Chapter 14

Andrew shifted his legs around as he restlessly waited for his flight to Europe. "Damn it, where the hell is she?" he asked impatiently. "She’s got to get here sometime soon."

I nodded my head silently. Andrew and Lori had been getting along decently for the last few days, though I had the feeling there was still tension upstairs. After meeting Andrew in his apartment, we had waited around for Lori for thirty minutes after we had intended to leave. We had arrived at the airport later than Andrew would have liked and now we were sitting at the gate, waiting for him to board.

Andrew got up and walked to the edge of the concourse, looking back toward the entrance. He walked back to where I was sitting. "I don’t see her," he told me as he got back into his seat. "I wish she’d get here. I’d like the chance to talk to her before I leave. I haven’t exactly been easy to get along with lately, you know. I’d like to at least have a chance to say goodbye."

He got up from his seat and walked back to the concourse. He craned his neck to look above the crowd. He stood there for a few seconds, trying to peer through the masses before walking back to where I was sitting. He stood there for a moment before walking back to the concourse and repeating the same maneuver, only for longer.

"Shit," he informed me as he sat down next to me again, "What the hell’s keeping her? I hope she’s not stuck in traffic." Then he stood up and walked back to where he had been. He returned to where I was, pulling a cigarette out before remembering he could not use it in an airport and putting it back in the pack.

"Shit," he reiterated, then he walked back to the concourse.

He paced back and forth, passing me to look out toward the plane, then walking back to see if a certain someone had arrived. A cigarette pulled out, fidgeted with and replaced. His hand repeatedly worked its way through his hair, smoothing it down incessantly, then both hands rubbing his face and massaging his forehead as he walked back and forth.

They started boarding. "Damn it," he told me as he paused near me, "I told her the time. I reminded her when I was going. Did I leave her the flight number?" he asked nobody before answering his own question with, "Yes, I left her a note. I told her the times, I reminded her at least three times. I know I told her.

"Shit, that’s my row," he told me in response to another boarding announcement. His hands could not decide what to do, they were going into his pockets, fidgeting with his lighter, resting on his hips, clasping and unclasping.

"What’s she doing? Where’s she at?" he asked me. "She must be stuck in traffic. It’s a busy travel day, Sunday, you know. When’s she finally going to get here?" He then returned to his post at the border of the gate area.

They made the announcement for the boarding of all rows.

"Shit, I’ve only got about fifteen minutes before the plane leaves," he told me as he returned. "I’m not going to see her for three months," he reminded himself. "She always comes to see me off. She’s never missed me leaving before. She’s not going to miss it this time," then he rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He was, I’m sure, franticly reassuring himself that she was not going to leave him waiting for nothing.

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The loudspeaker announced, "This is the final boarding call for U.S. Airways Flight 1296 to Frankfurt. Repeat. This is the final boarding call for U.S. Airways Flight 1296 to Frankfurt."

#

He pulled his head up out of his hands and breathed loudly through his nose. Not looking at me, he calmly asked, "She’s not coming is she?"

All I could do was shake my head and say a very plain, "No."

"She was never coming was she?"

"No," I reluctantly replied.

He swallowed hard before he leaned forward and pushed himself up. With a, by now, ingrained, hopeful glance, he looked back toward the concourse. Then, silently, he leaned over for his carry-on bag and threw it over his shoulder.

He was crestfallen as we headed toward the rampway. He kept breathing in and out through his nostrils with the same tired look I had seen in his eyes after Lori had gotten engaged. He nervously chewed on his lower lip as he glanced back over his shoulder again.

"Thanks," he told me as he turned to me and shook my hand. "Thanks for everything. Take care of yourself," he told me in parting. He handed his boarding pass to the flight attendant, who told him to enjoy his flight, which Andrew acknowledged with a bare nod of his head. Just inside the door, the ramp took a ninety-degree turn toward the plane. Andrew stopped at the elbow.

He turned and took one last look back for someone who would never arrive. Then he looked once more at me and his hand reluctantly lifted into a parting gesture. He turned, straightened himself as best he could and strode away.