He hated US Airways. They’d been delayed twice already, thanks to the rain in Philly, and no one at the ticket counter could tell him anything. When the arrival time on the monitor slipped again, he used his cell phone to update Emily, who was busy entertaining Arlene. By now she’d had a few glasses of wine and laughed at the absurdity of it all. She’d keep dinner warm for them, though with the drive they wouldn’t sit down to the table till well after nine.
“Go ahead and eat,” Henry said.
“We’re eating. We’re having appetizers.”
In the background Arlene added something, but the concourse was noisy and he could barely hear Emily. He wasn’t good with the cell phone. He always felt like he was yelling.
“The children should get something,” she said. “There’s no reason they should go hungry.”
The concession was unnecessary. Henry hadn’t mentioned it, for fear of upsetting her, but they’d eaten a good hour ago. He was hungry himself. At the end of the day his energy faded. He could use a coffee, but it would keep him up later, and guiltily, aware that he was spoiling his dinner, he bought a Clark Bar at a newsstand and gobbled it down, the chewy nougat sticking to his back teeth.
Upstairs, in the one bar outside security, the TVs were showing highlights from the Masters. He watched until a hockey game came on and then wandered the hall, scrutinizing crayon drawings by schoolchildren and reading about the Tuskegee Airmen.
Their flight had boarded and was on its way, according to the monitor.
“Hallelujah,” Emily said.
He waited in an atrium between the rental car desks, watching the arriving passengers descend a pair of tall escalators that emerged like chutes from the ceiling, clusters of loved ones gathered at the bottom recognizing them and stepping forward. Was it spring break? There seemed to be a lot of college students. Each reunion reminded him of waiting with Emily, years ago, for Kenny, coming back from Emerson. At the time, Margaret had shacked up with one of her druggie boyfriends and stopped talking to them, leaving him an only child. Their holidays were quiet, Kenny going out at night with friends from high school and then sleeping late, drinking all their beer. For Henry it was enough to have him home. Emily, of course, wanted more. In the car, after they’d seen him off, she cried, and while Henry felt for her, Kenny had his own life now, as they had theirs, and that was as it should be.
At Penn Station his mother had wept when he left for basic training, knowing he was shipping off to war. His father had shaken his hand and looked him in the eye, as if this was another pact between them. He would have been embarrassed if his father had held or kissed him, and was relieved. Late in life, after his mother had died, his father cried at baptisms and funerals and sappy movies on TV, age stripping away a final protective layer. Now Henry could feel the same softening taking place inside him, a helpless grief for the past and boundless pity for the world, and that was right too. No fool like an old fool.
A flight had arrived, a few early birds with roller bags stepping down the escalator on the left ahead of the crush. Around him, people stood to get a better look, blocking his view, making him get up as well. Sometimes you could tell where passengers had come from by their clothes—Red Sox hats for Boston, shorts for Florida. He didn’t see any Phillies or Villanova gear, just a Navy sweatshirt, which could mean anything. Quickly the crowd thinned and dissipated, the escalator running empty again.
The monitor said the plane was at the gate.
The escalator on the right dispensed a new batch of arrivals. Henry positioned himself opposite the bottom, hoping to spot the children before they saw him. One family held up signs welcoming home a soldier. As Henry searched the moving queue for a uniform, the other escalator released a second wave, among them a teenaged girl with Down syndrome in an oversized Flyers jersey.
He was picking his way through the mob making for baggage claim when he saw Ella waving, and there was Kenny behind her, and Lisa with a hand on Sam’s shoulder as if he might fall.
Henry posted himself to one side so they wouldn’t be in the way.
Ella reached him first, bright-eyed and stick-thin, shouldering a massive backpack. In his arms she was a bird, all bones.
“There’s my Ella Bella.”
“Hey, Grampa.”
“What have you got in there, bricks?”
“Homework.”
“Be careful,” Lisa said, holding back Sam, who looked bleary, a purple crescent like a shiner under one eye. “He’s got a sinus infection. We almost didn’t come.”
“I’m sorry, buddy. That’s no fun.” Henry squeezed his shoulder. He’d been sick at Christmas too, a stomach bug Emily suspected he’d passed on to Rufus, an accusation he thought odd.
He gave Lisa a quick peck. “How’s everything else?”
“Other than spending all day in the airport,” she said, “peachy.”
“Good old Agony Airlines.”
“Hey, Dad.” Kenny embraced him—a recent development, and a welcome one, yet it still felt clumsy, like strangers learning to dance. “Thanks for coming to get us.”
“I wasn’t going to let you take the bus.”
“Sorry we’re so late.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“It’s been a long day.”
Henry sympathized, remembering their vacations, impatience giving way to mute anger, brute will, and finally resignation. “You’re here. That’s what counts.”
There was a backup at baggage claim, too many flights arriving at once, and by the time they got on the road it was past nine. He let Kenny tell Emily.
“They did,” he said into his phone. “We just had a snack. Okay, love you too.”
He closed the phone. “They’re waiting dinner on us.”
“I told you,” Lisa said from the backseat.
“I told them to go ahead and eat,” Henry said.
“It’s fine,” Kenny said. “Actually I’m a little hungry.”
At least they didn’t have to fight traffic. Except for some airport shuttles, the parkway was empty, billboards floating out of the dark. They rode in silence, Sam falling asleep against Lisa. When they emerged from the tunnel and the lights of downtown towered above them like Oz, Henry let the view pass without comment.
Emily and Arlene were waiting for them on the back porch. Behind the screen, Rufus whined, excited.
“We were afraid you weren’t going to make it,” Emily said, taking Ella in her arms.
She ignored Lisa’s warning and kissed Sam, who shied away, hiding his face against his mother.
“He’s exhausted,” Lisa explained, suffering the briefest of hugs.
“I’m sure all of you are,” Emily said, and passed her to Arlene. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Mom,” Kenny said. “Thanks for having us.”
“I’m going to take him up.” Lisa didn’t wait for Kenny to answer, just herded Sam toward the door. When she opened the screen, Rufus pushed through, jumping on Ella.
“Down!” Emily said. “Now!”
Henry dropped the bags he was carrying to help her, but Emily already had his collar.
“What are you doing?” she said. “You don’t do that. Honestly. All right, let’s get something to eat. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving.”
Henry thought Lisa might apologize, but she didn’t. When he delivered their bags to Kenny’s room, she and Kenny broke off their conversation as if caught.
“I don’t think she did it on purpose,” Henry said in the kitchen.
“She wasn’t thinking,” Emily said.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. It’s all done.”
There was a broken wineglass in the trash. He hadn’t noticed on the porch, but Arlene was bombed, slurring her words. He’d have to drive her home later, and took a pass on the Chianti, making dinner interminable. After sitting in the oven all night, the lasagna was dried out, the top layer brittle. Emily didn’t finish hers, apologizing to the table. Kenny had seconds and helped Ella clear the plates.
Lisa and Ella were headed up.
“Don’t you want dessert?” Emily asked. She’d had Henry make a special trip to Prantl’s for their almond torte.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful, but we’ve been up since six this morning.”
“Thank you for dinner,” Ella said, giving Emily a kiss on the cheek.
“Yes,” Lisa said, “thank you.”
“I’m sorry it wasn’t better.”
“It was fine.” She was trying to be polite, yet Henry detected a trace of exasperation, and knew Emily would make something of it later.
Kenny stayed and had a good-sized slice. It was too late for coffee. Instead, he had a scotch, Emily a port.
Now that everyone else was settled, Henry felt safe taking Arlene home. In the car, nodding off, she muttered to herself. He had to dig her keys out of her purse and help her up the stairs. The fish drifted in the glowing tank. On their old dining room table sat a stack of magazines and one of newspapers tied with twine, ready for recycling. “You’re a good brother,” she kept saying as he helped her off with her shoes and into bed. He left the bathroom light on in case she needed it later, and made sure her door was locked, wondering what kind of shape she’d be in for the flower show tomorrow.
Driving down Highland, the night’s final mission complete, he thought of the Dewar’s waiting for him like a reward, and the promise of good talk, just the three of them like the old days, but when he got home the lights in the dining room were out and the house was quiet. Someone had done the dishes—probably Kenny, ever conscientious—the dishtowel draped over the handle of the oven. Upstairs the doors were closed, the hall a box. Emily snored, one arm flung across his pillow. He still wanted a scotch, and pictured himself sneaking down to the sideboard and drinking it in the dark like Margaret or his father at the end, alone in his condo, raving like a mad king in his boxers and socks. The idea troubled him, and rather than join that sad fraternity, he changed into his pajamas, crept past Rufus sacked at the foot of the bed and slid in beside Emily, careful not to wake her.