I nod and my eyes are red and burning and the tears are still running down my cheeks. You would think that I would run out of tears but I haven’t. My feet move numbly on their own accord as Daniel escorts me onto the plane. I walk past the lone flight attendant without saying a word.
Ordinarily, I would be astounded at the lavish airplane. I would be in awe of the luxury that surrounds me here. But right now, in this moment, I don’t care. I curl up on a leather sofa and cry some more.
Daniel covers me with a soft blanket and he sits across from me. He stares out the window and he lets me cry.
I can’t think of anything other than Dante.
I see his face, his smile, his hands. I hear his voice. I hear his laugh. I see the look on his face as he balanced above me in the pool house. And then I see the look on his face right before the Daniella exploded. His eyes were soft, because he’d just found me in the crowd. I’ll never forget that look.
It was probably the last time that I’ll see it.
I know it.
And the last thing he’d said to me this morning was I love you.
That makes me cry all the harder.
This can’t be happening.
Yet it is.
All of those times that Dante tried telling me how complicated his life is… I didn’t listen. I got frustrated and annoyed. But he was so right. His life was complicated.
And now it’s over.
OhMyGod.
I’m not going to think like that. I’m not going to think that Dante is dead until someone tells me the actual words.
But the fire. There was so much fire.
And my heart knows that no one could survive that.
I picture the piece of fiberglass that floated past me in the bay and I remember how jagged and charred it was. And Dante had been standing on top of that. And if it is in pieces then so is…
OHMYGOD.
I can’t think like this.
I can’t.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think of nothing at all. But it’s hard.
Impossible.
And so I torture myself with images from the explosion, Dante’s face, his smile and pretty much everything about him for the entire four and a half hour flight.
The plane lands at Heathrow International Airport and I watch sightlessly as we taxi into the hangar. Because it’s a private plane, I get to bypass customs and security and I walk down the tunnel into the terminal.
And my dad is standing there.
And I start running.
He grabs me and holds me and I cry onto his shirt.
“Daddy,” I whimper.
From behind me, I hear Daniel.
“You’ll be fine now, miss,” he tells me. And he turns to get back onto the plane.
I let go of my father and grab Daniel’s arm.
“Thank you,” I tell him simply. And then I hug him. He seems surprised, but then his arms close around me and he hugs me back.
“I’m sure they will contact you as soon as they can,” Daniel tells me solemnly. “They’ll let you know what is going on.”
I nod and I don’t even ask who “they” are. I don’t care. As long as someone contacts me, that’s all that matters.
Daniel turns and leaves and I turn back to my father.
“Are you alright?” he asks worriedly. And he’s so anxious that he’s forgetting to use his fake British accent.
I shake my head and start to cry again and my father doesn’t know what to do. Because I was supposed to have been a boy and he doesn’t know what to do with a crying girl. He pats my back awkwardly.
“I want to go home,” I whimper. “Can I go home?”
“To Kansas?” dad asks quietly.
I nod. “To Kansas. Right now.”
He sits me in a chair and goes to the find out when the next flight is. And it turns out that there is a flight leaving in an hour with a layover in Amsterdam.
He buys me a ticket.
And then he sits with me until it takes off.
I don’t have anything. Everything I took with me to Caberra and everything that I bought while I was there is still at Giliberti House.
“I’ll contact them and have it shipped,” Dad promises me.
I realize too that my cell phone is still in Caberra. I dropped my purse on the beach when the bay exploded.
“I’ll let your mother know,” my father tells me after I inform him of that. “I’ll let her know that you’re on your way. It will be okay, Reece. Everything will be okay.”
“No, it won’t,” I whisper. “I’m sick of everyone telling me that it will be okay all of the time. It won’t be okay. Not this time.”
He pats my back for a while longer because he doesn’t know what to say and then it’s time to board and so he walks me to the gate.
“Fly safely,” he tells me. And his accent is back now. I hug him tight.
“I love you, daddy,” I tell him before I turn to walk onto the plane.
“I know,” he answers. “I love you, too.”
I hand my boarding pass to the flight attendant and I can’t help but think about doing this very same thing when I flew out of Amsterdam. Dante was on my flight. And everything changed. He changed everything.
And now he’s gone.
I gulp back a fresh bout of tears and I drop into the seat.
I curl up and put my head against the window. I watch the flight crew loading luggage beneath us and I realize that I haven’t once panicked about flying this time. I’m not afraid anymore. And now it doesn’t matter. Because I’m empty inside.
Nothing matters.
I close my eyes and embrace the empty feeling in my heart.
It’s numb and cold and alone.
And I know I will feel that way for a long time to come.
I listen to the pilot telling us how we have a one and a half hour flight until we reach Amsterdam, which is where I lay over for a few hours. I close my eyes.
And somehow, I sleep.
And I am so tired and emotionally drained that my sleep is dreamless.
I wake up when the person next to me nudges me and tells me that we’re here and ready to deplane. I nod and say thank you.
And I wait my turn patiently to get off the plane.
And I trudge down to the terminal.
And I step out into the terminal into the masses of swarming people.
And I look up.
And there is Dante.
He is standing in front of me.
And my heart stops.