Time Flies (13 page)

So that’s how you got rid of flabby upper arms at the airport. I smiled at her to show my solidarity, but she was lost in her endorphins. I took out my cell phone, simply because everyone around me but the triceps-dipping woman seemed to be interacting with theirs. I tried to remember what non-exercising people used to do at airports while they waited for a flight. Read a book? Flip through a magazine? People-watch? It was so strange how we were never alone now—our cells connected us to anyone we wanted to be connected to, like two tin cans with a wireless string between them.

Oh, I could see the sculpture already. Two little metal boys—or hints of boys—dashes of metal, really. One with corkscrew metal curls and the other would have short metal spikes for hair. Two recycled tin cans, something vintage if I could find it—the splurge would be worth it if I could track down original Planters Peanuts or Rodeo coffee tins at a flea market or even online, but Campbell’s tomato soup cans would work, too. I’d cover the labels with several coats of polyurethane to keep them safe from the elements. A long coil of eighth-inch steel rod would stretch between the boys as they talked into their makeshift walkie-talkies.

I could see it so clearly I was dying to roll up my sleeves and get to work right away, but I had to settle for rooting around in my purse for a receipt and jotting down a few notes on the back of it so I wouldn’t forget anything.

When first-class passengers began boarding, I stood up and stretched and found my ticket. Eventually my section of the plane was called, and I fell into line with the crush of passengers. The covered jetway was no match for the Atlanta humidity. The temperature inside the plane wasn’t much better. I found my seat, hoisted my carry-on up to the overhead bin, and reached up for the air dial the moment I sat down. A pitiful puff of warm air greeted me.

My phone rang just as a man finished stowing his carry-on and then waved his ticket toward the seat next to mine.

I checked the name on the display.

“What,” I whispered into my phone.

“That’s my seat,” the man said.

“Not you,” I said to the man. I stepped out into the aisle.

“You didn’t call me back,” Kurt said on the phone.

One of the flight attendants was shutting the door to the plane and another was speaking into the microphone and telling us it was time to turn off our cell phones. “Not now,” I said as I plopped into the empty seat next to the man. “I’m busy.”

“What else is new,” Kurt said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

“You know, it might not be a bad idea for you to get out of that studio of yours once in a while.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re right. That’s not the point here. I’ve put together a list of things I’d like to go over. How about we meet for a drink tonight, like civilized people. Say six thirty at that pub on Johnson’s Ferry I like?”

One of the flight attendants was looking right at me, shaking his head.

I pushed the
END CALL
button. I pretended I was turning off the phone while I opened a call-blocking app that Troy had installed on my phone, which I hadn’t thought I needed. Until now.

I typed in Kurt’s cell number and pushed
SAVE
.

CHAPTER 13

To:
Melanie

From:
B.J.

Subject:
Itinerary

1. I pick you up at Logan, then we stash our stuff at Jan’s beach house, staking our claim on the best available room ASAP so we don’t end up on the floor. Then we walk the beach and eat. Or eat and walk the beach.

2. We party with the masses at Jan’s until we hear from Veronica.

3. If we don’t hear from Veronica within a reasonable period of time, we drive to the Cape to get her so she can party with us, too.

4. We fit in primping, shopping, tattoos, and seafood as time allows.

5.  As our grand finale, we party like it’s 19-whatever at . . . drum-roll . . . The Marshbury High School Best Class/Best Reunion Evah.

To:
Melanie

From:
Finn Miller

Subject:
forgot to say

What song will be playing when we finally see each other after all these years? Nights in White Satin by The Moody Blues of course. I can hear it already.

To:
Finn Miller

From:
Melanie

Subject:
Re: forgot to say

Breast song ever.

To:
Finn Miller

From:
Melanie

Subject:
Re: Re: forgot to say

Oops. I meant best. Sorry, just linked email to phone and still getting goosed to autocorrect. I mean used to.

I couldn’t wait to see B.J. and give her a great big hug, to feel her dogged determination wash over me like a cool salty breeze.

I’d fallen asleep on the flight, too, something I’d never done before. At takeoff, the guy next to me gripped his armrest as well as the one we were theoretically supposed to be sharing. I watched the woman diagonally in front of me close her eyes and then mouth some words that looked like a prayer.

Despite the fact that I was surrounded by nervous wrecks, I was just so relaxed, more relaxed than I’d been since I started sleeping on that awful guest room mattress, not that that was saying much. I wasn’t really sure why. Maybe it was because I wasn’t in the pilot’s seat, and there was no hope of even backseat-driving this mammoth chunk of metal. We’d make it or we wouldn’t, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to influence the outcome. So I had to let it go.

As we landed, I stared past my armrest-gripping seatmate and out the window at one of the most beautiful landing strips in the world. Inlets edged with sea grass twisted and turned, and it looked as if we were going to land with a plop right into the water. I imagined the smell of salt air. I could almost taste the briny water and feel the way it would dry on my arms and legs under the hot summer sun. Once the ocean gets under your skin and into your heart, it never lets you go.

“Nights in White Satin” was stuck in my head, playing over and over again, my new endless loop. I was still a sucker for that melancholy flute. And all these years later, just what the truth was, I sure as hell still didn’t know anymore.

I sighed. Anticipation was better than chocolate, rich and dreamy, but also like a shot of adrenaline, snapping me out of the coma I’d let myself fall into over the past few months. I wanted to savor every minute of this week, to walk the beach, to splash in the ocean, to imagine the exact moment of seeing Finn at the reunion over and over again, in every possible variation.

I pulled my carry-on along, following the signs for baggage, slowing my pace so I could count the Red Sox hats on the heads of the people I passed. I thought about stopping at Legal Sea Foods Test Kitchen to have live lobsters shipped to Trevor and Troy, but I was afraid Trevor had been in California long enough that he might try to turn his into a pet, and Troy’s would be long dead before he got around to cooking it.

My cell phone rang and I stopped to pull it out of my purse. “Sixteen,” I said.

“Candles?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” B.J. said. “Sixteen what?”

I smiled. “Red Sox hats since I landed.”

“That’s nothing. The Hubster has more than that in his closet.”

“Impressive,” I said. “I didn’t realize Tom was that big a fan.”

“I think it’s more about covering his bald spot.”

“By the way, is he okay with you spending all this time with me?”

“He didn’t get a vote. That’s why we’re still married.”

“Got it,” I said. “How about work? Did you get the time off-off, or just sort of off?”

“Off-off. Someone’s covering for me, and I’m not going to check messages once. Shit, shit, shit. This cop is trying to tell me I
have to go wait in the live parking lot, which for your information has been moved to Timbuktu in the eternal quest to keep everyone entering or exiting Logan Airport totally confused.”

“But at least they finally finished the Big Dig. Didn’t they? Can you just circle around and I’ll wait at the curb till you get back?”

“How about you run and I’ll play dumb till you get here? Hurry, my acting range is limited.”