\u201cYesterday?\u201d I asked, keeping my voice steady. \u201cYou told me the flight was today. Three p.m.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause, a rustle of wind, or perhaps just her breath. \u201cDid I? I thought we said the twelfth. Clara even double\u2011checked the tickets.\u201d<\/p>\n
Clara\u2014the youngest of the grandkids, nine years old and apparently more informed than I was. I turned toward the glass and blinked at the tarmac, as if that might explain it. I sat down on a bench near a vending machine and pulled up our text thread with trembling fingers. There it was, clear as sunlight: Flights at 3:00 p.m. on the 13th. Don\u2019t be late, Delora. We\u2019re counting on you. Sent by Ivette herself.<\/p>\n
Around me, the airport kept moving\u2014families hugging, flight announcements blaring, children buzzing and dragging oversized backpacks. I had packed mine the night before, carefully rolling each shirt. I had even baked sugar cookies for the kids, the ones with cinnamon edges Nolan used to love. And they had left me. Not forgotten, not miscommunicated. Left.<\/p>\n
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