Page 11 of All the way home

Kieran snorts. “You should be a detective.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Lucas ignores Kieran and his usual snark, speaking in the soothing voice he uses when he isn’t sure at all and is only saying it so Rena won’t worry.

Somewhere to her left a man has made a makeshift desk from suitcases, balancing a laptop and a tablet on top of them, typing furiously and making the whole setup wobble. Across from them a woman argues with her teenage daughter about taking her headphones off to talk. An announcement at a nearby gate heralds yet another delay, and the flurries outside make the closest airplane an indistinct blur.

If their flight gets delayed, maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe it would even be good. Maybe their flight will get grounded, and . . .

What if they don’t go back? Rena’s been thinking about it all semester. How bad could it be to stay in Calgary over the break?

Kieran’s knee is still bouncing.

At first, she thinks she can ignore it. Then she thinks that he’ll wear himself out eventually.

He doesn’t.

“Okay,” Rena says. “Enough.”

Kieran snaps out of it, flashing her a glower. “What?”

“Leg.”

“Am I bothering you?”

Rena’s eye twitches.

His knee is bouncing double the tempo of the jaunty rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” floating from the speakers overhead.

Lucas eyes the flurries outside, glancing at his phone. Then, clearing his throat, as if aware mediation is required, he says, “Forecast isn’t looking good.”

It earns him an eye-roll from Kieran.

Rena sits up straighter. “How bad?”

“Bad like heavy snow for hours,” Lucas says. “Bad like this isn’t a good day to fly.”

He’s right. Everything beyond the window is a hazy veil of white. The blizzard is picking up, and so is the agitation at the gate. A handful of people have already stormed the desk, one of them so upset his whole face has gone red as he jabs an index finger at the weary-looking attendant.

Kieran catches Rena’s eye. If he’s pissed at her for real, she can’t tell. He slouches in his seat, rubbing at the side of his face restlessly, eyes darting around the gate. Whenever Kieran’s told to sit still in any one location, his agitation usually kicks into high gear after about eight minutes.

Trapped here at the gate, he lasts three.

Three minutes until the cursed knee starts bouncing again and he takes on the posture of a cornered animal.

Rena’s watch buzzes—she has a text from Mum.

Is Kieran busy?

Can you ask him to answer me

Kieran’s phone buzzes too, and his hand twitches toward his pocket before falling still.

“Are you nervous about going back?” Rena asks, mostly to bring him back down to earth.

Kieran glowers.

“I’m only asking,” she mutters, and he must pick up on her defensiveness, because he shakes out his shoulders and relaxes.

“Not really.” He keeps his voice low enough that Lucas won’t hear unless he’s listening hard. “It’s not really going back, is it?”