Page 98 of Parentmoon

Another day. A new start for Michael and Keli. A beginning as husband and wife.

Dallas leans forward, pushing my chair back, startling me with the scrape of metal feet over concrete.

“Jo.” He takes one of my hands, cupping it in both of his, keeping his eyes lowered to where he holds me. “I don’t want you to go.”

I peer at him as he rubs his thumb along the inside of mine. “This wasn’t our honeymoon, though. It was a parentmoon, and now the phase is over.”

His head pops upward, and his thumb stops stroking. His pinched brows form a deep crevice. “Phase?”

“Wasn’t this just a fling for you?” I watch his eyes, then glance at his lips.

“Was it for you?”

I swallow around the coconut-sized lump in my throat. My mouth is as dry as the sand around us. “What else could it be?” He lives in Texas. I live in Chicago. Our lives couldn’t be any more opposite than the distance between those states.

Dallas releases my hand and sits back. His arm comes to the arm rest, bending at the elbow so his fingers trace along his lower lip. “Guess you’re right.” Irritation laces his voice.

He so easily acquiesced; he shouldn’t be angry. He just agreed with me. I want to be surprised, but I’m not.

No one has ever fought for me. Slayed lizards, yes. Scared iguanas, absolutely. Scaled walls? The current status is that my walls are crumbled into rubble around my heart. But truly fought for me? To keep me. To love me. I couldn’t expect Dallas to argue that these past days meant more to him. That we should see each other again—soon and often and maybe every day. Which isn’t a possibility.

There will be birthdays and holidays and the birth of our shared grandchild.

Then Michael and Keli will be moving and there will be awkward visits, and avoiding glances, and my heart breaking into a million pieces like it’s doing right now.

There goes my heart, bleeding into grains of sand, blowing away with the breeze.

Pattering comes from behind us with the hard smack of flip flops and the softer sound of naked feet.

“Good morning,” Keli cheerfully calls out and I spin in my seat to face them entering the dining area and nearing our table.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson,” I greet, fighting back tears.

Dallas clears his throat. “We didn’t expect to see you two this morning.”

“We wanted to thank you again for everything,” Keli explains as Michael pulls out a chair for her and she takes a seat.

“And we wanted to say goodbye before you left,” Michael adds, sitting in a chair beside his new wife.

Goodbye.

It’s the only word that remains and explains everything about Dallas and me.

+ + +

The remainder of the hour is a shuffle of finishing breakfast, collecting bags, and rushing to the dock for a water taxi. To my surprise, Dallas is traveling with me, because his flight leaves Miami roughly forty minutes after mine. He’ll head to Houston. I’ll return to Chicago.

We don’t say much in the boat or at the small island airport where we must transfer to a larger airport on the main island. Surprising me again, he holds my hand as we sit inside the ten-seater charter plane. The flight is bumpy this round with a bout of rain and my anxiety skyrockets as I imagine the plane plummeting into the ocean.

I’m going to die before I get the chance to tell the man stroking my knuckles how I feel about him.

When we land, the larger airport is bedlam with travelers arriving and departing, and all desire for emotional confessions dissipates.

Dallas and I happen to be on the same plane to Miami which is an airline hub for both our flights headed in opposite directions. The flight is delayed for takeoff, but once we ascend, I grip the armrest, clutching it as we climb. Dallas takes my hand again and pulls it to his inner thigh, then lays his palm over mine. He keeps it there through most of the flight, but he doesn’t say much other than asking if I’m okay. Eventually, he closes his eyes and I stare out the window for a while with my thoughts escalating.

I don’t want us to end.

When we arrive in the Miami airport, we race through customs. Our bags are transferred to our respective flights, and then we are nearly running down two long concourses to get me to my departure gate.