I poked at the edges of the pancake with a spatula, without a clue what I was doing. Beanie had finished breakfast and was hoping for a treat.
“She has nightmares and shit.” Dan glugged down some juice. “About flying.”
“But she told me she spent a summer in New York, when she tried modeling,” I told them. “How did she get there?”
Dan shot a look at Kate then said, “She did a drive-away, you know, when you drive someone’s car cross-country? That’s how she got to the East Coast without flying.”
“I see. That explains it.”
“Jen feels kind of embarrassed, felt ashamed the other day that you were offering her this awesome opportunity to go to Zurich, and she blew you off—sounded so ungrateful.”
“She’s been tossing and turning all night,” Kate added, “trying to come up with a solution. She so wants to visit Mom, but the anxiety is killing her. Killing Jen,” she clarified.
I wanted to stress to them the fact that this might be their last chance to see their mum before she died, but that might make them lose hope. I shared with Dan the story I had told Kate about being locked in a cupboard at school. I wasn’t looking for sympathy, but I wanted them to know I identified with having a phobia. Was Jen’s fear of flying really as bad as my panic of small spaces?
“It’s one of the reasons I like living here so much,” I said. “I need open spaces.”
“You’ve never thought of living somewhere else?” Dan asked.
“No, never,” I replied, trying to read his expression. “This house is perfect, all open and light the way it is. And the setting. I never feel closed in or pinched, you know what I mean? America’s perfect for me. Big huge skies. In Britain, it’s all so pinched and small, and gray and gloomy, clouds closing in on you, pressing down on you. I mean, here, even if it’s misty or gray it never lasts very long before you get another bright blue sky. Ugh! Just thinking about the gray oppressive skies in England makes me remember how miserable I was living there. When I came to the States, I knew I’d found home. Even in New York, you get a lot of blue sky, even in winter.”
“Wow,” Kate said. “That’s a really ace argument for staying here!”
“Crap!—the pancakes. I hope you don’t mind them a little overcooked.” I dug them out of the pan and piled them onto a plate. So much for playing mummy today. I found some maple syrup in the cupboard, from Massachusetts—a gift from a client—and set it on the table with the rather burnt, sad, dog-eared pancakes. Kate poured out orange juice for us all. Beanie sat watching us rapturously. After breakfast, I’d take him out for a brisk walk before going to work. The antihistamine tablets were working better than I’d imagined.
“The coffee’ll be ready in a sec,” Kate said.
“Anyway,” Dan continued, “Jen will just have to stay behind if she can’t deal. But me and Kate would be psyched to go and see Mom and take you up on your offer.”
“Great,” I said, “we can go online later and search for flights and hotels.”
“Bummer is,” Kate said, her voice guarded, her face scrunched, “is that…” She didn’t finish her sentence.
“What?” I drenched my dry pancake with syrup and took a tentative bite.
“Hematological problems.”
“Which means?”
“Blood clots.”
“Oh.” I wanted to spit out my mouthful of pancake, it was disgusting. “Don’t eat this by the way, it really isn’t… blood clots?”
“DVT. Deep vein thrombosis.”
“At your age? Kate, are you sure?”
“Yeah, I can’t fly for any length of time. I mean, in coach, that is. Because it’s dangerous for me… unless I’m stretched out. Unless my legs are totally stretched out, you know, horizontal?”
I could see where this was heading. “What about those compression stockings you can buy?”
“I tried once, they don’t work.”
“They say if you do lots of exercises, drink plenty of water, and make sure you get an aisle seat so you can get up and move around every so often, or even an emergency exit seat so you can stretch—”
“Tried that too. The only thing that works is if I’m horizontal, trust me. It’s not worth the risk for me to develop a pulmonary embolism. They upgraded me once and then it was fine, problem solved, like, instantly.”
“Business class will cost a fortune, Kate. Not even I fly business class, not even for work—well, unless the client’s paying. Two