Claire gave him a look. “Sorry. Poorly timed.” She rubbed her forehead. “I have to call home.”
Jack pointed toward the payphones. “So do I.” They joined the queue together.
It took twenty minutes to reach a phone. Claire dug coins from her purse while Jack leaned against the next booth, waiting his turn. She dialed her parents’ number from memory. Her mother answered on the third ring.
“Claire?” “How did you know?” “Because nobody else calls long distance sounding guilty before saying hello.” Claire laughed, then nearly cried.
Her mother’s name was Margaret Bennett, and she possessed the specific maternal talent of hearing emotional weather through a telephone line. Claire explained the canceled flight, the ground closure, the rebooking chaos, and the fact that no one knew whether flights would resume that night. Margaret listened without interrupting. Finally she said, “Rebecca will understand.”
“She’s getting married.” “She knows.” “I’m supposed to help her get dressed.” “You also cannot fly an airplane through a blizzard.”
Claire looked across at Jack. He was watching a small boy try to balance a toy truck on the payphone shelf. When the truck fell, Jack caught it before it hit the floor and handed it back without breaking his attention from Claire’s side of the conversation. “I’ll find another way,” Claire said.
“Don’t do anything foolish.” “That is insulting.” “It is informed parenting.” Margaret lowered her voice. “Are you alone?”
Claire hesitated. Jack noticed and raised an eyebrow. “No,” Claire said. “There’s a man.”