The simple fact is that I know almost nothing about the Lerners anymore and they know almost nothing about me. I don’t even know if they know about Sam.
Joe and I follow Francine as she walks confidently in the direction of the terminal.
“It is hard to predict how he’ll be feeling,” Francine says as we walk. “From what I’ve heard and the advice that I’ve been given by professionals, our job right now is to make him feel safe.”
“Of course,” I say.
Right before we get to the door, Francine turns and looks at me. “In that vein, we have chosen not to tell him you’ve moved on.”
So they do know. Of course they do.
“OK,” I say, unsure how else to respond other than to acknowledge that I’ve heard her.
The wind picks up and I find myself wishing I had brought a warmer coat. The air here is sharper than I expected. I button up tighter and I watch as Joe does the same.
“You can tell him if you want,” Francine says. “I just don’t know if he can handle finding out you are already engaged to someone else.”
It is the “already” that bothers me. The “already” nested firmly in the sentence, as if it’s right at home between “you are” and “engaged.”
I resolve to stay quiet. I tell myself the best response is stoicism. But then, before I realize I’ve done it, I’ve let the feelings in my chest become words out of my mouth.
“You don’t need to make me feel guilty,” I tell her. “I feel plenty guilty all on my own.”
Even though I know she hears me, she pretends she’s heard nothing. It doesn’t matter; even if she did acknowledge it, I know there’s no way she could possibly understand what I mean.
I feel awful for giving up on Jesse. For thinking he was dead. For moving on. For falling in love with someone else. I’m actually furious at myself for that.
But I’m also really angry at myself for not being loyal to Sam, for not remaining steadfast and true in my devotion, like I have promised him I would be. I am mad at myself for being unsure, for not being the sort of woman who can tell him he’s the only one, for not giving him the kind of love he deserves.
I’m mad at myself for a lot of things.
So much so that I barely have time to consider what anyone else thinks of me.
“OK,” Joe says abruptly. “Let’s go. Jesse’s going to land any minute.”
I watch through the plate-glass window in front of me as a plane flies low in the sky and lands on the runway.
My heart starts beating so hard in my chest that I am afraid I am having a heart attack.
A man on the ground wheels out a staircase. A door opens. A pilot walks out.
And then there is Jesse.
Worse for wear and yet, somehow, never more beautiful to me than right now.
Pictures never did his smile justice. I remember that now.
He’s also thin and frail, as if his body is made only of muscle and bone. His once-gentle face is sleek, hard edges where soft cheeks used to be. His hair is longer, shaggier. His skin is mottled light brown and pink, looking very much like a three-year sunburn.
But his mannerisms are the same. His smile is the same. His eyes, the same.
I stare at him as he gets off the plane. I stare at him as he hugs Francine and Joe. I stare at him as he comes closer to me, as he looks me in the eye with purpose. I notice that the pinkie on his right hand stops at the first knuckle. He lost a finger somewhere along the way.
“Hi,” he says.
Just hearing that one word makes me feel as though I have gone back in time, to a part of my life when things made sense, when the world was fair.
“Hi.”
“You are a sight for sore eyes.”
I smile. I bury my face in my hands. He grabs me, holding me. I can feel my pulse beat erratically, as if it isn’t sure whether to speed up or slow down.
I wonder if this is all real.
But when I open my eyes again, he’s still there. He’s right here in front of me, surrounding me.
I grieved him as if he were dead. But here he is.
It’s almost terrifying, how much it defies logic and reason. What else do we know about the world that isn’t true?