Claire smiled. “That’s depressing.” “Merry Christmas.” The midnight standby flight was canceled at 7:05.
They learned this from a gate agent who delivered the news while a crowd of adults responded as though outrage might alter atmospheric pressure. Claire stood very still. Then she took a breath and asked the agent whether any other airport within driving distance had flights leaving before morning.
The agent checked a binder, then shook her head. “Roads are getting worse. State police are advising no travel.” Claire nodded, thanked her, and walked away before disappointment could become public.
Jack followed. “You okay?” “No.” “That was direct.”
“I’m trying something new.” They reached a row of empty orange seats near a closed florist kiosk. Claire sat down, put her elbows on her knees, and covered her face with both hands. Jack remained standing for a moment, then sat two seats away instead of one.
“I missed my father’s funeral by forty minutes,” Claire said. The sentence changed everything. Jack did not interrupt.
“It was three years ago,” she continued. “A snowstorm, actually. Smaller than this. My train got stuck outside Albany.
I kept thinking they would hold the service because everyone knew I was coming. But my mother said he would have hated that. So they started.” She lowered her hands. “I promised Rebecca I would never be the person who arrives after important things again.”
Jack’s expression softened. “Your sister knows you’re trying.” “That didn’t help with my father.” “No.”