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“Let’s go, A,” he says.
“Party pooper.” She draws me in for a shoulder squeeze. “Hug Tillie for us.”
Then my friends are gone, and it’s only Mom.
“You have Anita’s information?” she asks.
I nod. “I haven’t figured out how to approach her.”
She straightens my collar. “It will come to you.”
I kiss her cheek. “You know you’ll always be my only mom.”
She pulls me in for a hug. “Of course, silly goose. I’m the one who changed all those terrible diapers!”
“You have to bring that up now.”
“I will bring it up until the day I die. My tombstone will say, ‘Here lies Taralyn Landers. She changed all the diapers.’”
“I’ll let you know when I land.”
“Don’t forget to switch to the US SIM card.”
“I will.”
“And let me know where you’re staying.”
I didn’t book anything yet. Tillie assured me the low-end hotel near her house with Lila never has more than five cars and would certainly take me. “I will.”
Mom kisses my cheek and steps back. “Don’t miss your flight. You know how slow they can be to get everyone through.”
I wave and head to security. Anya’s oldest brother is working it, and he thrusts his chin at me. He waves me over to the priority line.
Nice. Now to get to Miami, then a connection to Atlanta.
And Tillie will be on the other side.
It’s been only two days, but when I spot a bright bit of yellow shirt topped with dark ringlets, I swear I’m a dying man in a desert, finally spotting water.
She jumps up and down, and amused bystanders watch as she runs up to me, almost knocking me down as she wraps her arms and legs around me.
I let go of my suitcases and hold on to her. The sea of arrivals parts and flows around us.
She smells of shampoo and sunshine, but a different sort than I’m used to. There’s no salty air, no sea. Just Tillie.
She finally sets her feet down.
“I didn’t know you could climb me like a tree,” I say.
“I’m going to climb more than that later.” She takes the handle of my smaller bag and rolls it toward the doors.
I follow her with my larger one.
It’s bright outside, but a duller sort of shine than the island, as if there’s something coming between us and the sun. We cross the flow of cars waiting to pick up passengers, then the line of buses, and into a garage.
Tillie’s car is a battered green Ford that has seen better days. She kicks the trunk twice before it pops open. But the back has been cleared out and vacuumed. You can still see the stripes from the suction.
A palm tree air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror. Tillie notices me looking at it and says, “It’s supposed to smell like an island breeze, but I’m thinking maybe they meant Isle of Dogs.”
