Given the status of what remains in my backpack, I grossly underestimated how many snacks I’d need to pack to keep four children and two adults from growing hungry. Our newly booked flight doesn’t start boarding for another hour, but I know better than to ask Russel to spend money on airport food.
I’m feeling much better now. Finally got over whatever shock I had. In fact, I’m actually glad Russel was able to get our family on this other plane. I would hate to think that I’ve ruined this vacation for everyone. Yes, I’m still anxious about meeting the in-laws. Still terrified that every single thing I do, every word I say will be compared to Sarah. Russel’s parents loved his first wife like a daughter. He hasn’t told me this, but his sister has. Their whole family saw her as one of their own.
They’re all still mourning her death.
Which is exactly why I was dreading this trip.
But there’s nothing like a massive panic attack on a crowded airplane to put things into perspective. I’m a survivor. I can’t even guess how many times I’ve reminded myself of that fact since I finished talking with airport security. The man was attentive enough, but he realized as soon as we started talking that there was nothing to go on. I have no idea why I got so upset in the first place. What did I expect him to do? Order the captain to turn the plane around so they could arrest a man simply because his teenage daughter wore shorts and a surly expression?
As humiliated as I am by the experience, I think in the end it’s all for the best. I’ve forgotten how much energy it takes me to keep everything that happened with Henry hidden, secret, and forgotten. My trauma is a trapped animal, expending all its effort trying to get out of its cage. It’s a full-time job keeping my demons in check.
I’ve promised myself I’ll tell Russel everything. But not right now. Not here in the airport, not until we’re home after this vacation. But he deserves to know. I won’t tell him in a way that makes him feel sorry for me or worried about my mental health. I’ll just bring it up casually. Hey, there’s something I didn’t feel totally comfortable telling you earlier, but now that we’re married, I think it’s important for you to know.
That’s the kind of conversation two rational adults can have, right?
Picturing this future encounter holds my guilt at bay, the guilt I feel for not exposing my secrets earlier. Eventually I’ll tell Russel everything. When the time is right. Might be next month, might be in a year … The longer I wait, the more awkward it’ll be, but then again, by that point our marriage will be stronger. More resilient.
Who am I kidding?
This is a secret I might as well carry with me to my grave.
“We should have packed more sandwiches,” Russel announces factually. I love how he uses the pronoun we, as if he had any part in packing for this trip for six. But who am I to complain? It’s my fault we’re here and not on our way to his parents’ already. If I hadn’t overreacted like I did, we’d be landing in Detroit any minute.
“Look, Daddy,” Andrew says, pointing at a TV screen. “It’s an airplane.”
Russel glances up. I’m still rummaging through my carry-on, looking for more food to pass around, when I hear my husband suck in his breath.
My eyes follow his gaze. The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads Flight hijacked. Missing Detroit teen identified as one of the passengers. A school photo accompanies the text. Blood drains from my brain. I’m glad I’m sitting because the room has tilted onto its axis.
Russel grabs my hand. “Is that …?” He doesn’t complete his sentence. He doesn’t have the chance.
Three men and one woman in very professional-looking suits walk directly up to me, brandishing official badges. “Are you Anastasia Strickland? You talked earlier with one of our security officers?”
I give a faint nod and try to tell them yes. I can’t even hear my own voice, but that doesn’t seem to matter to these agents.
“Come with us, please. We have some questions for you.”