Page 4 of The Risks of Reuniting

Four months after that, I'd heard about a humanitarian group doing work in Peru. I rarely did things on a whim, but I'd signed up before I had a chance to rethink it. I'd had interviews and background checks, and they'd spoken to my boss and co-workers, and somehow I'd never pulled the cord and canceled. Now, I was on my way to use my skills as a dental hygienist to help people.

My job had given me a month-long leave, and while I was terrified, I was also determined. I needed the reset. I needed a break from the memories that surrounded me in Salt Lake.

Chapter 2

Chloe

Iwalkofftheplane in Atlanta feeling like a piece of paper that was crinkled up in someone's hand and is ready to be tossed in a trash can. Just over three and a half hours of tense, bum-clenching worry. The turbulence made me question all my life choices, but I pause in the concourse to thank a higher power that my pizza digested rather than coming back up.

I follow my fellow passengers down the jetway into the gate area and step off the side to take a minute to calm myself. Poppy's crystal necklace is still in my pocket and I pull it out to hold it in my palm as I do some deep breathing. I recently read that if you're panicky you can put your hand over your left eye and then look up with your right eye and it will shut down the anxiety part of your brain. So I try it. Who cares if I look like a pirate with an attitude problem?

My cotton sweats are pulled up over my calves in an effort to cool my legs, my sneakers are untied because they were feeling pinchy, my shirt is wrinkled . . . and that was leg one. Even worse, it was the shorter of the two. I should have asked Poppy for another crystal because this is officially the hardest I've ever pushed myself.

I hold my hand over my eye for a minute and I can't swear that the technique worked, but I do feel better. I pull out my phone to check the time and further relax at the good news that greets me. My layoveris ninety minutes, and my flight arrived on time. This soothes me even more. Everything is going to plan. I'm well packed, and I don't have to rush to my next gate.

While I have my phone out I text my brother.

I still do not forgive you for making me afraid of planes.

I'm surprised when his response comes back quickly. Gavin likes to sleep in on Sundays and I never hear from him before noon.

Gavin

Fear is a choice, and you chose poorly.

You're the worst

Gavin

Thank you

Poppy gave me a crystal for my anxiety.

Gavin

Is it helping?

Hard to tell.

Gavin

Did you have an accident in your pants?

No. Gross.

Gavin

Then it's helping.

I laugh and roll my eyes before tucking my phone back into my pocket and finding the signs that direct me to the international flights terminal. It's busy this Sunday morning. People flood around me, bumping into me, making my wobbly legs feel like collapsing. So many people. My backpack is heavy against my back and I do that thing where I mentally work through a list. It calms me. I was allowed only one carry-on pack for a full month, and I'd gone into hyper-focused mode making several packing lists until I'd pared it down to something satisfactory. Now I go down the list two times while I take some deep breaths, checking off each item.

I arrive at the terminal train waiting area and get focused. I'm not good with public transportation, because I never use it. I scan the lists and graphics and when a train arrives I follow the crowd into the thin tube. A voice comes over the intercom, telling us to hold on, that this a high-speed train, and I scoff a little, which is why I get nearly knocked off my feet when the train shoots out of the station like a bullet from a gun. I quickly grab at one of the poles nearby and narrowly miss falling into the lap of a woman seated on one of the few chairs.

"First time?" She smirks up at me.

"They're not joking around," I reply with a self-deprecating smile. "Next time I'll believe them."

I look at the train map printed above the doors and find that the F Terminal is the last stop, which is fine with me. I watch people leave the train and pretty soon I'm the only person left in this car. I don't worry too much until we enter some sort of concrete, dystopian-looking place, where there are crumbling pillars and caution cones. I wonder if I missed my exit and am on my way to another city. I peek through the murky windows into the car ahead of me and try to have faith that I'm not on a ride to nowhere.

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