I would be to discover a connection. I just never get tired of rereading his novels on eighteenth-century society. I love the fact that he can make me laugh out loud.
I looked up to check on the status of our connection. Another half hour before we boarded. I was drawn, once again, to the infinitely fascinating parade of humanity moving past me.
I looked straight into the eyes of one man. He smiled faintly—familiarly.
I returned to my book, then I looked up again. The guy, still walking slowly, was looking back at me through the crowd. He pursed his lips, blew me a silent kiss, no smile in his eyes.
The shock that someone would do that took me by surprise. What an odd, aggressive sort of thing to do. And then it struck me.
The man I’d just seen was Tony Markham.
Chapter 4
DEAR GOD…I STOOD UP. BRIAN NEEDED TO SEE; I shook him. “Brian! Brian, I just saw Tony! We have to go after him!”
He sat bolt upright, grabbing for his backpack. “I’m up, I’m ready,” he mumbled. Then his eyes cleared. “Is that us?”
Why didn’t he get it? “Shit! No! I just saw Tony Markham!”
The wary look came into his eyes. “Em, you couldn’t have—”
I craned my neck, trying to see where Tony had gone. “We have to go after him!”
“Our flight boards in about ten minutes! We’re not—”
I knew then it was futile. “Watch my stuff!”
I dove into the river of people in the crowded hallway and ran after the man I’d seen. I could hear Brian call after me, but didn’t care. I knew what I saw.
As I wove in and out of the bodies, as fast as I could, I tried to remember what I’d actually seen. Same height, same build, maybe a little leaner, a little more muscle, was the impression I had. His hair was colored a dark and uniform brown, no longer the white that I knew from years ago I’d expected to see. I also thought I saw a scar over Tony’s left eye, one that maybe I’d given him, kicking him in the head in my attempt to escape him at the Point. Khakis and oxford-cloth shirt, navy blazer.
I couldn’t see any one who looked like him, or rather, nearly every man I saw looked like the Tony I’d just seen. About half the guys traveling through O’Hare wore exactly the same thing. And at least half of them were the same description: late middle age, medium height, medium build. Every marketeer, consultant, sales rep, technical lead on the run from one city to another could have fit that description.
I ran as far, as fast as I could, trying to search each of the gates on both sides of the terminal hall as I went. Nothing. Soon I came to a crossroads, a food-and-services court, and knew I was out of luck.
I was being paged. It was just the loudspeakers, just Brian having the airline call me, summoning me back to the gate. To reality, I supposed he’d say.
With one last desperate look around, I resigned myself to failure and turned back for my gate.
Brian was humming with impatience; he had my bags as well as his own, ready to get on the plane. “Where were you? We’re boarding!”
“I told you. I thought I saw Tony.” I could tell how mad he was, but we didn’t have time for it now. “Here,” I said, reaching for my bag. “I’ll take that.”
“Here. Your ticket?”
“Got it.” Monosyllables and half sentences aren’t ever good signs in our house.
I was sweating profusely, shaking like an overloaded washer, by the time we found our seats. Brian stowed our bags without a word. Then he fastened his seat belt, crossed his arms, and went straight to sleep—he’s trained himself to do this. The hum of the airplane, and the rituals of takeoff are like a trigger. Sleeping keeps him from being nervous about leaving the ground. My husband, the scientist, can’t quite rationalize human flight.
It gave me a few minutes to collect myself. I was absolutely, mortally certain that I had seen Tony. A change in hair color hadn’t fooled me, the business-camouflage clothing—so similar to what he used to wear back when we were both at Caldwell College—only made his face stand out. And it was the smile that finally made me twig to it. A lot of people can have superficial similarities, but facial habits, particularly smiles, are a dead giveaway. The scar supported it. So did