news, but Missouri is staring at her own phone screen, her brows knitted together as she taps furiously with two thumbs.
“They switched it back on,” Rowan says.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “To communicate their demands perhaps?” We both look toward the bar. To one side of us, the pregnant woman is FaceTiming her husband. Tears stream down his face as he reaches out and touches the screen.
“I love you so much,” he says.
“I love you too.”
I choke back a sob and turn away, unable to bear the torture of watching someone else’s goodbye. The noise level in the cabin is rising as more people get through to their loved ones. There are messages left on voicemail, declarations of love, requests for forgiveness. If I don’t make it, tell the kids I love them…
Cesca’s sending a text, biting back the tears I can see threatening to break through her controlled facade. My hand itches for my phone, zipped in my bag at the front of the plane, and I wonder how long the network will cope with so many people trying to call home.
My mother phoned me the day before she died. It was less than a year after I’d dropped out of pilot training, and I couldn’t handle another interrogation about trying again, couldn’t deal with her gentle but insistent questions about what had happened that day in the air. I watched her name flash up on my screen, and I let it go to voicemail. I’d call her later or in the morning.
Only I didn’t, and I’ve never forgiven myself for it.
Images flash through my mind. Adam, standing at the altar, turning to see me walk down the aisle. Meeting Sophia. Bringing her home. Playing bath monsters, walking to school, Adam and I each with a hand, swinging her high in the air. My mother wasn’t there to see me marry Adam, never met Sophia, never knew me as a mother myself. I don’t want that for Sophia. I want to be there for her—it’s what I promised her the day we brought her home.
I’ll never leave you. You’ll never be on your own again.
“Here.”
I look ’round. Rowan is holding out his phone. I reach for it, even as politeness makes me say, “I couldn’t—you must want to—”
“You first. Call your husband. Your daughter.”
“Thank you.” I swallow hard.
Adam’s mobile is switched off, and I hang up and call the landline. I imagine Adam stirring, wondering who on earth is calling at this time of the night. I picture him stumbling downstairs, glancing through the open door of Sophia’s bedroom to make sure it hasn’t woken her.
You’ve reached the Holbrook family. Sorry we’re not here to—I hang up. Press redial. Where are they? I did everything the hijackers wanted me to do. I did it for Sophia, to keep her safe. Where is she?
You’ve reached the Holbrook family. Sorry we’re not here to take your call. Leave a message, and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.
“Adam? If you’re there, pick up. Adam!” I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but I’m powerless against the sob that rushes up and drowns my words. “The plane’s been hijacked. They said they’d hurt Sophia if I didn’t—oh God, Adam, if you’re there, if nothing’s happened, go somewhere safe, please. They say they’re going to let the plane run out of fuel, and—” I’m speaking so fast, the words are tumbling over one another, and I jab at the phone to end the call, angry with myself for losing it.
Rowan puts a hand on my shoulder. “Breathe.”
Behind Rowan, Alice is typing feverishly on her phone’s keypad. I breathe. “Can I call back?”
“Of course.”
…Leave a message, and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.
“Adam? If I don’t make it, tell Sophia I love her. Tell her she’s brave and beautiful and clever and that I’m in awe of her every single day. Tell her I did everything I could to keep her safe. I promised I’d never leave her, and I need her to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise. She’s going to do so much in her life, and although she won’t be able to see me, I’ll still be there, watching out for her. I love her so much. And—I love you too.” I swallow, then speak louder, each word fiercer than the last. “But you won’t need to tell her that. Because I’m coming home, Adam. I’m coming home.”
I wait for a moment, imagining the