As the plane circles for a landing at the Tucson airport, I count on my fingers the times Beau and I have spoken on the phone since he left DC that early morning over a week ago.
No fingers needed.
“You seem troubled, dear,” the older woman next to me says over the top of her Glamour magazine.
I smile and shake my head, hoping to cut off the conversation before it begins. Again. Louise Merrill, a former flight attendant who used to serve this nonstop flight, has been talking nonstop since Chicago. Her incessant chatter, like the voice on museum headphones, has described with great detail the changing scene out the window for a couple hours.
“Boy trouble? I can always tell. My daughter has a terrible case of the boy blues. She’s a basket case. One day she calls him constantly, the next day she refuses to talk to him. You know what I told her?”
I wait for her to continue, but she peers at me. Baiting me for an answer.
“I told her to break it off with the louse, of course.”
I nod gravely, hoping it will end the conversation.
“She said she couldn’t because it’d be bad for business.”
“Business?”
“She’s a matchmaker,” Louise says laughing. “I guess it would be like a psychic dying in a plane crash.”
“A little.”
“Here’s her card. By the looks of your book, you could use her services.”
About to argue, I glance down at my twisted and mangled copy of The Five Love Languages—a gift from my mom—and take the card.
“Is he picking you up?”
My eyes go back to the window and scan the ground below for some landmark I can ask Louise about to sidetrack her from my love life.
She elbows me. “Well?”
“I don’t know. It was a while ago that we discussed my flight. And he’s really busy. He’s managing this important research project…” my voice fades. I’m tired of selling Beau to anyone who will listen.
“When a fella is too busy to pick his girl up at the airport after she has been gone—how long?”
Elbow again.
“About four months. But we just saw each other a week ago. We’re good.”
“Well, when a fella is too busy to get his girl after four months apart, then there is trouble. Capital T, if you ask me.”
I sense what this woman’s daughter goes through on a daily basis.
The pilot announces our arrival at the gate. We taxi for a few minutes before the doors to freedom open. I’m quick to gather my bags so I can make it into the terminal before Louise can notice who picks me up. Or doesn’t pick me up.
Nervously, I survey the people coming and going near the baggage claim, hoping to catch a glimpse of Beau’s shoulders, his dark hair, his timid smile.
But instead I see Angelica standing at the top of the escalators. She is holding up a big piece of poster board and is chatting with a young boy in a three-piece suit. I wave, but she doesn’t take her attention from the boy. When she reaches the bottom, the sign is visible. Glittered handprints form a frame around the words: “Welcome Home Mari. Love, the Golden Horizons Gang.”
“Angelica, over here!” I finally catch her eye. She rushes over to me. The boy follows her, clearly enamored with Angelica.
“Mari. I wrote down the wrong flight information. We would have missed you completely, but Sadie called to double-check when we are meeting up for breakfast. Thank goodness she had the information in her Palm. Harry and I would have stayed at the mall watching the pet store reptiles.”
“Harry!” I say to the nicely dressed young man and give him a quick hug.
He is not shy at all, but rather poised and proper.
“Spitting image of his dad, wouldn’t you say?” Angelica gives Harry an incredulous smile.
“Absolutely.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Louise in her pale blue track suit shuffling toward me.
“Shall we go? I’m starved.”
Before we can get out the revolving door, Louise brushes up next to me and whispers in my ear, “Unless you are dating a midget, hold on to that card, honey.”