those years, Greeley Urzey had such a strange, unnatural longing?
Well, he was happy living down there in Central America, doing his underwater repairs for the Panama Canal people, and Dora and Ralph were happy with their farm and their junk business. And Iâm happy, Mavity thought, except I wish Lou was still here, that he wasnât taken away from me so soon. She shoved aside the word lonely, pushed it down deep where it wouldnât nudge at her. She knew sheâd soon be grousing because of too much family, longing for some lonelinessâwell, for some privacy.
Never happy. Thatâs the trouble with me. Maybe thatâs the trouble with everyone, always something that doesnât suit. I wonder what itâll be like in the next worldâI wonder if you really are happy forever?
She had given herself plenty of time heading for the airport, and in the brightening morning she took pleasure in the Molena Point hills that flanked the little freeway, the dense pine and cypress woods rising dark against the blue sky, and the small valleys still thick with mist. Ahead, down the hills, the fog was breaking apart over the wide scar of the airport that slashed between the houses and woods. Greeley had wanted to come along, and she could have swung by the house to get him if sheâd had room, but he ought to have known the Bug wouldnât handle another passenger plus a mountain of baggage. Even though Dora and Ralph traveled with all those suitcases, sheâd never seen either of them wearing anything but jeans and T-shirts or sweatshirts printed in Day-Glo with some crazy message. Besides, they were not small people. Each time she saw her niece and Ralph, their girth had spread a little, expanding like warm bread dough.
But they were a sweet couple, and sheâd get them tucked into the car one way or another. Maybe by their next visit she would have a bigger house, three nice bedrooms, one on the main level for herself, two upstairs for company. Not too big, though. Too much to clean. Maybe a place up in the hills. She wondered why Wilma didnât open an account with Mr. Jergen and increase her own pension. Sometimes she didnât understand Wilma; sometimes she thought Wilmaâscareer as a parole officer had left her with no trust at all. Wilma relied on her close friends, but she didnât have much faith in other folks.
Turning off the freeway into the small airport, she drove slowly past the glass doors of the little terminal but didnât park in front. You could never depend on that fifteen-minute parking. Theyâd give you a ticket one second after your time was upâas if the meter maid was lurking just around the corner, hungry to make her quota. Continuing on down the hill, she pulled into a short-term space, locked the car, and headed double-time back up the steep incline.
Pushing open the glass door, her frizzy gray hair was reflected, and her thin old body, straight as a stick in her white uniform. She might look frowsy, but she was in better shape than most women half her age. She wasnât even breathing hard after the steep climbâand she didnât have to pay some expensive gym to keep fit. She got paid for doing her workouts scrubbing and polishing and sweeping, right on the job.
Greeley was the same as her, as lean as a hard-running hound. Dora, being Greeleyâs daughter, ought to be the same, but she took after her mother. Ample, Greeley said.
Still, Dora didnât have Greeleyâs quick temper, and that was a blessing.
Peninsula Airport was so small that most of its flights were commuter planes. The runways would take a 737 if some airline ever decided to put on a straight run, but no one had. Crossing the lobby toward the three gates, she saw that all three of the little glassed-in waiting areas were empty. To her left at the Delta desk a lone clerk stood staring into space as if sleeping on his feet.
In the larger general waiting room
Well, he was happy living down there in Central America, doing his underwater repairs for the Panama Canal people, and Dora and Ralph were happy with their farm and their junk business. And Iâm happy, Mavity thought, except I wish Lou was still here, that he wasnât taken away from me so soon. She shoved aside the word lonely, pushed it down deep where it wouldnât nudge at her. She knew sheâd soon be grousing because of too much family, longing for some lonelinessâwell, for some privacy.
Never happy. Thatâs the trouble with me. Maybe thatâs the trouble with everyone, always something that doesnât suit. I wonder what itâll be like in the next worldâI wonder if you really are happy forever?
She had given herself plenty of time heading for the airport, and in the brightening morning she took pleasure in the Molena Point hills that flanked the little freeway, the dense pine and cypress woods rising dark against the blue sky, and the small valleys still thick with mist. Ahead, down the hills, the fog was breaking apart over the wide scar of the airport that slashed between the houses and woods. Greeley had wanted to come along, and she could have swung by the house to get him if sheâd had room, but he ought to have known the Bug wouldnât handle another passenger plus a mountain of baggage. Even though Dora and Ralph traveled with all those suitcases, sheâd never seen either of them wearing anything but jeans and T-shirts or sweatshirts printed in Day-Glo with some crazy message. Besides, they were not small people. Each time she saw her niece and Ralph, their girth had spread a little, expanding like warm bread dough.
But they were a sweet couple, and sheâd get them tucked into the car one way or another. Maybe by their next visit she would have a bigger house, three nice bedrooms, one on the main level for herself, two upstairs for company. Not too big, though. Too much to clean. Maybe a place up in the hills. She wondered why Wilma didnât open an account with Mr. Jergen and increase her own pension. Sometimes she didnât understand Wilma; sometimes she thought Wilmaâscareer as a parole officer had left her with no trust at all. Wilma relied on her close friends, but she didnât have much faith in other folks.
Turning off the freeway into the small airport, she drove slowly past the glass doors of the little terminal but didnât park in front. You could never depend on that fifteen-minute parking. Theyâd give you a ticket one second after your time was upâas if the meter maid was lurking just around the corner, hungry to make her quota. Continuing on down the hill, she pulled into a short-term space, locked the car, and headed double-time back up the steep incline.
Pushing open the glass door, her frizzy gray hair was reflected, and her thin old body, straight as a stick in her white uniform. She might look frowsy, but she was in better shape than most women half her age. She wasnât even breathing hard after the steep climbâand she didnât have to pay some expensive gym to keep fit. She got paid for doing her workouts scrubbing and polishing and sweeping, right on the job.
Greeley was the same as her, as lean as a hard-running hound. Dora, being Greeleyâs daughter, ought to be the same, but she took after her mother. Ample, Greeley said.
Still, Dora didnât have Greeleyâs quick temper, and that was a blessing.
Peninsula Airport was so small that most of its flights were commuter planes. The runways would take a 737 if some airline ever decided to put on a straight run, but no one had. Crossing the lobby toward the three gates, she saw that all three of the little glassed-in waiting areas were empty. To her left at the Delta desk a lone clerk stood staring into space as if sleeping on his feet.
In the larger general waiting room
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