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He laughed again, then he lit his pipe and gave himself over to philosophical musings. “Things look much different in the city. I suppose when you cast so much light on what’s close by, you can easily miss the bigger picture. But you know all about that with your background in photography, right?”
“Knowing something on a theoretical level and having it spread out in bright lights across the nighttime sky are two different things.”
He nodded pensively. “Sometimes, the universe needs to give you a sign. Sometimes that sign needs to be big.” He pointed at the sky. “And the universe knows how to do big.”
He finished his pipe and left me to gaze at the stars alone. It was definitely a change in perspective. I had gotten too close and had lost sight of the beauty that was around me. I fought back the tears that were welling up inside me. I also fought the urge to go to Gunnar and say, “Turn back around. We have to go back to Iceland.”
I had to face my family. And as aggravating as they could sometimes be, the truth was that I missed them. And I missed Greta badly.
Staring at the stars, stars that I knew to be light-years away, I felt so small but in a way that was oddly comforting because, at the same time, I felt I was a part of something enormous. I thought of my friends: my lovers, my documentary crew. I wished they could be sitting there with me, seeing what I was seeing, experiencing the awe-inspiring sight of a calm night on the Atlantic, miles and miles away from any land.
I imagined the quips Landon would make and the reaction Christian would have. Mostly, I just imagined their presence, their closeness.
I went to sleep shortly before sunrise. I went to sleep, no longer angry or sad, but in awe.
This still didn’t erase the fact that they had contemplated using me as an incubator, but I recognized that I was not entirely without blame in the grand scheme of things. I had put them in a very difficult situation, and at the end of the day, they did risk their lives to save me, and they did dedicate themselves to taking care of my unborn child and me.
We arrived in New York Thursday morning, shortly before 7 am. That was nearly two hours later than I had told my dad we would arrive. It was also not long before the sun would rise. My dad had been waiting for over two hours, probably stewing in his anger. He’d have to race home to avoid the sun, which depending on traffic, could take as long as an hour.
My return home had gotten off on the wrong foot—literally, too, I tripped coming off the boat and did a spectacular face plant on the dock in plain sight of my dad.
He ran over to me, but by the time he arrived, I’d already lifted myself up and brushed myself off. “Bonita, are you all right?”
I laughed. Of course, I’m all right. I just ran away to Iceland, meddled in some high-stakes corporate espionage, and fell into a coma. Oh, and apparently, I forgot how to walk. Oh, and also, I’m pregnant, oh, and I don’t know who the father is, but it’s likely my brother’s best friend.
I didn’t say any of that out loud—though I would have loved to see my dad’s reaction. Instead, I simply threw open my arms and ran to him.
My dad was many things, but a great multi-tasker was not one of them. So, as he raced through New York’s morning traffic—and I use the word “race” generously; rather he stress-drove through New York’s morning traffic racing against the rising sun, and losing, with me curled up under his jacket and mine—my dad tried making small talk as if nothing had happened.
“We’ve been having quite a mild winter,” he said. “We expected to get hit with a storm, but it never came.”
I didn’t say anything. With a jacket covering my face, it was difficult to hold a conversation about the weather.
“How was the weather in Iceland?” he asked. “I bet it was cold.”
After a moment of silence—aside from my dad angrily laying on the horn and cursing another driver under his breath—I said, “Dad, if you want to yell at me, now’s the time.”
My dad sighed. I wanted to peek through the jacket and get a glimpse of his reaction. But that kind of imprudence might set him off, and since he was being calm so far, I didn’t want to push my luck.
“I don’t want to yell at you, Bonita. I don’t know what I want to do. I want to protect you, but I understand you want to live your life. Seems like the two aren’t always compatible. I don’t know, Bonita. I don’t know.”
