Everyone was subdued for the next few days. Ian’s children, Emily and Scott, clung to him, and so Claire and Alex were quieter too, spending more time with their father in the new cabin. Gwen planned fewer activities, and Nick initiated more, taking the kids on walks, teaching them to throw horseshoes.
Phoebe apologized to Amy almost immediately. She was mortified, unable to forgive herself for speaking as she had.
Are you always this hard on yourself? Amy wondered as she listened. And she knew the answer instantly. Yes, Phoebe was. Phoebe had never learned to forgive herself.
Phoebe spent her life determined to make no mistakes. That’s why she worked so hard, that’s why she never relaxed or daydreamed; she might make a mistake. And because she never made mistakes, she had never learned to forgive herself for them.
Amy had won the Olympics because she had gone on after a mistake. Phoebe had never had to do this.
How can I teach you this? How can I show you the one thing that know?
But Phoebe was locked into her own unhappiness, her grief at leaving the lake, her guilt at being the first one to do so. Amy couldn’t help her. There was nothing she could say.
It was past time for her to go back to Denver. She had been here for weeks. Henry and Tommy were already at work, putting together new programs for the fall professional season and for their tour in the spring. They wouldn’t be happy with her, but she didn’t care. Holly wasn’t leaving until the end of the week. Amy would stay as long as she did.
Jack offered to drive them to Minneapolis, but they refused. They would take the little commuter flight out of Ribbing. “Then I’ll take you there,” he said.
“I’ll do it,” Phoebe volunteered. “We’ll have a mound of laundry to do.”
“No,” Jack said, “I’ll take them.”
His voice was low, quieter than usual. Phoebe understood. She nodded her head. Yes, Jack could take them to the airport. The laundry could wait for another day.
With Holly and Amy leaving there was to be yet another change in sleeping arrangements. Jack was moving into the bunkhouse with Nick; Ian and his children were moving to the log cabin. So while Amy was saying good-bye, there was another parade of children dashing along the path between the cabins, dropping T-shirts and shoes behind them.
Amy hugged her dad and Gwen, Phoebe, Giles, and Nick; she even hugged Nick.
“So when do I see you again?” she said to him. She really did like the boy. His pale skin had gotten more color in the weeks he had been here, and his close haircut had grown softer, making his narrow forehead, once bulldoggish, seem strong, not belligerent.
“Uncle Hal has been making noises about my coming to college at the place he teaches, so maybe in two years you’ll be seeing me all the time.”
Amy didn’t want to tell him that she was almost never in Iowa. “I have a competition in Boston in November. Can I send you tickets? Will you have dinner with me afterward?”
“Is it on a school night? I’m not allowed out after bedtime on a school night.”
“And that stops you?” she asked.
He grinned.
She hugged everyone again and got into Jack’s truck. This time there were only the three of them, and she could sit without touching him.
The Ribbing airport was small, little more than one room. There was no gift shop or newsstand, just vending machines and an electric coffee maker. The coffee was paid for on the honor system, and a white foam cup served as the cash register. Amy and Holly checked their bags, got their boarding passes, and sat down to wait.
“I heard you making plans to see Nick,” Jack said.
Amy nodded.
“It’s good of you.”
“I like him.”
They looked at each other. She was going to see Nick; all her New York dates were already on Holly’s calendar, but she and he were making no plans to see each other. Amy heard herself sigh.
But there was nothing to say.
The seats of the airport’s molded plastic chairs had no armrests; the legs were pairs of chrome tubes that slanted down in long, narrow triangles. A chrome bar ran beneath the seats joining one chair to the next. They were the most ordinary sort of chairs, the kind you see everywhere.
How could she have nothing to say to him? She had never been able to be so straight with anyone before. They had been able to talk about fame, fears, bad breath, everything. She didn’t think of herself as a witty person, but with him she had been funny.
Now there was nothing to say.
Holly stood up. “I think I’ll go to the ladies’ room.”
Amy understood. Holly was trying to give Jack and her some time alone, a moment for a private farewell.
But what would be the point? “I’ll go with you,” Amy said.
The ladies’ room had only two stalls, and the women ahead of them had small children. They had to wait, and by the time they were finished, the plane was ready. People were already starting to pass through the security check in front of the airport’s single gate.
Amy couldn’t speak. There had to be air in her lungs; she could feel the rising swell in her chest, but she couldn’t exhale, she couldn’t breathe.
There was nothing to say.
She had wanted a relationship with him that didn’t involve her family. Lots of women had that. They just took their husbands home for Thanksgiving and Christmas and stored them in the corner of the living room to watch football. The husband was polite to the family, and the family was polite back. That was all.
She didn’t like herself when she was with her family. She didn’t like how passive she was. That’s why she wanted to keep her relationship with him separate from her family, so she could be her real self when she was with him.
But that wasn’t possible. He didn’t want to separate from his family, and his family was her family.
She and Holly moved to the security check. Holly put her purse on the conveyor belt. Jack hugged her. “I’ll call you whenever I can,” he said.
Holly nodded. She knew that.
Amy laid her purse down for the X-ray inspection. Holly was walking through the metal detector. Amy looked at Jack. He had his hands in his pockets.
There was nothing to say.