Chapter 93
Tilda
This time, I close my eyes when we land.
But instead of gripping Ethan’s thigh, I hold his hand. In both of mine.
The flight was smoother than I expected. And the views were obviously beautiful. But I’m glad to have my feet on the ground.
I exhale and open my eyes.
I know I’ll have to fly again at some point in my life, but I really don’t want to.
Like, I really don’t want to.
Ethan shifts beside me, then he reaches over and unbuckles my seat belt.
I watch his capable hands and accept that whenever I do have to fly again, I want it to be with him.
My husband.
The noise lessens, and the vibrations around us come to a stop.
Ethan points to his headset, then he takes it off.
I do the same and hand mine to Vulture. Then I follow Ethan out of the helicopter.
After a quick thank-you and goodbye to the pilot, Ethan and I walk to the little restroom building together. And when I’m done, I wash my hands three times in a row, more grateful than I’ve ever been for running water.
When I step outside, I find Ethan talking to the guy who had been with him Friday morning, when I first got to the airport.
He grins at me. “Welcome back.”
My answering smile feels tired. “Thanks. Glad to be home.”
His attention moves back to Ethan, and he asks about the damage to the wing. So either Ethan or Vulture told him about the landing.
Ethan’s fingers grip mine, and the three of us start walking toward hangar five, where our trucks are parked.
It’s not late in the day, still early afternoon. But I’m ready to go to bed. And I bet I’ll sleep for twelve hours straight.
I lift my arm and yawn into my flannel sleeve.
Ethan squeezes my other hand.
I look up at him, our matching sunglasses reflecting each other’s distorted image.
“If you feel okay to drive, you should head home. Before you get too tired.”
I nod, knowing he’s right.
Honestly, I felt fine—scared but fine—all day. But as soon as I got my feet on the ground, exhaustion took hold.
And if these two are going to stick around, talking plane terms, I will definitely fall asleep on the pavement.
Ethan lets go of my hand and hooks a finger in one of my backpack straps. “Get your keys out, Tilda.”
Right.
I pull one arm free from the shoulder strap and hold my backpack against my front as I dig around for my truck keys.
Warm fingers grip my chin and tip my head up.
“Yes, Ethan?”
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“I’m sure.”
He waits a beat, then he releases me. “Go straight home. Get some rest.”
I lift my hand to my forehead, saluting while my keys dangle from my fingers.
The other man chuckles.
And the edge of Ethan’s lips twitch. Just a little. “Straight home.”
I drop my hand. “Straight home.”
Then, I turn away from my husband and get into my truck.
The front door clicks shut, and I reach behind me, turning the lock.
Then I stand in my entryway, taking in my home.
It’s how I left it.
Mostly clean.
Those last couple boxes still not unpacked.
It’s cozy.
And it’s mine.
And… it feels empty.
I miss Ethan.
I lean down and unlace my boots.
As I tug them off, I debate throwing them straight in the trash, but the memory of lying on the bed as Ethan tended to my feet prevents me from getting rid of them. So I leave them next to my other shoes under the front window.
I checked Quackers’s pool and food dish when I walked up. Still looks clean. Still has a little bit of food. So I don’t feel bad waiting until tomorrow to refresh them.
The couch is tempting. But a shower is my top priority.
I take my time, lathering up, scrubbing, rinsing. And doing it all over again.
When I step out of the bathroom with my hair in a towel and my softest pajama shirt on, I feel like a whole different person.
I’m still sleepy. But I’m clean and sleepy. And that’s somehow different.
As I debate the merits of napping on the couch versus just going to bed, I can’t help but notice how quiet it is.
And yes, there it is. The too quiet.
The great big kind of quiet that makes you feel alone.
Secluded. With nothing but your thoughts.
Sadness cradles my shoulders.
The cabin, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, was the quietest place I’ve ever been. And I never felt like this.
Never felt the stress of the silence.
Because I had Ethan.
I had someone to share the space with. And even if he wasn’t talking, he was there, exuding energy.
That sadness gets heavier.
I know we aren’t done. We’re married. But we didn’t really talk about what happens next.
Feeling more than a little depressed and even more tired than I was a minute ago, I walk into the living room and turn on the TV, playing the DVD that’s still in there from before.
Then I go into my bedroom, turn my tablet on, and hit Play on a TV show.
As my house fills with noise, I crawl under the covers and close my eyes.