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Fuck.
I pick up speed, but they’re already closing the doors.
By the time I get there, the doors are locked and the agent who locked them is walking away.
I run after her. “Can I get on there, please?” I jab my thumb at the gate, not bothering to mention that I’m not a passenger.
“I’m sorry, hon,” she says. “Once that door is closed, it can’t be opened. You’ll have to catch the next flight.”
I pull out a pile of hundreds from my wallet. “Can you make an exception, just this once?”
The agent greedily eyes the cash. “Trust me, for that, if I could, I would. But I can’t.”
And that’s that.
I’m not sure if it’s the post-chase slump or the hangover, but I find myself sinking into a nearby chair, utterly drained and defeated.
Maybe it’s for the best.
Even if I’d caught up with Brooklyn, I have no idea what I would’ve said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brooklyn
“What took you so long?” Reagan asks me when I get to my seat.
“I have a better question: why didn’t you wait for me?” I say sternly.
As soon as I showed my son’s ticket to the agent, he beelined for his seat, sneaking by other passengers and climbing over empty seats.
“I didn’t wait because you take too long.” Reagan beams me the boyish grin that lets him get away with almost anything.
The bright side of his charm and skills in prevarication—he might become a lawyer someday. Or is that the dark side?
“Your attention, please,” says a disembodied voice.
As the safety spiel goes on, I once again doubt the whole “put the oxygen mask on yourself before your child” bit because it goes against every one of my maternal instincts.
“The camp was so awesome,” Reagan says when the safety announcement is over. “We went hiking and ate s’mores and?—”
He proceeds to excitedly describe his experience, and I listen intently until the plane lifts off, at which point I only pay half attention because as Florida gets smaller and smaller in the window, something in my chest constricts in direct proportion.
Crap. I had hoped that the farther I got from Evan, the better I would feel. So far, it seems like the opposite is true, and although hearing Reagan excitedly share his camp adventures cheers me up somewhat, it also reminds me of things Evan and I did, like hiking and eating yummy meals. Also, the nearby happily married couple reminds me of Evan too, and I feel an illogical twinge of jealousy that they get to be together while Evan and I are about to be separated by hundreds of miles after ending things on such bad terms.
It takes a huge effort to keep up a happy façade for my son, so much so that when we get home and I’m alone in my bed, I end up crying extra loudly into my pillow, like a baby banshee.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brooklyn
“‘Time heals all wounds’ is total bullshit,” I say as I lather Mr. Goobers with shampoo.
Jolene and Dorothy nod in unison, urging me to keep talking.
I check on Reagan, who is still helping out at the other end of the salon and not causing mischief. Today is our first “bring your son to work day,” and I don’t want it to be our last.
“It’s been ninety-six hours since I left Florida,” I continue. “But I’m missing Evan more, not less.”
