was sell our cars and some furniture, collect our deposit refunds, and accept what felt like blood money—the final payment from my mother’s estate.
I held up the phone for Robert to see, but he stared out the window, watching the small prairie hills ripple with the wind.
I leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll miss it too.”
Robert gave a faint smile. “I know you will.”
As we approached the airport, his dad and stepmother added a few last-minute goodies to our luggage: two large jars of barbecue sauce, one small bubble-wrapped jar, and three bags of Kansas City-roasted coffee. I hugged William.
I had my issues with him, but his effort to be thoughtful and to reconcile with Robert helped me see him differently, despite his past as a cop and his love of conservative politics and guns.
At security, I was struck by the silence. It felt like everyone flying to Newark at one p.m. on a Friday was headed to a funeral. I turned to Robert, watching him slip his shoes back on, and nodded toward a small café.
I bought him a hometown lager and a basket of fries, then pulled up some videos on my phone.
To my relief, he laughed and leaned into me.
This was just fear. Rob was nervous. We were going to be okay.
We finished our beers just as our section was called. We boarded, stowed our carry-ons, and found our seats. I gave Robert the window seat.
I watched his face light up as the plane rolled back. When the wheels lifted off, the jolt steadied my own nerves. As we approached the clouds, I leaned over his lap to glimpse the checkerboard of green and brown fields below.
I closed my eyes and let go of everything. I was leaving Kansas City. I had done it of my own accord. Robert and I had made a life and were moving forward. We took the leap of faith and were now flying like birds.
I knew then that everything would be just fine.