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The buzz of the refrigerator is the only sound that dares to dispel the quiet. Troubled, I pull on a hoodie and pack a small duffel bag to take on my trip. My fingers fly past my parkas to the T-shirts hidden at the back of the wardrobe.
Harry and I spoke a few times, and he always applauded Belize’s balmy temperatures. I have no idea how a guy who loved the snow ended up in a tropical country, but Harry seemed satisfied and I was happy for him.
At least he was moving on.
When I’m done, I scribble a note for Tricia, the maid that cleans the apartment every week, letting her know I’ve gone on a trip. She’ll keep it quiet if Dad asks. Tricia’s loyal like that.
It’s only four a.m. but I head to the airport anyway. If I spend one more hour in my cold apartment, I’ll go crazy.
While I wait in the airport, memories pop into my head. Me and Harry building sandcastles on the beach with Mom. Me and Harry sipping hot cocoa on Christmas Eve while Mom tried to distract us from Dad’s absence. As she always did.
The day she died a part of us broke, but I got the sense that a part of Dad was set free.
Even as a young child, I knew something was wrong with my parents’ relationship. Dad was rarely home, busy as he was with the hospital our family owned and ran.
When he was physically with us, he was distracted. On his phone. On his laptop. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad without a device glued to his palm.
Mom did her best to hide her pain but, looking back as an adult, I recognize the sorrow in her eyes. Dad drained her soul. Her happiness. She was completely undone by him. Death was her ticket out of that marriage.
I shake my head, dismayed by how depressed my thoughts are getting.
Tonight started out promising. Carl and the guys dragged me to their new spot for drinks. I met Red Dress. Asked her to dance. Took her to my place. Showed her a good time with plans to have a repeat before she left my bed.
Now here I am, wallowing in nostalgia and anxiety in the middle of a busy airport with a ticket to a small Caribbean country tucked into my pocket. My hands are shaking like a bum on crack and every nerve in my body is on edge.
The hours drag by, but I board soon enough. After the plane takes off, I doze for a bit. What feels like a second later, a stewardess announces we’re about to descend in Belize City.
I rub the grit from my eyes, stunned by the rays of sunlight slicing through the plane. It was dark when I left home.
My fingers wrestle with the window shade. I glance outside, my jaw falling when I notice the cerulean blue expanse of the water and the sprawling green marsh below.
Beautiful…
Since it’s an early flight, there aren’t many passengers. I breeze through immigration and head outside. The humidity slaps me in the face. My zipper protests loudly as I pull it down and slip out of my hoodie.
A man with dark brown skin dressed in a blue shirt and shorts waves me over and asks if I need a taxi.
At least that’s what I’m assuming he says. ‘Taxi’ is the only word I understand amidst his flurry of Kriol.
I shake my head and walk over to the side, pulling my cellphone out to redial Lydia Stuart’s number and get directions to Harry’s hospital.
As the phone rings in my ear, I run my gaze over the stretch in front of the airport. The sky is a perfect blue, not a cloud in sight. The parking lot is filled with vehicles, their metal hoods glinting in the sunlight. Coconut trees sprawl in clusters, their leaves shaking like excited hula dancers.
At last, Lydia picks up. I drag my gaze away and focus on my scuffed tennis shoes. “Lydia, this is Benjamin Duncan. I’m here.”
“You… are?”
“Can you give me the address of the hospital? And let my brother know I’ll be there soon.”
“Mr. Duncan…”
“The address, Lydia.”
“It’s 105 Princess Margaret Drive. It’s the Medical Center. All the taxi men will know it.”
“Thank you.” I wave down the man who first addressed me and follow him to his car.
“Need help with yuh bag?” he asks, pointing to my duffel.
