Going Overboard (28 page)

The whistle of the jet engine pierced my ears and I tried to cover Owen's with one hand. But he squirmed and dodged, too curious to care. His dark, round eyes seemed to grow between each long, deliberate blink as he took in the sights and sounds of the crowd. I bounced him on my hip and sang, “Daddy's here! Daddy's here!” He just stared at me, his mouth set open in a perfect O.

The tips of the jet's wings looked like they would clip the metal siding of the hangars on its right as it rumbled down the asphalt toward us. Soon, the whistle was all we could hear, and although Courtney tried to talk—or yell—in my direction, I only saw her lips move.

The jet rolled past the yellow tape, and everyone jumped and screamed to have it seemingly within arm's reach. Then the plane stopped and the whistling slowly wound down, but the wives were still screaming, and some were even crying.

Margo was off to the side, being interviewed by the news reporters, but when she saw the steps of the plane fold down and the first set of boots appear in the doorway, she ran to the yellow tape and said, “This is it, ladies!”

We jumped and screamed again.

One by one, men filed out of the airplane in their flight suits and heavy black boots, with bags slung across their backs. Leslie, the first to spot her husband, broke the yellow tape in front of her and ran onto the tarmac. Carrying their newborn baby, she ran and skipped toward her husband until finally they met and the baby's smooth white head disappeared in their embrace.

Sasha ran to her husband and leaped into his arms, making a big show of wrapping her legs around him. Courtney and I rolled our eyes at each other as he carried her that way toward the crowd.

Poor Margo had a throng of news reporters following as she went to hug her husband, and I knew Sasha was probably mad they hadn't filmed her instead.

The tarmac was by now covered with families hugging and kissing and twirling one another around.

Courtney spotted Derek and ran into the crowd toward the plane. I laughed as I watched her teeter in her high-heeled boots and try to keep her skirt from flying up.

I peered at the plane's door, looking for Dustin. More men in uniform came down the steps and met their families, and one by one, the clustered groups of husbands and wives and children were making their way back into the terminal, where a reception was waiting for us.

Courtney and Derek walked toward me, their arms wrapped around each other.

“Hey, Sarah,” Derek said; then he looked back at the plane like he, too, was looking for Dustin. “Dustin should be coming out soon,” he said. “He was kind of toward the back.”

“Do you want us to wait?” Courtney asked.

“No, you guys go in and enjoy yourselves,” I said. “He'll be here soon.”

Courtney winked and gave me a thumbs-up as they walked away toward the building.

There were only a half dozen families on the tarmac now, and it was beginning to look like an “old party” with stepped-on banners and signs lying on the ground.

No more men were coming out of the plane, and my stomach began to sink. Margo and her husband walked past me, on their way inside. “Welcome home,” I said and smiled, but a knot of emotion was rising in my throat, and I had to look away because I thought I might cry.

The pilot of the plane came out and mechanics drove their carts underneath the wings to begin inspecting. I looked around the empty tarmac and squeezed Ford's hand. “He'll be here soon,” I said. “I know he will.”

I was so dumb to have thought everything would magically be
OK. I had worked out my issues with the doctor, but had Dustin worked out his issues with me?

I looked back at the airplane and saw a figure in green coming down the steps and looking at the ground. I could tell by his walk, and by the way he hung his head slightly to the left, that it was Dustin. My breath caught in my chest.

“There's Daddy,” I said to Ford.

“Where, Mommy?” he yelled. “Where?”

I pointed toward the plane and at Dustin gathering up his bags from the cement.

“Daddy!” Ford shouted and ran past the yellow tape.

Dustin looked up and saw Ford running toward him. He dropped his seabag on the asphalt and got down on his knees to catch Ford in his arms. Then he stood up and spun Ford around.

Owen cooed and clapped his hands.

“That's your daddy,” I said. “There he is.”

Dustin set Ford to stand on the ground again, and Ford was jumping and clapping with excitement. I watched with eyes full of tears. Then Dustin looked up and saw me there. He waved and smiled.

I started to walk forward, and so did Dustin. Then I started running, and he did, too. I was laughing and crying and trying to catch my breath, until finally we met, and Dustin wrapped his arms around Owen and me and buried his face in my shoulder.

“I didn't think you would come,” he said.

“But I'm so glad I did,” I cried. “I'm so glad I did.”

He pulled back and put his hands on the sides of my face. We stood on the tarmac kissing while Ford skipped in circles around us.

Dustin laughed and squeezed me again. “I didn't think you would come! I didn't think you would come!” he said again and again.

“I'm so glad I did. I'm so glad I did.”

And we clung to each other and cried like children.

Only neither of us was really a child anymore.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

S
omeone once told me, when you're having a baby, never invite anyone to your house who cannot (or will not) cook, fold laundry, or say that you look thin.

It's also been said that the process of writing is similar to giving birth. But whoever said that must have been a man.

In any case, I gratefully acknowledge the following people who made this “baby” possible. You are welcome to cook, fold laundry, and tell me I look thin anytime.

To my agent, Rick Broadhead, thank you for your patience, for sharing my excitement, and for always having the best way to give good news.

Thank you, Tracy Bernstein, my editor, for laughing at the perfect time, providing indispensable insights, and, ultimately, having patience (is that becoming a theme?).

To Miriam Gallet (JaxAirNews), Lesley Conn and Bob Bryan (
Pensacola News Journal
), and James McCarthy (
The Times Record
): You were my first very, um,
patient
editors. Thank you always for the opportunities you've given to me.

Cheers to Darcy and Kristi—there is no story without you—and Sally, without whom there was no faith.

A big, grateful thumbs-up to my mom and dad, who always allowed me to make movies, write books, and pursue other lofty childhood aspirations, even if it meant making a mess of the living room or pulling out all the soup cans in the kitchen. I love you guys.

To Dustin—can we say “good sport”?—I cannot repay you for all the support and extra helping hands as I wrote this book, but I hope to make a start by doing my share now. Thank you for understanding and for allowing me to tell this story.

I also owe so much to the people of Saint Luke United Methodist Church, Leslie Thornton Stephens, Amy Spore Kalten, Justina Manero, Jennifer Richardson, Kelly Diamond (thank you for always asking to read more), and my brothers, Van and Will.

Last, to Ford and Owen: You may be in the background of this story, but you are the forefront of my life. Everything I've done has been for you.