I shift in my seat, thinking about how her new perspective affects me. There’s just something about sitting next to a vast expanse of water that makes one consider the seas one needs to cross. “I haven’t told anyone this yet, because I’m not sure I’d be understood, but ...”
Angel tilts her head, her eyes softening, as if just my suggesting she’llhave compassion on me has filled her with said compassion. It gives me the confidence to continue.
“Wyatt wants to move in together.” My stomach cramps, and I put my spoon down. “What you said sounds so simple, but ... letting someone go is hard.”
Angel’s eyes flood with unshed tears. She hurts for me because she knows the pain of losing someone you love.
There’s a chance my relationship with Wyatt might not end well. Wyatt’s been all I’ve wanted for a year now. My whole future has been wrapped around the idea of spending it with him. What would I do without him? What would Iwantto do without him?
My eyes lift to the view beyond. A ferry cruises past, heading toward islands covered with trees and mountains in the distance. Behind us, the wheels of scooters bump by on the pier’s planks.
There’s so much world left for me to explore, with or without Wyatt. I’d rather do it with him, but if I choose not to move in with him, would I still want to move back to San Francisco? Or would I want to stay right here? Maybe I should cancel my bid.
I’m afraid to speak my thoughts aloud. Not because I don’t want Angel to hear them but because I don’t want to admit them to myself. I’m not ready for any more big changes yet. But Iamready to sightsee the city.
I glance at my watch, then pile my utensils and napkin into my paper basket. “What next?”
“Do you mean today or in life?” she asks.
“Today.” I stand. I can’t think about life anymore. “It’s three o’clock, and I’m off call. We could go anywhere. We could hop a flight to Hawaii if we wanted.”
“I always want that. But since we’re here, we might as well visit Pike Place Market and the Space Needle.” She stands too. Then she reaches for my hand. “And whenever you’re ready to talk more about life, I’m here for you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nathan
Anylanding youcanwalk away from isagood landing.
—ANONYMOUS
See ya, boy.” The older captain saunters out of the Seattle airport, whistling. He might as well have saidSee ya, sucker, because he’s the only one of our crew who had the insight to post his penalty lap in Open Time.
A “penalty lap” is what pilots call it when you finally return to your base after a multiday trip, but you’re stuck at the airport because you’re scheduled to work one more turn. Someone else picked up that part of the captain’s shift, leaving him free to go. Meanwhile, I have to wait here for two hours before flying twenty-eight minutes to Portland and twenty-eight minutes back. It’s a long time to be at an airport for less than an hour’s worth of work.
I’ve spent the last three nights out of state, and it’s painful to be so close to my house but unable to go home. I just want to do my workout of the day, play fetch with Maverick, and grill a steak.
I guess I can order Steaks on a Plane from my favorite salad restaurant. The view out the giant two-story food court windows certainly beats holing up in the crew lounge.
I cart my stack of luggage after me, receive the 15 percent employeediscount on my order, then give it back as a tip, and finally claim a semi-clean table facing the runway. Rain has returned, and the tree line and mountains in the distance are varying shades of gray. But having just experienced freezing temps in Bismarck and mid-seventies in Austin, I’ll accept this weather as a happy medium and be grateful I’m not stuck in the rain every day like most Washington residents.
I remove the lid to my plastic carton, stab a piece of steak, and stuff a smoky bite into my mouth. Life could be worse.
“Nathan.” The perky call affects me more than I want to admit.
I pound my chest to help choke down my bite and glance around for a lithe flight attendant with a bun and a button nose.
She slides into the seat across from me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I claim, then sip ice water with the hopes of bringing it to pass. There. I can breathe again.
“Good. Because I’m more than okay.” She slides back to stick a leg out my way, like a female hitchhiker trying to get attention. I must be missing something, because I’m quite certain she doesn’t want me trying to pick her up.
Her leg is slim, as you’d expect of a former ballerina. And she’s wearing black ballet flats. Also fitting. Except ...
“You got your walking boot off.” Duh.
“I got my walking boot off!” she repeats with added enthusiasm. But then her expression drops. “Unfortunately, I’m on ready reserve. If they don’t call me out, I’m flying home for Thanksgiving tonight.”
