As Far as the Stars. Virginia Macgregor
that he was late for the flight and got onto one that’s arriving later. Which, depending on his arrival time, will at least give us enough time to get to Nashville for the rehearsal dinner.
Whatever happens, we’d be there for the wedding. And, in the end, that’s all that matters.
Or that bald UKFlyer guy who’s in charge of keeping us up to date will tell us that the plane’s back on radar, that air traffic control got it wrong, and that the UKFlyer0217 has landed. That the passengers are coming through passport control and that, in a few minutes, they’ll be with us.
‘Can I borrow your phone?’
Leda’s head shoots up from my lap. She thumps her tail against my thigh so hard that I put my hand on it to press it down.
I look up too. He’s standing there, the pale, tangle-haired, paper-folding guy. And he’s staring at me, his eyes wide behind his tortoiseshell glasses.
‘My mobile’s out of charge,’ he explains.
Yeah, he definitely sounds English, like Mom and our relatives back in the UK. Mom’s got a bit of a Scottish lilt because that’s where she lived until she was ten and all her family come from there, but mostly she sounds English.
The guy adjusts his glasses and keeps staring at me.
‘Sure.’ I hand him my cell, relieved that I don’t have to keep looking at Mom’s messages popping up.
When he starts swiping at the screen, I notice that his fingers are shaking.
I’ve been so swept up with thinking about my family and the wedding and what’s going to happen in the next forty-eight hours if Blake doesn’t show up, that I kind of forgot that all these people around me are also waiting for news about those they came to collect. Blake could be anywhere right now, but they know that their loved ones are on the plane. And maybe they don’t have families like ours – or moms like our mom – to hold them all together.
While he’s using my phone, I look past him at a TV screen on the far side of the room. And then I notice some of the people who’ve been waiting with us, getting to their feet and turning to look at it too.
Which makes the guy look up from my cell and turn to the TV screen as well.
It’s the ABC news feed that’s been on this whole time with weather reports and the latest from the Yankees– Red Sox game and details about tomorrow’s eclipse.
Except none of those things are on the screen.
Instead, there’s a grainy picture. It keeps wobbling out of focus: a large piece of metal, floating on the sea.
15.37 EST
It’s when I see that bit of grainy footage on ABC News that I know for sure.
Blake wasn’t on that plane.
He can’t have been.
He didn’t know what he was texting: he’s probably in Nashville, wondering where the hell I am. I shouldn’t have turned around so fast. I should have kept going to Nashville, stuck to our plans.
And if he’s not in Nashville, then he’s probably somewhere else altogether. Like still in London, playing in a hip bar somewhere.
‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ I say, taking my phone back.
I swing my telescope onto my back, grab Leda and head towards the terminal doors. She makes her body go limp so I have drag her along the floor.
‘Get up,’ I say to her, yanking harder.
As I walk, I send Mom a text.
Blake messed up. We’re not going to make it for the family breakfast. Please don’t worry, Mom, we’ll be there soon.
I put my phone in the pocket of my shorts and try not to think about the bomb I’ve just landed on Mom.
I yank Leda again but she won’t move. Her head is twisted back towards the group of people we’ve been waiting with, the ones who came to meet the UKFlyer0217. That’s when I notice the guy again and suddenly, I feel bad for walking away like that and even though I totally don’t have the time for this, I walk back to him.
Leda follows, suddenly cooperative.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say to him. My eyes well up. ‘For whoever…’ I look back at the screen. The bit of metal floating on the sea. Then I look at my watch. ‘But I’ve got to go.’
I don’t know what’s going on. With the plane. With where Blake is. But I’ve made a decision: I’ve got to get to the wedding. Whatever it takes. I have to be there for Mom and Dad and Jude. If Blake doesn’t show, I’ll find an excuse for him.
Jude needs this: her perfect wedding, getting married to Stephen.
Mom needs it.
We all do.
And if Blake doesn’t show up on time, I’ll sing the damn song.
I can’t play the guitar and my voice is totally average and I get shit scared of standing in front of even one person and performing. But I’ve been practising it with Blake ever since Jude announced she was engaged, so I know the words. Yeah, I’ll sing it. And it won’t be great. And Jude will be sulky as hell about it. But hopefully all the other wedding stuff will distract her and everything will sort of be okay.
And when Blake does turn up – like he always does – he’s going to owe me, big time. More than he’s ever owed me.
For a beat, the guy keeps staring at me, and then he says:
‘Don’t you think you should stay?’ He shifts nervously from foot to foot. ‘I mean, there could be more information. We’ve been told to wait.’ He blushes like saying even these few words to me is painful. ‘It’s better to stay together at times like this,’ he adds.
‘At times like this?’
‘Yeah.’
He makes it sound like this is the kind of situation that people find themselves in more than once in their lives. And like he’s some kind of expert.
‘I’ll keep checking my phone,’ I say – because I can’t tell him the truth: that I don’t need to stay because that bit of metal floating in the sea has nothing to do with my brother.
I feel bad for leaving him. He looks like he could do with having someone stay with him, but I’ve got to get on the road.
15.48 EST
Except, when I get to the car, it’s not there.
Blake’s car.
The mustard yellow 1973 Buick convertible that he loves like it’s a living thing.
The car which has my rehearsal dinner dress in it, and my bridesmaid’s dress and Blake’s suit and Leda’s food.
The car Dad was going to drive Jude and Stephen to the airport in after the wedding, to catch the flight to Florence for their honeymoon.
The car that was my one chance of getting to the wedding on time.
Leda barks at the empty space where I parked it, like she’s seeing a ghost.
My head spins.
I look around and then spot a parking notice taped to a post next to where I left the Buick.
I peel it off but I already know what’s happened.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It’s been impounded. Obviously,