PETER was disappointed when I insisted that we catch an earlier flight home, but he understood my sense of urgency. Beverly and Raymond’s presence in Mexico at the time of Trudy-Ann’s murder changed everything. I wasn’t sure what it meant exactly, but I needed to get home and find out.
I called my mother from Dallas, when we changed planes, and she agreed to meet us at the airport in L.A. She sounded thrilled at the prospect of our premature return.
What does it say about me that I didn’t start missing my kids until we were on the last leg of our return flight? I had barely thought about them for the two days we were in Mexico. I’d been too distracted by the case to worry about the children—even Isaac, who had never before been without his mother for longer than an afternoon. It was probably feelings of guilt over my maternal negligence, but by the time the plane taxied into the gate at LAX, I was bouncing up and down in my seat.
I ignored the flight attendants’ warnings and unbuckled my seat belt long before we had come to a complete stop at the gate. By the time the hatch was opened, I had our flight bags slung over my shoulders and had poked and prodded Peter into the aisle. Unfortunately, an unacceptably slow woman in the row in front of us was impeding our progress out of the plane. I groaned in frustration and whispered in Peter’s ear, “Just pass her, for heaven’s sake. She’ll move over.”
“Juliet, the woman is on crutches. Will you chill out?”
I rolled my eyes and fidgeted from one foot to the other. When we finally made it through the hatch, I grabbed Peter’s hand and dragged him past the woman with the crutches—it was taking her forever to lower herself into her wheelchair. We raced down the gangway and out into the terminal. We were, of course, at the very farthest gate, so it took us what felt like hours to make it to the exit, and by the end I was flat out running. Standing in the very middle of the exit ramp, right in everyone’s way, pushing and shoving each other into the people who passed by, were my kids. I shouted their names at the top of my lungs. They looked up from their squabbling, saw me running toward them, and burst through the crowd, tearing past the signs warning them not to dare enter on pain of prosecution. Alarms began blaring and National Guardsman with guns came running toward us. Ruby and Isaac flung themselves into my arms, and I buried my face in their soft, damp necks, inhaling deeply. They smelled like they always did. Like warm, wet puppies. Like my babies.
“I missed you so much!” I said. And it was true. For the last few hours, I had missed them terribly. So much that it was almost unbearable.
Isaac put both hands on either side of my face, kissed me gently on the lips, and then, in a voice dripping with love and longing, said, “Mama?”
I smiled at my sweet little boy. “Yes, my darling?”
“What did you bring me?”