The plane pushed back twelve minutes later. Deicing trucks crawled around the wing while snow thickened. Claire stared through the window past Jack’s shoulder, watching orange lights blur into the white. She had expected the relief of movement. Instead she felt the nervous elasticity of someone who knows a plan has begun but not whether it will hold.
Jack noticed. “You almost missed it for something important?” “My sister’s getting married tomorrow morning.” “On Christmas?”
“Christmas morning. Small ceremony. My mother says it’s romantic. My father says every anniversary gift is now a two-for-one tragedy.”
Jack laughed. “And you’re maid of honor?” “I’m the only sister.” “That sounds like a yes with paperwork.”
Claire looked at him more closely. “What about you?” “My mother invited everyone she has ever met to dinner and will interpret my absence as a personal attack.” “So also important.”
“Important in the sense that I may be removed from the will.”
The plane began taxiing. A child behind them asked loudly whether Santa could land on a moving airplane. Someone farther back laughed. Claire reached for the armrest at the same moment Jack did, then withdrew. He did too.
“Very diplomatic,” he said. “I believe in borders.” “Good. I’m an architect. Borders are most of what we draw.”
