CHAPTER 44

CHARLES

AT THE DENVER AIRPORT, Charles Buckley sat by a cold window, though it was warm outside. The dark night, inky and void of much more than man-made lights glowing along distant runways, swallowed the gloss of all its reflections. Voices crackled over the intercoms, but he hardly heard them. What he needed to know he already knew.

He thought he’d planned it so well, to come to the meeting and fly home early. He could get there in time for the party if Helen waited until seven.

Charles had not counted on this thunderstorm. It wasn’t in any weather report he saw.

He watched for a moment, but not the business travelers or the pilots walking by, pulling their luggage and trying to make it to their destinations. No, he watched the families. A mother sat nearby, holding an infant while helping a toddler draw with crayons. Across from her a dad sat talking with his son, both of them looking at an iPad and laughing.

Near them was an old man, hunched over a cane and wearing a cardigan with as many holes as buttons. He stood with great effort, wobbly in every way imaginable.

Soon, sliding up beside him was a woman, lovely and gentle, taking his elbow and steadying him. “Dad, what are you doing? I told you I would bring you a coffee.”

“Did you? I’m sorry. I thought I was supposed to go get it.”

“You —” she grinned, helping him back to his seat —“are supposed to sit and relax.”

“You’re too kind,” he said, smiling at her. “Thank you.”

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

“Those cinnamon rolls smell good.”

“Your doctor says no sugar.”

“What do doctors know? Please?”

She laughed. “Well, you are ninety-one. I guess you’ve done pretty well, haven’t you?”

He nodded eagerly.

“Okay, I’ll go get it.”

“I love you, Denise.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

Charles watched her walk away and then checked his watch. He loathed this watch now, the one he’d checked impatiently over the years, certain that it would give him all the time he wanted, eager and greedy for it, not realizing that it was a taker, too.

Slowly he slid his cell phone out of the front pocket of his blazer. He pushed speed dial, and Helen answered. “Where are you, honey? I’ve put off the candle lighting as long as possible.”

“Let me talk to Madison.”

“Well, hurry up, okay?” Helen said, and he could hear her call Madison’s name.

Then she was on the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Dad.”

“Hi. Where are you? We’re starving for this cake!”

The words were harder than he’d imagined. “I’m not going to make it.”

“But . . . but you said you would.” And he had. He’d arranged to leave the meeting early so he could get home in time for cake.

“There was this storm that came into Denver, and I’m stuck at the . . .” The words didn’t matter. They both knew it. Words, Charles realized, mattered not at all. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I gotta go.”

“Madison, wait.”

“What?”

“Tell Mom I said to give you a hundred —no, two hundred bucks. That’s for missing your birthday, okay? I’ll take you shopping when I get home, and we’ll spend it on whatever you want.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Madison. And happy eighteenth birthday.”

But she was already gone.