“Where’re you headed?”
“Well,” he said, glancing again at his wristwatch, “I was supposed to be on the four-thirty flight to Des Moines, which is now the
six
-thirty flight…”
“Then we’re both afflicted with the same ailment.” Again, she clinked her glass against his, then took another strong swallow.
“So you were on that flight, too, huh?”
“Guilty as charged. Was tasked with spending Christmas with my fiancé and his family, but I guess it’s in the gods’ hands now.”
“You say ‘tasked’ like it’s some sort of castigation.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding fervently, “it is. His family is
atrocious.
They’re like the villains in a Charles Dickens novel, all hunched over and swarthy, wrapped in drab, colorless clothing and screaming at peasant children.”
“They sound marvelous.”
She exhaled and he could smell her perfume—something sweet, like candy—mingled with the Midori on her breath. “But I love the son of a bitch, so I put up with them.”
She caught him looking at her diamond ring but didn’t say anything about it. Todd quickly jerked his eyes away and feigned interest in the newscast on the television. Snow, snow, and more snow.
Damn it,
he thought, still picturing Justin in his
Turbo Dogs
pajamas.
I tried, buddy. I tried.
“How about you?” she said. “Is Des Moines your final destination?”
“Yes.”
“Going home?”
“Visiting my son.”
“So you’re divorced?”
“Yes. He lives with his mother.”
“You two get along? You and the mother, I mean. Not the kid.”
“No.”
“Your fault or hers?”
“That we don’t get along?”
“The divorce in general,” she clarified. “Your fault or hers?”
“I…it was mutual, I guess.”
“Mutual?” She looked skeptical.
“It just didn’t take.”
She laughed once, sharply. More heads turned in her direction. “You say it like a surgeon who’s just botched an operation. ‘The transplant didn’t take.’”
“What I meant was we both agreed it was for the best.”
“So you both equally agreed that she’d keep the kid?”
Her boldness shocked him. “Wow. You go right for the jugular.”
“Oh?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry, was that rude? I get weird talking about divorce. My parents went through a messy one when I was eleven and I took turns playing the hostage for each of them. I’m sure it fucked me up in more ways than one, too. You should have seen me in college, boy.” She lowered her voice a bit. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s okay. I guess there’s no such thing as an easy divorce.”
Kate Jansen offered up that same coy little grin. “Or an easy childhood.”
This made him think again of Justin. What the hell was he doing? It was Christmas Eve and he was drinking scotch in an airport bar while chatting up some stranger. He set his
drink on the bar and picked up his laptop. “It was nice meeting you, Kate, but I should go check on my flight.”
“Our
flight,” she corrected.
“That’s right. You coming?”
“I think I’ll stay here and finish my drink. Hate to break it to you, bub, but I don’t think we’re going anywhere tonight.”
“I hope you’re wrong, honey,” he said, dumping enough bills onto the bar to account for both drinks. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
“Save me a bag of peanuts.”
He pushed quickly through the crowd, the laptop’s carrying case thumping numbly against one knee while he perspired in his coat, hoping against all rationale that the goddamn flight wouldn’t be cancelled, wouldn’t be cancelled, wouldn’t be cancelled.
The flight was cancelled.
“Fuck me blue,” he uttered under his breath. The electronic sign at the check-in desk flashed the word over and over again—CANCELLED. A mob had formed in front of the desk, the timbre of their mingling voices irascible. Somewhere, an infant was screaming.
“Eh?” It was the big guy in the Chicago Bulls sweatshirt, lumbering up beside him while dragging along a carry-on with squealing wheels. The intensity of his respiration was nearly frightening, and all too obvious was the Texas-shaped blossom of pepperoni grease on the front of his pants. “What’d I tell you, yeah?”
“You must be psychic.”
“They won’t even give out hotel vouchers. They only do that if the cancellation is the airline’s fault. Shitty weather ain’t covered on the insurance plan.” The guy dropped a heavy hand on Todd’s shoulder. “Think I’m gonna have a seat, catch some shut-eye. Happy holidays, bud.”
The carry-on’s wheels moaned as the big guy retreated through the crowd.
It took a good ten minutes for the mob at the check-in counter to disperse. Most of the would-be travelers stormed away looking infuriated; others seemed caught in some suspended combination of shock and boredom. As he watched,
he could see all the other gates down the corridor flashing their own CANCELLED signs. Christmas music suddenly spilled out of speakers recessed in the ceiling: a desperate attempt to pacify the distemperate crowd.
“Hi,” he said at the check-in desk. The woman behind the counter looked utterly drained and Todd felt a pang of compassion for her. “Don’t worry. I’m not the yelling type.”
“Amen.”
“And I know you’re probably not the psychic type, but do you think these planes stand a chance of getting up in the air by tomorrow morning?”
“Sir, this storm is supposed to continue straight on through the night and into tomorrow afternoon. They’re talking over a foot of snow. We can’t even get our guys out there to de-ice the planes until the snow stops and the temperature climbs up out of freezing.” She shifted over to a computer terminal and put her bright pink acrylic nails to work on the keyboard. The sound was like tiny birds pecking on a Frisbee. “You can either wait out the storm or I can go ahead and cancel your flight. If I cancel the flight, though, I’m afraid there’s no way to retrieve your checked luggage from the plane until we’re able to send a crew out onto the tarmac.”
“Wonderful.”
“Then what would you like to do, sir?”
He handed over his boarding pass. “Let’s go ahead and cancel the flight, please.”
The woman went back to work on the keyboard, her startling pink talons hammering away. She glanced at the boarding pass. “This was supposed to be your connecting flight?”
“Yes. I flew in from New York this morning.”
“Rotten luck, getting stranded in a strange city. At least some of these folks can just go home. Do you have friends or relatives in the area?”
“No.” He checked his watch again. “How far is it to Des Moines, anyway? Mile-wise?”
“You’re talking about driving? A little over three hundred miles.”
“So about five hours?”
“At least,” she said. “And that’s in good weather. Sir, you’re not planning to actually
drive
in this mess, are you?”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I need to get to Des Moines.”
The woman cocked her head toward the rows of seats where all the would-be travelers had planted themselves, their luggage corralled around their legs and their winter coats unbuttoned in the stifling heat of the airport. There was an air of dejection hanging heavy all around them. “All those folks need to get to Des Moines, too. We’ve got a whole airport full of cancelled flights.”
The printer beside the computer terminal whirred and spat out a perforated receipt for his cancelled flight. The woman tore the receipt free, folded it down the middle, and extended it to him over the counter. He grabbed it but she didn’t immediately let go, drawing him closer in an imitation of tug-of-war.
“And while I’m sure your family would love to have you home for Christmas,” she said, almost conspiratorially, “I can bet they wouldn’t want you risking your life to get there.”
She let go of the receipt and he stuffed it quickly into his jacket pocket. “Thanks,” he said. “I mean it.”
“I do, too. Think about it.”
“I will.” But he already knew that was a lie; he had made up his mind before ever approaching this woman and he had no intention of changing his plans now. Too easily he could recall the guilt he’d felt in having that drawing of the cat on his refrigerator, and all the bullshit that had happened over the summer—ridiculous bullshit that was due only to
his own carelessness and irresponsibility—which had prevented him from seeing his son. Just the fact that Brianna was amenable to him coming out for a couple of days for Christmas underscored exactly how important this visit was to their son.
He didn’t think he could live with himself if didn’t make it out to see Justin for Christmas.
Surprisingly, there wasn’t a very long line at the Rent-A-Ride counter.
That’s because no one is crazy enough to drive in this weather,
a small voice spoke up in the back of his head. For a second, he thought the voice sounded very much like Brianna.
“Great minds think alike.” It was Kate Jansen, coming up beside him in her too-small jacquard coat and knit cap.
“Or maybe we’re a couple of gluttons for punishment,” he said.
“Oh,” she retorted, “I’ve always been that.”
He waved a hand at the Rent-A-Ride counter. “Be my guest.”
“Thank you.”
Kate went to the counter and Todd filed in behind her. As if to emphasize the foolishness of driving in such weather, the few other customers at the desk were canceling their orders rather than picking up their vehicles. When the associate behind the counter finally called to Kate, it was already 6:30
P
.
M
. Todd pulled out his cell phone and dialed Brianna’s number. It rang a number of times before she answered, sounding out of breath and distracted. Again, he pictured her scampering around the little house, scooping up Justin’s toys and stuffing unwashed clothes under the bed. This summoned image then segued into a
real
image—a memory—of lying in bed beside Brianna, the nakedness of her body accentuated by the pearl-colored moonlight pooling in through the bedroom windows. They were back in the old apartment
in Greenwich Village, in a time before Justin was born, and they were both much younger and very much in love. He thought of the way she smelled in the sheets and the perfume fragrance of her hair fanned out along the plump pillows. He thought—
“Hello?”
“Hey, Bree.” Suddenly, his throat was parched. “It’s me. Have you been watching the news?”
“You mean the weather? Because it’s coming down pretty hard here, too. Are the flights being held up?”
“They’ve been cancelled.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said, and that was all she said. He knew she was disappointed for their son, but she was not talented enough—or she didn’t care enough?—to mask the subtle relief in her voice. This had promised to be a difficult weekend for the two of them.
“Listen,” he said, running a hand through his hair. The old stress was coming back to him in nauseating waves. “I’m renting a car and driving up. It’ll take most of the night but I’ll be there for Christmas morning.”
“Is that a good idea? The weather’s terrible, Todd.”
What do you care?
he almost said, catching himself at the last minute.
“Unless I want to spend Christmas stranded in O’Hare, it’s the only option. And I want to see Justin.”
“Well,” she said, “he wants to see you, too.”
“Is he there? Can I talk to him?”
“He’s watching a Christmas special on television.”
“Can’t you put him on, Bree?”
He heard her expel a rasp of exasperated air. “Hold on,” she said, and set the phone down. Distantly, over the line, he could hear Brianna calling Justin’s name, followed by the
blare of the television set in the background. Brianna came back on the line. “He’s coming.”
“Thanks, Bree.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Todd.”
There it is,
he thought.
Same old Bree, blaming me for the collapse of the world. As if this snowstorm was my own goddamn fault. Fuck you, Brianna.
But that wasn’t exactly fair, either. He’d fucked up enough in their marriage to warrant such accommodation.
“Daddy!” Justin’s smallish voice came over the line, filled with a jouncing glee that shot like an arrow straight into Todd’s heart. He felt his knees grow weak.
“Hey, sport.”
“It’s snowing!”
“It’s snowing here, too. Pretty neat, huh?”
“Can we build a snowman when you come?”
“We can build a whole army of them.” His voice trembled.
“Are you on the airplane?”
“Not yet, buddy.”
“Mommy took me to the mall and we bought you a Christmas present.”
“Is that right?”
“But I’m not supposed to tell you what it is. Mommy said it would ruin the surprise.”
“Well,” he said, “I guess she’s right.”
“When are you coming, Daddy?”
He closed his eyes and swiped a set of fingers over the lids. “I’ll be there in the morning, sport. When you wake up.”
“Good,” said his son, “because I miss you.”
“Miss you, too, Justin. And I love you.”
“Love you, Dad!”
“Put your mom back on.”
“Bye!”
Brianna came back on the line. “He’s been talking about
this for weeks, you know. We shouldn’t have told him beforehand. You should have just surprised him when you got here. This way—”
He cut her off, knowing all too well where she was going. “I won’t disappoint him, Brianna. I’ll be there. I promise.”
Again: that exasperated sigh. “I’ve told you a million times, Todd,” she said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” And before he could respond, she said, “Be careful driving. Good-bye.” Then she hung up.
He glanced down at his cell phone, and at the flashing
CALL ENDED
on the screen. The hand holding the cell phone was shaking.
“Next,” said the attendant behind the rental car counter. Kate had taken her paperwork and her small carry-on bag and slid down the length of the counter.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m gonna need something that can get me to Des Moines.”
The attendant—a dark-skinned teenager whose face was peppered in a barrage of pimples—sucked his lower lip. When he spoke, he did so in an indistinct Middle Eastern accent. “Unfortunately, sir, the only thing we have left are economy-size vehicles, none of which—”
“No four-wheel drives? Jeeps? Anything like that?”
“So sorry, sir. I just gave away our last four-wheel-drive vehicle. And I must advise you, sir, that to drive to Iowa in this weather—”
“What about chains? Do you guys put chains on the tires?”
“We do not have these chains, sir. The weather, you see, is very bad right now and we’re—”
“I don’t need a lecture,” he said, the strains of his son’s voice still resonating in his head. “I need a car.”
“As I’ve said, sir—”
“Todd.” It was Kate Jansen, holding up her folded rental
agreement. “You’ll never make it driving a PT Cruiser. Come with me.”
Behind the counter, the attendant’s eyes looked as large as softballs.
He thinks I’m going to hit him,
Todd thought…and felt an odd sense of satisfaction at that.
“Thanks, anyway,” he said to the attendant.
“Four-wheel-drive Cherokee,” she said as he approached, handing him the rental agreement. “We’re both headed in the same direction and, to be honest, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of traveling by myself in this weather. You’d be doing me a favor. I drive like Stevie Wonder.”
“All right, but I insist on paying for half.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to emasculate you.”
“Then it’s a deal.” He looked down the length of the hallway that led back toward the gates and the baggage claim corrals, toward the shops and fast-food joints lining the walk. “Listen, I’m going to grab some supplies—bottled water, snacks, a flashlight—then I’ll meet you back here.”
“Jesus,” she said. “Do you think we’ll need that stuff?”
“No, I don’t. But it couldn’t hurt to have it with us just in case. Is there anything you needed?”
“Books.”
“Books?”
“Hey,” she said, “if there’s a chance we might get stranded for a few days in the middle of nowhere, I gotta do something to pass the time.”
“Fair enough.” He handed the rental agreement back to her. “And thanks. You saved my butt.”
“Consider it repayment for the drink.”
He stopped in a Hudson News boutique and loaded up on bottled water, candy bars and potato chips, a road map, a flashlight and batteries, aspirin, two pairs of gloves, and two knit scarves with the Chicago Bears logo embroidered on them. He grabbed a couple of paperbacks for Kate, then,
realizing his luggage—along with his gifts for Justin—wasn’t going to make the journey with him, he selected the largest stuffed bear he could find, which was roughly the size of a small child. Lastly, he purchased a canvas duffel bag to carry all the items and tucked the bear under one arm. The woman behind the counter looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
Back at the rental car counter, Kate stood holding two steaming cups of Starbucks coffee.
“Nice bear.”
“You’re a savior,” he said, taking a long swallow of the coffee. It burned his throat but he didn’t care.
“This is Fred and Nan Wilkinson,” Kate said, stepping aside to reveal a silver-haired couple in their late sixties standing behind her, overburdened in heavy coats and matching carry-on bags. The man looked to be in decent shape and the woman still carried with her the vestige of her youth. They both looked more than pleased at the introduction.
Todd nodded at them. “Hi.”
“They’re coming with us,” Kate said.