The gray outline where the refrigerator used to sit left a dirty rectangle on the kitchen linoleum. We had sold the appliance to the landlord for seventy-five dollars, but the empty space still smelled
of dust and old freon.
I pulled the zipper of the large blue suitcase shut, the metal teeth catching on a loose thread near the corner.
Louise stood by the bare window, watching the rain pool on the gravel driveway below. She twirled a blue hair ribbon around her index finger, wrapping it tight until her skin turned white, then
letting it unravel.
“Is Grandma waiting for us?” Louise asked.
“She will be at the gate in Columbus,” I said.
My hand drifted to my left ring finger, my thumb rubbing the smooth gold band out of habit. The ring felt loose, sliding easily over my knuckle.
We had packed everything we owned into four bags, leaving the heavy oak table and the mismatched chairs behind for the next tenant. The house felt hollow, the sound of our shoes echoing
against the bare walls.
“Did you get Noah’s blanket?” I asked.
Louise lifted the soft green flannel from her shoulder, holding it up like a shield.
“I have it,” she said.
In my purse, tucked behind our three coach tickets that had cost eight hundred and forty dollars, was the folded collections letter. It demanded twelve thousand four hundred dollars for Mark’s
final three days in the cardiac unit. Louise did not know about the letter, and she did not know our checking account was nearly empty.
I reached for the brass deadbolt of the front door, my hand pausing on the cold metal.
“We have to go now,” I said.
The lock clicked into place with a heavy, final sound.
The windshield wipers on my mother’s old sedan made a rhythmic, dragging sound against the glass. Eleanor kept both hands on the steering wheel, her posture perfectly straight as she peered
through the morning mist toward the airport.
“The soil in Ohio is much heavier than this Oregon clay,” she said, adjusting her glasses by the bridge. “You have to prepare the beds before the first hard frost, or the bulbs will rot.”
I rubbed my wedding band again, looking at her profile.
“How is the craft shop doing, Mom?” I asked. “Are the winter classes filling up?”
Eleanor did not look at me, her eyes remaining fixed on the tail lights of the delivery truck ahead of us.
“There is always a rush for the candle-making kits in November,” she said, steering the car into the airport lane. “People like to make things with their hands when the nights get long.”
“But is the rent on the storefront still manageable?” I asked.
Eleanor adjusted her glasses again, her hand steady.
“Let us focus on getting you through security first,” she said, pulling up to the curb. “We can discuss the shop when we are settled in Columbus.”
The airport terminal was crowded with holiday travelers, the air thick with the smell of wet coats and cinnamon rolls. Noah was sleeping in the heavy stroller, his small head tilted against the padded strap, smelling faintly of lavender baby lotion.
I struggled to push the wheels through the thick carpet near gate C3 while Louise carried the diaper bag.
I reached into my purse for our boarding passes, my fingers brushing against a piece of paper. It was a crumpled business flyer for Eleanor’s craft shop, the bright yellow paper advertising autumn knitting circles.
I smoothed the flyer out against my thigh, feeling a sudden ache in my chest. The flyer had Eleanor’s home phone number printed at the bottom in bold, friendly letters.
“Mom, can I hold Noah’s hand?” Louise asked, leaning over the stroller.
“Let him sleep, sweetie,” I said, sliding the flyer back into my purse next to the hospital collections notice. “We need to get in line.”
The gate agent announced the boarding call for Flight 412, her voice crackling through the old speaker.
The air inside the jet bridge was freezing, drafty and smelling of fuel. I carried Noah in my arms while Louise dragged the smaller carry-on bag behind us.
The line of passengers crawled forward, each person pausing at the airplane cabin door to check their seat numbers.
A flight attendant in a blue vest stopped us just before we crossed the threshold into the plane.
“Are you the party traveling with the infant?” she asked, looking at my boarding pass.
“Yes,” I said. “We have seats 18B and 18C.”
The flight attendant shook her head, checking her digital screen.
“The flight is completely full, and there was a seat equipment change,” she said. “We had to move your daughter to row 19, seat C. You will be in 18B with the baby on your lap.”
I stopped, the heavy diaper bag slipping from my shoulder.
“But she is only eight,” I said. “She needs to be right next to me.”
