Page 3

The Flight

Song : Riptide - Vance Joy

“So, you wanna know the full story?” he asked, his eyes still warm but a little more serious now .

I nodded, not quite sure what I was inviting in, but curious all the same. He exhaled slowly.

“I got three kids. Two boys and a girl. 19, 15, and 7. My oldest, Joseph is a splitting image of his mama, and the younger boy, Wayne … that boy’s got a temper on him, just like me.”

“My youngest, my baby girl, her name is Melissa.” I raised a brow.

“So, two ex-wives?” He laughed—not a bitter sound, more like someone resigned to the truth.

“Yeah. Two. The first one I married at twenty-two. We were navy sweethearts, or at least that’s what we called it.

Got married quickly before I deployed. She stuck around long enough to get through my first tour, then decided she didn’t want to be a military wife, and screwed every guy that smiled at her while I was away on tour. Can't say I blame her.”

“And the second?”

“Hood rat in Fayetteville”. Thought I’d learned my lesson the first time, but turns out I’m a slow learner.” His honesty was disarming. There was no self-pity in his voice, no attempt to paint himself in a better light. Just fact. Raw and real.

“So... Navy, huh?” I asked. He nodded.

“Fourteen years. Was good at it, too. The structure kept me sane. Did a couple of deployments overseas, mostly ship duty, until the Iraq war started heating up. They needed bodies. I volunteered for a joint assignment with the Army. Two years on the ground—Fallujah and Baghdad mostly. That shit changes you. You don’t come back the same. ”

I felt the shift in his voice like something dark had curled beneath the surface. He didn’t look at me when he said it, just stared out the tiny window like the clouds might hold some sort of forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, not because I pitied him, but because I didn’t know what else to say. He waved a hand, brushing it off.

“It’s life. You survive, or you don’t. I did. Barely. But I came back.”

I could feel the weight of those years settling between us, not heavy like regret, but solid like stone. I reached for my drink, letting the silence stretch out for a minute. He seemed to need it. Then, as if reading my thoughts, he shook himself out of the memory.

“Anyway, I just got back from North Carolina. My aunt—she’s not doing too well.

She just had hip surgery and needed help with my uncle who needs care in his older years.

She raised me after my mom went left and the last guy she dated left me with bruises so bad the school called the police on her.

So grandma came and got me after that and took me to the farm, but after grandma died, Aunt Becky took me in but then I needed to go when I hit 19, I was too much for her. ” My heart ached a little at that.

“You take care of everyone, don’t you?” He gave me a small smile.

“Someone has to.”

That was the thing about Jonathan. He wasn’t loud about the pain he’d carried, but it was there, in the corners of his eyes, in the way he talked about people like they were responsibilities and not just relationships.

“So, back to Idaho Falls,” I said, shifting the conversation.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice getting lighter again.

“Six-bedroom house I split with my old military brother Blake. He’s ex-Navy, too.

Single dad but he’s dating a woman now, I don’t know her well, her name is Patricia and she comes over every weekend to spend time with him.

We figured it made more sense to team up than try and make it on our own.

Plus, our kids like having each other around. Cousins more like siblings.”

“That sounds kinda wholesome.” He chuckled.

“It was until Blake decided to become Mister Charity. While I was in North Carolina, he told me he was renting out the basement to some woman who needed a place.” I raised an eyebrow.

“And the problem is...?”

“That basement’s mine,” he said, almost childlike in his protest.

“Three bedrooms, private bathroom, my damn fridge.

It’s my peace. With PTSD and all, I need space. I don’t sleep like a normal person. Sometimes I wake up in a sweat at 3 a.m., and the last thing I need is some stranger in my space when I’m pacing the halls like a ghost.”

That made sense. More than sense. I could almost picture it—Jonathan roaming the basement in the dark, memories from the desert still lodged deep in his bones, chasing quiet like it was oxygen.

“Did you meet her?” I asked.

He shook his head .

“Nah. Just Blake’s word that she’s ‘nice’ and ‘really needed help.’ That’s the problem with Blake.

He’s too good sometimes. No boundaries. I told him I was gonna talk to her when I got back.

See if we can figure something out. I just..

. I don’t like surprises.” I nodded, sipping the last of my drink.

“Well, if she turns out to be awful, you can always retreat to the mountains.” He smiled.

“That’s the plan.” I shifted slightly, feeling the press of reality creeping back in.

“After this flight, I’ve got one more to Houston,” I told him.

“My parents are throwing me a birthday dinner—well, more like a ‘we haven’t seen you in six months’ guilt fest disguised as a dinner.”

“Big family?”

“Loud, nosy, always trying to marry me off. The usual.” He laughed.

“Sounds familiar.”

“And then,” I said, leaning back, “I’ve got one more flight. Chicago. I’m checking out some rental listings there. Thinking about relocating.” He tilted his head.

“From where?”

“Kind of... nowhere, right now,” I admitted.

“Been bouncing around for the past year. Freelancer life. I have a townhouse in Fort Worth but I’m barely there, my best friend needed a place and I needed someone to watch my cats while I find a new home” He let that sit a beat.

“So what are you chasing?” The question startled me more than I expected. Not because it was too personal, but because I didn’t have an answer. Not a real one, anyway.

“Maybe a place that feels like mine,” I said finally.

“Maybe quiet. Maybe myself.” He nodded slowly like he understood that kind of search. Maybe he did.

We lapsed into a comfortable quiet then, both of us watching the world shrink beneath the plane’s wings.

Somewhere, a baby cried. Someone coughed.

The flight attendants rattled the drink cart up the aisle, their heels clinking against the thin carpet.

Jonathan pulled out his phone again and checked the time.

“How long’s your layover in Dallas?”

“About two hours,” I said. “Just enough time to get annoyed.” He laughed again.

“Well, happy birthday again. If I was better prepared, I’d have brought a gift.”

“You gave me your entire life story in one flight. That’s better than a gift,” I teased.

“Careful,” he said, grinning. “You keep saying stuff like that, I might think you like me.” I didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

When the wheels touched down in Dallas, the jolt of the landing reminded me I hadn’t flown this much in years.

My spine ached, my head was foggy, and I was dangerously close to choosing sleep over social interaction.

The goodbye was quick. Jon gave me a one-armed hug as we disembarked, something warm and solid in the way he held me.

“Text me,” he said, “when you land in Chicago. Or if your parents drive you insane.”

“I will,” I promised, slipping off the plane with the kind of reluctance that only comes when you’re leaving something unexpectedly good behind.

The moment my boots hit the tile of the terminal, Dallas hit me like a wall—thick, warm air, the overwhelming scent of airport food, and the dull roar of movement everywhere.

People streamed in every direction as if they were in a time-lapse come to life, voices layered over announcements layered over the beep of cart horns and the wail of a toddler mid-tantrum.

The flight to Houston from Dallas was uneventful, a short 1 hour dash is what it felt like and then here I was - finally in Houston, TX.

I adjusted my bag and pushed through the crowd, dodging a family reunion in full swing near baggage claim, and followed the signs to the ride-share pick-up on my usual autopilot setting. My phone buzzed.

Jonathan Idaho: Don’t let Chicago freeze your heart. And don’t let Houston drive you nuts. Happy Birthday, sweetheart.

I smiled, tucking the phone into my pocket as I spotted my Uber pulling up to the curb—a black Mazda with a dented front fender and a driver sipping a huge iced coffee looking mildly irritated.

I slid into the backseat and gave him my parents’ address, then let my head fall back against the headrest. Outside, the city blurred by.

Neon signs. A million people. Pickup trucks, strip malls and sprawling suburbs bathed in a soft gold sunset.

I’d only just arrived, but already I was thinking about the next leg.

Chicago. Snow. Noise. Change. And somewhere, a basement in Idaho Falls that wasn’t as empty as it used to be, a man that cured every nervous cell in my body but also annoyed the life out of me with his chatty Kathy personality.

I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the car and the pull of exhaustion wash over me.

It was my birthday. And this year, it felt different.