Page 61 of Cookout Carnage
He rang her back. It went straight to voicemail.
Tristan stared out the window at the runway. His heart deflated and was now drifting inside his hollow chest like an old and tired balloon. He was finally on the right side of the Atlantic, only a few miles from her, but he may as well have been on the moon.
‘Excuse me, sir?’
One of the cabin crew was standing by his seat holding a rubbish sack. He looked around. He was the only person left on board.
‘Can you disembark please, sir?’
‘Yes, sorry, hang on.’
He grabbed his belongings and picked his way down the aisle through the discarded blankets, newspapers and headsets.
‘Welcome to Chicago, have a pleasant stay,’ she called after him as he left the plane.
* * *
‘Sherri-Lynne,honey, you gonna be long in there?’
Sherilyn splashed cold water on her face to try and calm the redness. The muscles of her face were screaming with the effort to hold in her emotion.
‘You okay, baby girl? Your pa’s bladder isn’t what it—’
There was a loud banging on the door.
‘Shortstuff, I need a leak,’ shouted her father.
‘Hang on, I’m coming.’ Sherilyn dried her face, brushed power over it, then opened the door for her father. Her mother was on the couch with a guidebook and a marker pen. She looked up.
‘Everything alright, honey? Your face looks awful puffy.’
‘I’m fine, Mama. It’s just seasonal allergies.’
Her mother didn’t look convinced. ‘In February?’
Sherilyn indicated her head at the guidebook. ‘You got plans for us?’
‘Yes, come see. Let me scooch up for you.’
Sherilyn looked over her mother’s shoulder as she was shown the same sights she herself had planned to take Tristan to. She couldn’t take the risk of going out and bumping into anyone from work.
‘You know, Mama, I’m gonna take a couple of days off. Would you fancy helping me decorate my apartment, then we can go do touristy stuff on the weekend?’
Her mother lit up. Sherilyn knew how much her mother loved the idea of home improvement. The family house got a makeover every couple of years, and it drove her father nuts.
‘Only if this means we don’t remodel the downstairs this summer,’ her father called through from the bathroom.
Her mother frowned. ‘But this isn’t our home, Ford.’
Sherilyn channelled Wiener’s puppy dog eyes as she looked at her mother. She tried to look cute, but tears threatened to fall again.
‘Please, Mama?’
‘That’s the deal, Lynnie. Only one place gets a lick of paint and Ford Bodean’s magic touch this year. Your choice.’
Her mother pouted, then clapped like a happy seal. ‘This is going to be so much fun!’
Two days later, Sherilyn was emotionally exhausted. She’d only turned her phone on once. Tristan had messaged her saying ‘hope you feel better soon. If there is anything I can do to help, please ask.’ She didn’t reply and he never got back in touch. Despite her father’s near-constant grumbling about everything – from Chicago, to what her brother Axle might be doing to the auto shop whilst he was away – she could tell he was enjoying his visit, and her mother had been in raptures. That morning, having applied her bravest face, she arrived at her desk to find a small jar sitting by her keyboard. She picked it up to read the label.
