Her mother was right. She can’t let herself get distracted by a man. Especially now, when everything she’s worked so hard for is within her grasp. So why do I want him so much?
‘I’ll call you, Sam. I’ll keep in touch.’
‘Becca would like that.’
‘I thought Becca hated me.’
‘Becca doesn’t hate you, Princess Grace. She told Ellie this morning that she wants to have her hair cut just like yours.’
‘Oh, no! Her hair is lovely. I’d have given anything to have long, blonde hair when I was a girl.’
Sam laughs. ‘I’ve learned to choose my battles around here. I’m not sure that’s a battle I want to have.’
Sophie smiles. ‘No, probably not.’
He stands beside the bike, looking at the terminal building behind her as he rocks her case back and forth by its extended handle. ‘Sophie, it wouldn’t be fair to her for me to get involved with someone who lives in a different country.’
Her heart flops. Here it is. Why didn’t I see it coming? I should have seen it coming.
She nods. ‘Of course. I totally agree. It would never work. Timing’s everything, isn’t it?’
He looks at her as if he is trying to unravel a complex puzzle. ‘Timing and geography.’
Sophie straightens her shoulders and tugs her jacket into place. ‘Well, then, we can chalk up whatever it was that happened between us as a bit of harmless fun between two adults.’
‘Is that what it was?’
Sophie looks at Sam. ‘Wasn’t it?
‘It seems so.’
Sophie swallows. ‘Tell her goodbye for me.’
‘I will.’
‘No, like this.’ Sophie signs Goodbye, Becca.
He signs Goodbye, Sophie and leans towards her. She closes her eyes. Not meaning to. Not expecting anything. The moment hangs in the air.
She opens her eyes to see Sam standing by the bike, watching her. Shaking his head, he puts on his helmet and throws his leg over the seat. He turns the key and the engine purrs into life. He taps his helmet in a salute. ‘Good luck, Princess Grace. I hope life gives you everything you’re looking for.’
The bike roars down the road to the intersection. Sam turns his head, checking traffic, then powers the bike out towards the highway.
A chilly wind buffets her on the airport concourse, and she brushes her hair out of her eyes. Over on the runway two planes sit, awaiting the final stranded passengers. A yellow and black school bus pulls into the parking lot. The door slams open, and a motley group of travellers files out, filling the air with chatter. She walks over to the queue and follows them through the doors into the terminal building.
PART TWO
Chapter 49
Gander, Newfoundland – 11 September 2011
Sophie peers down at the grey tarmac, which is empty except for the articulated luggage cart snaking its way bumpily to the aeroplane. So different from ten years ago. Then, she’d watched a parade of school buses inch along the tarmac. Filing up to collect the thousands of confused and exhausted passengers from the thirty-eight aeroplanes that had been diverted to Gander on 9/11. If she’d known what the following few days would hold for her, she probably would’ve stayed in the legion hall in Gander with the other passengers from her flight. It would’ve been far less complicated.
She follows the other passengers – mostly Americans as far as she can tell from their accents and irritating friendliness – through the open glass doors into the terminal’s cavernous 60s interior. The sweeping Modernist mural commands the room just as it had back then; it still surprises Sophie to see such a piece of art in a building so otherwise unremarkable. The bronze bird sculpture is there too, in the centre of the floor, but free of the handbags and jackets that had been hooked over the heads of the birds that day. On the far wall, the large brown letters spelling out CANADA – flanked by flags of Canada, the UK and Newfoundland – are still there, hovering over a portrait of the Queen.
New blue vinyl seating has been arranged in neat U-shaped islands clustered around wooden coffee tables on the polished beige and brown terrazzo floor. Ten years ago all the furniture had been shoved up against the walls to make room for tables of immigration officers. They’d worn short-sleeved white shirts and drunk bottle after bottle of water. Funny she should remember that, after all this time.
She glances over to where Mavis’s tea table had been set up. Where she’d first met Sam. Just a plant there now, looking in need of a watering.
***
‘Yes, m’dear. What can I do for you?’
Sophie smiles at the cheerful middle-aged woman with short permed orange hair. A pair of turquoise-rimmed bifocal glasses perches on her nose. A nametag is pinned to her white blouse, Hello, I’m Phyllis printed neatly in purple ink.
‘I’ve reserved a car. Under Parry. Sophie Parry.’
‘Oh, sure, duck. Gots your reservation right here.’ Phyllis pushes a stack of paper across the orange Formica counter. ‘Could you just fill out these forms?’
Scanning the documents, Sophie scribbles her signature and hands them back to Phyllis with her driving licence and a credit card.
‘Would you like to designate any other drivers?’
‘No. It’s just me.’
‘Just you goin’ off all around the island on your own? You gots relatives here you’re visitin’?’
‘No. Yes. An aunt. Up the coast. In Tippy’s Tickle.’
‘Oh, that’ll be lovely this time of year. Grab the last bit of summer sunshine. Snow’ll be here before the end of the month. I can feel it in my knees.’ Phyllis slides the credit card and licence across the counter, squinting at Sophie above her bifocals. ‘You’re not Ellie Parsons’s niece, by any chance?’
Sophie raises her eyebrows. ‘Yes, how do you know that?’
‘You sounds just like her. From England, aren’t you?’ The woman nods at the portrait of the Queen on the far wall as she separates a copy of the contract for Sophie. ‘We’ve gots the same queen.’
Sophie smiles weakly. ‘Yes, we do. You know my aunt?’
‘Oh, don’t make me laugh, duckie.’ Phyllis roots through a jumble of keys in a drawer behind the counter. ‘Everyone in these parts knows Ellie and Florie. They’re quite the pair, aren’t they? They’ve been onto the news here and over in St John’s all about the fish processin’ factory closin’ down in Heart’s Wish. They tried to close it down ten years ago, but there was some fuss. Right shame they closed the factory. Consolidatin’, the government said. Movin’ things to a bigger place down the coast. Lots of people out of work in Tippy’s Tickle now. They’ve been tryin’ to gets the government to do somethin’, but closures is happenin’ all over the island. Hard to make a livin’ out in the outports. Kids just end up movin’ to Toronto or Alberta where the jobs is. Can’t blame them, can you? We needs more people like your aunt. Trying to change things. And Ellie pushin’ ninety! She’s a right one, your aunt.’
Sophie folds her copy of the contract and shoves it into her shoulder bag. ‘She is at that.’