ADRIAN’S MOTHER DIED NINE YEARS AGO
After her death—
Walter fell apart.
“He started drinking.”
Adrian’s voice became unsteady.
“Badly.”
“Worse than anything I had ever seen.”
“And I was grieving too.”
He paused again.
“Instead of staying beside the only other person who understood exactly what we had lost…”
“…I walked away.”
My eyes filled.
“I convinced myself I was protecting myself.”
“I had just watched my mother’s health collapse.”
“I couldn’t stand watching Walter collapse too.”
“So I stopped answering.”
Stopped visiting.
Stopped calling.
Eight years.
“I told myself he had chosen alcohol.”
“But the truth is…”
Adrian inhaled slowly.
“…I chose silence.”
THEN HE SAID THE WORDS THAT EXPLAINED EVERYTHING
“Three months ago, I learned Walter has pancreatic cancer.”
My heart sank.
“Stage four.”
Someone near me whispered:
“Oh, God.”
Adrian continued.
“My aunt called me.”
“Walter wasn’t going to.”
“He has been sober for five years.”
That surprised me.
“And apparently he told her more than once that he would rather die without bothering me than reach out and risk hearing that I still wanted nothing to do with him.”
I looked toward seat 3A.
I could only see part of a silver-haired head.
Adrian’s voice cracked.
“So I called him.”
THEY HAD BEEN TALKING FOR TWO MONTHS
Slowly.
Carefully.
Awkwardly.
Sixty days trying to cross an eight-year distance.
“It has taken two months just to begin rebuilding what I threw away.”
Adrian said.
“And tonight Walter is on Flight 482 because he has a specialist appointment after we land.”
Then came the detail that finally made me cry.
“I requested this route.”
I closed my eyes.
“I asked specifically to captain this flight.”
“Because Walter taught me to fly.”
“And if he has to travel for treatment…”
Adrian paused.
“…I wanted the first flight we took together again to be one I was flying for him.”
Two hundred strangers remained completely silent.
