The wind moved her hair across her face.
She did not wave.
Neither did I.
The shop disappeared behind us.
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
Ellie:Let me know when you land.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Rachel glanced toward me.
“What did she say?”
I pressed my wrist against the cool window, the green threads bright against the glass.
“She asked me to let her know when I land.”
Rachel nodded.
“That’s something.”
“Yes.”
It was not forgiveness.
It was not a promise.
But it was not goodbye either.
Twelve
Savannah
The first thing I did after landing was text Ellie.
Landed.
I watched the message deliver.
Then I watched it remain unanswered while Rachel spoke to the driver, collected both our bags, and convinced an airport employee that no, I did not need to be escorted through the private terminal in a golf cart.
“It’s twenty feet,” she said.
The employee looked at my face.
Then at the golf cart.
Then back at my face.
“It’s complimentary.”
