flow of humanity move past me. I watch young lovers who’d been separated press their lips together as if never to part again. I watch grandmothers leaning down to hug the grandchildren they probably wish they saw more of. I watch executives whiz by with tiny remote, cell-phone mouth pieces attached to their faces, talking as if to no one.
An elderly woman takes a seat next to me and settles her belongings all around her. I smile a wordless greeting.
“I think my daughter might be running late.” The woman looks over her shoulder and back around again. “At least I hope that’s all it is. I hope she hasn’t been in an accident or anything.”
“Traffic can be a little troublesome depending on where she lives.” I don’t know what else to say.
“It’s just not like her to be late,” the woman continues in a worried voice. She checks her watch. “I said I’d wait right by the carousels for Delta so she wouldn’t have to park. But I keep watching the street outside and I don’t see her.”
This woman is not in the right place.
“The carousels right here are for United. She might be waiting for you a few exits down.” I point to the other doors that lead to the outside world.
“Oh! Oh, dear!” The woman stands and starts to collect her things. An overnight bag she’d placed on her shoulder falls to the ground. “Oh,” she says again. She picks it up, grabs her purse, shopping bag and suitcase and then drops it again.
I stand and retrieve the shoulder bag. “Here. If you place your overnight bag over the handle of your suitcase you can just pull them both along. See?”
“Thanks. Thank you so much.” She begins to walk briskly away. And as she does, I see that Father Laurent and Liam have returned. And a third person is with them. Ramsey. He has Father Laurent’s kind, dark eyes, but his jaw is set differently. A scattering of gray touches his temples. Ramsey Laurent is a little taller than his father, and has more hair, but the family resemblance is still strong. And yet he doesn’t look like Father Laurent at all.
I’ve no idea how long they’ve been standing there.
Father Laurent quickly introduces me to his son. “Daisy, this is Ramsey. Ramsey, this is Daisy Murien, my landlady.”
It takes a lot of effort not to laugh.
A landlady, indeed.
I’m in no position of authority over Father Laurent. The idea is absurd. He is the wise and respected one. The one I run to for direction and consolation. I simply take his rent checks and deposit them into Reuben’s bank account.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, remembering my manners and extending my hand.
“Likewise,” Ramsey returns the handshake. His grip is firm, almost stern. We let go and he lets his hand fall back to rest on Liam’s shoulder.
“Got all your luggage?” I say.
“Yes. Thanks. It’s all here.”
“Okay. Well. Shall we go?”
There is something about Ramsey that needles me as we head to the escalators and short-term parking. There is something odd about this man who looks so much like Father Laurent and yet who doesn’t resemble him at all.
I decide as we enter the parking structure that Ramsey lacks the copious amounts of laugh lines that his father has. Wrinkles like that come from age, though, don’t they? And Ramsey can’t be much more than seven or eight years older than me.
Perhaps in twenty years he’ll have them, too.
I watch him talk to Liam in low tones. I study his eyes as we continue to walk, looking for the telltale signs that creases from smiling too much are growing beneath his skin. But I don’t see them.
He looks up at me.
I look away.
Eighteen
Dear Harriet,
It’s been a very odd day. It began all right, I guess. No… actually, it began rather pathetically. I realized while I nursed a mocha on the roof that I’m basking in bitterness, roiling with resentment. I’m an Eeyore.
This revelation is all thanks to you, since I did in fact take my woes to the chapel last night and I
An elderly woman takes a seat next to me and settles her belongings all around her. I smile a wordless greeting.
“I think my daughter might be running late.” The woman looks over her shoulder and back around again. “At least I hope that’s all it is. I hope she hasn’t been in an accident or anything.”
“Traffic can be a little troublesome depending on where she lives.” I don’t know what else to say.
“It’s just not like her to be late,” the woman continues in a worried voice. She checks her watch. “I said I’d wait right by the carousels for Delta so she wouldn’t have to park. But I keep watching the street outside and I don’t see her.”
This woman is not in the right place.
“The carousels right here are for United. She might be waiting for you a few exits down.” I point to the other doors that lead to the outside world.
“Oh! Oh, dear!” The woman stands and starts to collect her things. An overnight bag she’d placed on her shoulder falls to the ground. “Oh,” she says again. She picks it up, grabs her purse, shopping bag and suitcase and then drops it again.
I stand and retrieve the shoulder bag. “Here. If you place your overnight bag over the handle of your suitcase you can just pull them both along. See?”
“Thanks. Thank you so much.” She begins to walk briskly away. And as she does, I see that Father Laurent and Liam have returned. And a third person is with them. Ramsey. He has Father Laurent’s kind, dark eyes, but his jaw is set differently. A scattering of gray touches his temples. Ramsey Laurent is a little taller than his father, and has more hair, but the family resemblance is still strong. And yet he doesn’t look like Father Laurent at all.
I’ve no idea how long they’ve been standing there.
Father Laurent quickly introduces me to his son. “Daisy, this is Ramsey. Ramsey, this is Daisy Murien, my landlady.”
It takes a lot of effort not to laugh.
A landlady, indeed.
I’m in no position of authority over Father Laurent. The idea is absurd. He is the wise and respected one. The one I run to for direction and consolation. I simply take his rent checks and deposit them into Reuben’s bank account.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, remembering my manners and extending my hand.
“Likewise,” Ramsey returns the handshake. His grip is firm, almost stern. We let go and he lets his hand fall back to rest on Liam’s shoulder.
“Got all your luggage?” I say.
“Yes. Thanks. It’s all here.”
“Okay. Well. Shall we go?”
There is something about Ramsey that needles me as we head to the escalators and short-term parking. There is something odd about this man who looks so much like Father Laurent and yet who doesn’t resemble him at all.
I decide as we enter the parking structure that Ramsey lacks the copious amounts of laugh lines that his father has. Wrinkles like that come from age, though, don’t they? And Ramsey can’t be much more than seven or eight years older than me.
Perhaps in twenty years he’ll have them, too.
I watch him talk to Liam in low tones. I study his eyes as we continue to walk, looking for the telltale signs that creases from smiling too much are growing beneath his skin. But I don’t see them.
He looks up at me.
I look away.
Eighteen
Dear Harriet,
It’s been a very odd day. It began all right, I guess. No… actually, it began rather pathetically. I realized while I nursed a mocha on the roof that I’m basking in bitterness, roiling with resentment. I’m an Eeyore.
This revelation is all thanks to you, since I did in fact take my woes to the chapel last night and I
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