The man in the high-vis vest holds up one finger.
“Just me,” agrees Leo, but then on impulse he looks back for Cool Guy. “Where you headed?”
Chapter 26
I have described the phenomenon I experienced at Hobart Airport where I kept recognizing people or thinking I did, and how everything and everyone seemed to symbolize something of personal significance. I was relieved when it was time to board. Once I was on the plane the foolishness of my thoughts would surely end. I planned to do sudoku. I had an advanced “ultimate challenge” puzzle book in my bag.
I boarded behind a very tall young man wearing blue tracksuit pants and a white T-shirt. He reminded me of the very tall young boy I once loved. I told myself that many young men have vulnerable necks. It is the juxtaposition of their broad shoulders and boyish hairlines that breaks your heart.
Someone asked if he was a basketball player and he said that he was not. He answered patiently although something about his tone made me think he was asked that question a lot.
A woman said, “Hope you’re in the exit row,” and he said yes, he always booked the exit row, and the woman said that was sensible.
I thought about the first time my tall young man boarded a plane and how he would not have known anything about exit rows.
I felt in danger of being swept out to sea by a giant river of memory.
I showed my boarding pass to the flight attendant, who was so stunningly beautiful I wanted to stop and take her in like a water view.
“Welcome aboard,” she said with a smile. “Four D. On your left.”
I was relieved because she reminded me of no one from my past or my present, she symbolized or signified nothing except youth and beauty, and I thought all the foolishness was over and done, but then I saw the other flight attendant: a young man. Also attractive. Fair hair swooped artfully back from his forehead and green eyes. I felt the most awful plummeting sensation in my stomach, like when you step out onto nothing in a dream. He did not seem to recognize me, and I thought, But how could that be? How could he just…forget? There was no doubt at all in my mind. It was definitely him.
I didn’t stop. When you’re boarding a plane you are a can of soup on a perpetually moving factory production line. I found my seat.
A man with the demeanor of an army general helped put my bag in the overhead bin. I did not require his assistance, but I appreciated it. I think I may not have thanked him. Manners matter. I feel bad about that.
I sat. I buckled my seat belt.
A woman wearing a bejeweled caftan banged my temple with her elbow as she looked for her seat number. She did not apologize.
A well-dressed, distinguished, and worried-looking man with no luggage took the aisle seat to my left. He had a copy of a magazine called Construction Engineering Australia, which he did not open. His hair was curly and too gray for the youth of his face. I looked down and saw he was tapping one foot, the incessant shoe tap of an impatient man, a man who would rather die than wait. He wore beautiful oatmeal-colored suede boots. Armani, I thought, or perhaps I even whispered it.
The impatient man was seated next to the couple who were not my friends Jill and Bert but who radiated their same friendliness and good humor, their delightful joie de vivre.
I looked at the seat pocket in front of me and read the words: What are you waiting for? Book your Jewels of Europe River Cruise today!
Chapter 27
Eve and Dom stand at the baggage carousel at Sydney Airport surrounded by people staring grimly at their phones and occasionally looking up to scowl when there are still no bags. Nobody smiles or congratulates them like they did in Hobart. Now their wedding clothes feel like Halloween costumes and it’s not Halloween. Nobody is thinking, Aww, young love; they’re probably thinking, Euuww, stupid losers.
Eve fiddles with her new wedding ring, yawns hugely, and only remembers to cover her mouth at the last second. She is so tired she could lie down on this grimy airport floor right now and fall asleep.
Dom is quiet, staring off into the distance with blank eyes. What is he thinking about? The thing about her boyfriend, not her boyfriend, her husband, is that he can seem perfectly fine, laughing and carefree, and then, snap! He reveals something that has been on his mind for days, even weeks. It’s always a shock. Eve is never sure if he’s acting happy, or if he forgets about whatever issue is worrying him and then remembers it. Eve can’t hide her feelings. If there’s something on her mind Dom says, “Okay, what is it?” within about five minutes.
“Excuse me?” A girl in short shorts, with a long blond fishtail ponytail and thick black eyelash extensions, sidles up close to Eve. She tips her head toward Eve and talks in a low voice without moving her lips, like they’re trying to have a secret conversation in a school assembly without the teachers noticing. “Did that psychic talk to you too?”
“The lady? I don’t think she’s a psychic,” says Eve. She speaks normally, because she is older than this girl, and married, and she is not in a school assembly.
“Shhh,” says Dom, as if she is speaking too loudly or saying something offensive.
Eve lowers her voice. “I think that lady was just—”
“You look so beautiful, by the way,” the girl interrupts, and gently puts a fingertip to the lace on Eve’s sleeve. It’s an almost childlike move, as if she can’t help herself. “That lace! I love it so much!”
“Thank you.” Eve looks down at her dress. “It’s vintage.” Oops, she sounded too show-offy. “Secondhand.”
“I love vintage wedding dresses,” sighs the girl. “That’s the kind of dress I’d choose, when I get married, but I don’t even have a boyfriend right now, so I don’t know why I’m even telling you that! Anyway, you don’t think she was a psychic?”
“Definitely not,” says Eve. “Just a little…you know.” She looks about her, just in case the lady is actually here somewhere, waiting for her bag. She whispers, “Nutty.”
Eve puts the lady into the same category of person as Junie.
Most days Junie can be found drinking a lurid green slushie while sitting on the edge of the fountain outside the medical center where Eve works as a receptionist. She addresses everyone who walks by, as if they’re old friends in the middle of a conversation. Often in her lunch break Eve sits on the edge of the fountain and chats with Junie. You never know what Junie is going to come up with next: the moon landing was fake but aliens are real; some members of the Royal Family are definitely reptiles; Junie is under CIA surveillance, so she has to be really careful what she says; it’s hard to find comfortable shoes because she has very wide feet.
“Hey, so you remind me so much of this singer, that one dating—” begins Eve.
The girl’s face lights up. “I know who you mean, everyone keeps saying I look like her! It’s flattering. But I’m just boring old Kayla Halfpenny from Hobart.”
“Kayla Halfpenny actually sounds like the name of a famous person,” says Eve. It’s kind of true. Sometimes you say things that are kind of true to be nice.
“Oh, I don’t want to be famous!” Kayla shudders. “Anyway, I’m glad you don’t think she’s a real psychic, because that lady freaked me out so much. She told me I was going to die in a car accident. I got my license on the first go! I’m a good driver! I already have a super-bad fear of flying, I don’t want to get a driving phobia now!”
“Don’t worry,” Eve reassures her. “She told me I was going to die of intimate partner homicide.”
It takes a second for Kayla to decipher the phrase, and as soon as she does, her eyes fly to Dom. Her giraffe eyelashes flutter rapidly, like she’s maybe even scared, and poor Dom goes red and takes a step backward, nearly knocking into someone. Eve feels absolutely terrible. She needs to explain that Dom is not like one of those men, he’s into word games, he sings lullabies to his dog, he plays mixed netball, he absolutely respects women!
Eve tries to fix it. “Which is impossible, so that’s how I know she’s not—”
