“Jonah Brennan,” he said.
Lauren had not sat. She stood with her back to the window and her eyes on Mason, who had climbed onto a seat two chairs down and opened the backpack in his lap like a fort. She closed her eyes the way people do when the thing they have been carrying finally touches the floor and makes a noise.
“Don’t do this here,” she said.
“Who is he?”
“Derek.”
“Is he coming to this airport? Is he already through security? Did you think I was going to drop you at the curb like a cab and go coach a scrimmage while you flew my son somewhere with a man I don’t know and came back without him?”
“He is not a man I—” She stopped. The correction was too large to finish in a concourse. “He is not what you think.”