Chapter 28
The next morning, after a quick coffee with my parents, I head back over to Joan’s, finding Phoebe already up, eating cereal in front of the television. I sit with her for a moment, then mute a commercial and turn to face her.
“So I talked to Mick last night—”
“About Hank?” she asks, eyes wide.
I shake my head. “About you and Gram.”
“What about us?”
“We really don’t think you should be here alone—like we discussed yesterday.”
She nods, thinking this over, then says, “Can you stay here with us?”
“I wish I could. I have to get back to Dean and my patients.”
Her face falls. “Okay,” she says.
“But Mick is going to move in for a while.”
“And Cash?”
“Yes. Cash too.”
She smiles.
“Would you like to go unpack some of your stuff?” I ask.
“Yes! I want to see my stuffed animals.”
We head upstairs to find Joan still sleeping. Outside Erin’s old bedroom, the boxes Mick hauled in last night are lined up in a neat row. Phoebe and I open them one by one. As she lines her animals up on the bed, I fill Erin’s empty dresser with her clothing.
After a while, she looks up at me and says, “I wish you didn’t have to leave today.”
“Me too, honey,” I say. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“How soon?”
“In two weeks. For your spelling bee.”
“Promise?” she asks.
“I promise,” I say.
—
The plan is for my dad to drive me to the airport, but Mick texts to say that he and Phoebe can take me. That would be great, I text back. Thank you.
A few hours later, Mick pulls into the driveway with a light honk.
It’s time to go.
I hug and kiss Joan goodbye, telling her I’ll be back soon.
She nods, a blank look on her face, as Phoebe steps forward.
“I’m going to the airport, Gram,” she says. “Be good.”
Joan smiles.
We swing by my parents’ house, and as Mick loads my bag into the truck, my parents hug me in the driveway.
“Text when you get through security—and when you land,” my dad says, as if I were flying alone for the first time.
“I will,” I say as Mick and I climb back into the truck.
As we pull out of the neighborhood and turn onto the main road, I look out my window, choking up.
The faint funk of silage sneaks through the truck’s air vents.
Farm fields unspool into interstate, barns giving way to billboards for cheese curd outlets and roadside fireworks warehouses.
Phoebe is quiet in the backseat, her arm around Cash, the cab settling into a taut silence.
When we reach the terminal, Mick eases to the curb, shifts into park, then hops out to get my bag. I unclip my seatbelt, slide out of the truck, then open the back door and give Phoebe a quick hug.
“I’ll call you tonight,” I say, keeping my voice light. “And I’ll see you in less than two weeks.”
She nods, eyes solemn.
“I love you, Feebs,” I say, realizing it’s the first time I’ve said it all weekend.
“I love you, too,” she says.
I lean in to give her one more hug, then close her door and turn to face Mick.
“Remember. Whatever you decide, I’m here,” he says.
His words land like a promise—not pressure—and I nod, grateful.
We hesitate, both of us leaning in just a fraction as if contemplating a hug. But we don’t. I glance over and find Phoebe watching us from the window. I tap the glass and blow her a kiss before rolling my bag through the sliding doors.
An hour later, the plane takes off. Every moment puts more miles between me and my hometown.
As I scan the patchwork of green and gray below, I picture Joan watching television on her sofa, my parents puttering in the kitchen, Phoebe and Mick driving back from the airport in his Chevy.
The white-noise hum of the jet engines is soothing, but my thoughts won’t settle.
They drift between the past and the present until I finally nod off.
When I wake up, the light has shifted. The digital map on my screen shows we’re somewhere over Ohio—in the middle, neither here nor there.