CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NORA
Day Twenty-Nine
Rhett does not come to the airport.
I know because I look for him.
The international terminal is all glass, rolling suitcases, and departures announced in three languages. Maren pushes one of my equipment cases while my mother argues with an airline employee about whether wool socks count as medical supplies.
Every tall man in a dark coat becomes Rhett for half a second.
None is.
Relief and disappointment occupy the same body badly.
At security, Maren hands me an envelope.
"He asked me to give you this only after you checked in," she says.
"Did you read it?"
"I am an attorney, not a criminal. I held it to the light."
Inside is one page.
Make them see what you see.
No request to return. No promise to wait. No ticket hidden behind the paper.
I fold it into my passport.
"He is learning," Maren says.
"Yes."
"You are allowed to miss him and still board."
"Everyone has become irritatingly wise."
My mother hugs me first. "Call when you land. Not text. Voices reveal kidnappings."
"That is not how kidnapping works."
"You cannot know. You have never been kidnapped."
Maren holds me longer. "The final filing may occur while you are away. I will warn you before any document arrives."
"Thank you."
At the gate, I open my messages.
RHETT: Flight status shows on time. No need to reply. Safe travels.
I type:
NORA: I looked for you.
The truth frightens me, so I send it before courage changes its mind.
His reply comes immediately.
RHETT: I wanted to be there. I believed coming would make leaving harder in a way that served me.
NORA: It would have.
RHETT: Then I am glad I stayed away. I am not glad you are leaving.
I press my fingers to the ring beneath my sweater.
NORA: Both can be true.
RHETT: You taught me that.
Boarding begins.
I walk down the jet bridge carrying forty pounds of cameras, one gold ring, and a love I no longer know how to classify.
When the plane lifts over Stoneharbor, the city becomes geometry. The arena is a silver oval near the water. The community rink disappears first.
I photograph the view through the window.
Not because it is beautiful.
Because departure deserves evidence too.