Page 85 of The Night We Lost Him

She kissed his wrist, the edge of his palm. Then she turned away from him, headed back up the ladder.

He looked up at her. “For what it’s worth, I am happy,” he said. “I’m happy whenever I’m with you.”

“Good to hear, out you go.”

“I’m serious, Cory. How long has it been? Almost thirty years now and there’s still nothing that makes me happier than you.”

“Oh please. You always get like this when we’re here together.”

“Well, that’s because it’s our place.”

“It’s not.”

He started to walk to the porch and the sunset, to give her what she wanted. “If that’s true, then I’m taking the wallpaper down as soon as you leave.”

Frequent Flier Miles Don’t Get You What You Think They Will

I’m in the last row of the plane.

To get a ticket on the first flight out, there were no other options. I’m sitting between a mom in the window seat cradling her crying baby and a man in the aisle seat drinking straight vodka (at 8:00 a.m.) and shooting daggers at the baby, as though that will help make anyone feel better.

“It might help if I could grab her spare pacifier,” the mother says. “Or I should say the spare of her spare. The others are on the ground.”

“I’m happy to hold her while you grab it,” I say. “Is that weird to offer…”

Before I finish speaking, she drops the baby into my arms. I hold her against my chest, cradle her sweet head as her mother leaps out of the seat, climbing over me and past the guy in the aisle, who of course doesn’t sit up a modicum, or move his legs out of her way.

The mother reaches for her diaper bag in the overhead bin, searching for the pacifier. Then she crawls back into her seat. But, like a miracle, her baby is quiet and sleeping in my arms.

“Wow,” she says. “Impressive.”

“Beginner’s luck.”

She reaches her arms out to take her daughter back, but I see it in her face, the fear that any movement will wake her.

“You know, I don’t mind holding her while she’s sleeping. If you’re comfortable with that—”

“Are you sure?”

I smile and start to say I am when our surly seatmate chimes in. “Yes please! For crying out loud. Hold her!”

I shoot him a look. “We’ve got this. But thank you.”

He shakes his head and looks away. Then I turn back toward the mother.

“I’m good, honestly.”

The mother nods, gently touching her baby on the arm. “Thank you,” she says, letting out a breath. An exhale. The first of this plane ride.

She gives me a grateful smile. “You must have kids?”

“Not yet.”

“But you’d like one?”

I nod. “I would.”

“Hmm. You got the person?”