Page 86 of Strays
We’d planned to leave at the end of the day, but we decide to head out early and be there to meet her at the airport, so the next morning, we’re in the truck by six. The drive from Milstone is long but smooth, with no traffic through Jersey, just long stretches of gray highway. I keep checking her last text, even though it hasn’t changed: no flight number, no gate.
We get there just before noon, park in the garage and walk into the terminal.
It’s early, so we stop to eat burgers and fries from some place near security. I stare out at the tarmac the whole time, trying to guess which plane might be hers.
After we eat, we head down to arrivals. The baggage claim area is open and bright, with wide pillars and long belts that haven’t started moving yet. There are small human chairs clustered near the exit. Jay drops into one immediately, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he’s praying. Shane paces.
I stay standing in the middle of it all, watching the escalator that leads down from the gates. It’s not the first time we’ve waited for her, but this time is different. This time, she’s not a possibility, not a mystery — she’s ours.
But she left us.
It’s been twenty minutes past the time she said she’d land. Jay’s still sitting. Shane gave up pacing a while ago and now just leans against the pillar beside me, arms crossed, eyes on the escalator. I still stand dead center. Watching. Breathing.
Then it hits. Not all at once, just a thread of lilies at first. Familiar enough to steal the air from my lungs. But there’s something different this time: her scent is sweeter, spiced and sour, all tangled together, like she’s feeling everything at once.
Jay straightens up fast, and Shane pushes off the pillar. I scan the top of the escalator.
She appears through the glass railing, hair loose, wearing sneakers and jeans, striding fast. She hasn’t seen us yet.
Jay stands and takes a step forward, but stops himself. Shane swears under his breath.
Jo rides the escalator down, eyes scanning the crowd, then landing on us. Her breath catches; I can see that little hitch in her chest from here. Her lips part as she steps off the escalator. Her scent is stronger now, curling around us.
She walks closer. One step. Then another.
I feel everything inside me pulling tight, straining toward her, but none of us moves.
She’s ten feet away. Then five. Then three. When she’s only a foot away, she stops. I’m so relieved to see her, to breathe her in again, but I’m angry too.
I want to pull her in and hold her tight, and I also want to walk away, let her feel what it’s like to be pushed out and shut off. I want her to close the distance, to show me how much she missed us, and I don’t want her to close the distance at all. Not like nothing happened.
“Hi,” she says, wary.
“Hi,” I reply.
Jay and Shane just look at her, feasting on her presence, despite everything.
“I talked to MAB this morning,” I say. “They’ll let you stay with us in the housing unit again.” I pause. Then add: “If you want to.”
“Of course I want to,” she says quickly, a little exasperated.
We’re quiet for a beat. Then she shifts her weight and glances toward the far end of the hall. “I checked my bags,” she says. “Should be coming out soon.”
Jay nods and finally speaks. “We’ll wait with you.”
We follow her to the carousel. The belts aren’t moving yet, but a few people are already standing around it. Jo stands a few feet from us. Not too far, not too close. She doesn’t speak, just crosses her arms tight, eyes on the conveyor belt.
Shane starts fidgeting, tapping his foot against the floor, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Jay stays still. Me too.
A minute passes, then the machine hums to life. There’s a loud clunk, and the belt starts to turn, the suitcases sliding out. Her bags arrive fast, and I move, grabbing them before they hit the corner.
She looks at me, expression soft. “Thanks,” she says.
I nod.
Jay starts walking toward the exit, and Shane falls in behind him. I wait one more second, just long enough to feel her presence beside me, and then I follow, carrying her bags.
When we get to the truck, Jay opens the rear door and Jo climbs in without a word. I put her bags in the truck bed along with ours and then take the front passenger seat. Shane’s driving us to MAB. The ride’s short — fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Outside the windows, the city passes by: office buildings, fast food signs, the marble blur of monuments in the distance.
