My daughter's attempt to hide her irritation with a forced laugh failed miserably.
I cringed. There was no doubt, travelers on the other side of the terminal building must have heard her hollering. Little had changed in the fifty years since she was five. She wore her lack of compassion like a cloak, with unadulterated pride. It's been worse since her Pa's death. She blamed me for Harold's devastating stroke. It mattered little that he refused to take his blood pressure and diabetes medication in the end. You were there, Mom. You could have made him take it.
Hah. In my underwear, I battled to topple the scale's needle over a hundred pounds. Harold always coasted at two-forty. Nobody ever made that six-fiver do anything he'd put his mind on not to do. Sixty years of marriage taught me that.
I took the outstretched hand of the driver of the concierge cart as he helped me step up and take a seat in the front. He received the single piece of luggage from Marianne and placed it at the back.
The driver laughed his agreement. We both waved at Marianne to take her leave of us. Marianne had better hurry—Eugenie was the youngest granddaughter and her mother's only child still at home; spoilt rotten. She had perfected the art of having her parents do her beck and call. She ate and drank volleyball—it was akin to a religion.
It would be a two-hour flight to reach my oldest. It was no ordinary visit. Helene had phoned me the day after her mammogram report.
Helene's protests in spite, I insisted on booking a flight. She had mentioned something about a frozen section. What if they had to remove my child's one breast?
The entire way from the retirement village to the airport, my youngest who had grudgingly agreed to pick me up, had grilled me about not informing the airport authorities forty-eight hours in advance about my need for assistance.
I had wiped over my eyes, too tired to argue.
It was impossible to ignore the penetrating beep-beep of the concierge cart as Alonso expertly weaved his way through the throng of travelers and personnel.
I gave him the short version of my on-the-spur-of-the-moment cross-country visit.
We neared my gate in silence.
Alonso ran around to take my hand.