Chapter 1
Autumn
I judge airplane flights on a drink scale. The drinks being alcoholic beverages, and the scale being how many I should have to get me through the terrifying experience of hurtling through the sky in a metal tube.
I've checked the weather and I know what the skies have in store for me on my trip from New York City to Phoenix. If only I could use radar to see what's in store for me once I land. Going back home to the small town of Sedona that I left ten years ago doesn’t exactly fill me with excitement.
The flight-attendant on this flight has a kind, lopsided smile, and the second my backside is firmly planted in my first-class seat, I request a glass of wine from her. So far, it’s a one wine glass kinda flight. That’s bound to change though, especially with the shitstorm of a day I’ve had.
I smile gratefully when she hands me the dark red liquid. I inhale before taking a sip. I’m not one of those people, the wine connoisseur with the discerning palate. It’s just I find the scent of the wine comforting. It’s my airplane ritual, a signal to my brain that it’s time to relax. Wine and I are old friends.
My shoulders are the first to relax, inching down from my ears, followed by the unraveling of the muscles in my upper back. Passengers board as I unwind, and I watch them casually, my gaze flickering away if our eyes happen to meet. I’ve always feared prolonged eye contact with strangers. Or … maybe not always. Just since then. I fear that someday a person sensitive to the sins of others will look at me and know. The way an animal senses an earthquake before it happens, they will see in my soul the dark stain of shame.
Shame stains all of us, but not everybody nurtures it the way I do. I could let it go, but it would take with it more than just its smudge. It would take him, and I’m not sure I can do that.
I chug the rest of my glass, but promise myself to wait until we're in the air to order another. I can't show up and be drunk in front of my poor sick mother. Her life is hard enough as it is. There's no way I'm going to pile my troubles onto her. She needs a doting, thoughtful daughter, and that's exactly what she's going to get.
I'm so busy thinking of my mother that I barely register the woman who’s had one too many facelifts until she nestles in across from me. She clutches her tiny Pomeranian like a life raft, her fingers decorated with a diamond ring on each finger. We share a quick glance before I turn away.
I don't belong up here in first-class. I make good money, but spending it on a fancy ride from the east coast to the desert feels wasteful. I've made this same trek a dozen times since I moved to Manhattan, but I've always flown coach. Until now … until my mom called and asked me to move home. Then I dropped everything: my job, my apartment, and two grand on a last-minute airplane ticket.
My gaze stays firmly fixed out the window. The sky darkens, but the night steadily lights up. It's mostly white-yellow, the light from apartments, but there are neons too. And tonight, the top of the Empire State Building is purple.
I shift forward in my seat as the plane backs away from the gate. We taxi to the runway, join the line of other planes waiting their turn, then pick up speed. Nerves claw at my gut as I think of what I’m leaving behind, what I’m going home to—the unknowns that hide in every corner of my old town like hidden shadows waiting to pull me under.
Fuck this day.
My fingers press into the cold window, the heat from my skin leaving behind slick marks, as I whisper goodbye to the city I spent six years calling home.
The plane lifts off and the feeling of weightlessness makes me gasp. The sprawling city twinkles at an awkward angle as we ascend. When I first came here, twenty-two years old and eager, this place smelled like hope and possibility. Now I know better. No matter how good something seems in the beginning, it cannot possibly maintain its luster. Eventually, everything fades.
"Folks, we have touched down in Phoenix. Current temperature is eighty-six degrees, and unfortunately, it's only five A.M. So, you can expect that number to increase."
The pilot continues to thank us for choosing the airline, but it's drowned out by the collective moan of passengers after hearing the early morning temperature.
The heat doesn't bother me. Where I'm headed, two hours north of the valley, it'll be twenty degrees cooler. But, considering what's waiting for me there, it's not an even tradeoff.
I gather my purse and slip from the plush seat when it's my turn, leaving behind the complimentary blanket and headphones.
Not gonna lie, first class was amazing, but my wallet can’t afford to make a habit out of it. Now that I’m jobless, I’ll need to go on a budget until I can find something else.
As I slip past sluggish travelers wheeling heavy carry-ons, I notice their zombie-like appearance. I've always been a morning person, trained to function on little sleep, so the early hour isn't a problem for me. A few hours of sleep on the plane is enough to carry me through until I can grab a nap later. The energy zinging through me now has nothing to do with sleep. Despite the reason I've come back, I'm excited to see my mom.
The thought has me moving faster, propelling me around a family wearing brightly-colored Hawaiian shirts. I sneak a peek at them as I pass, and they all look tired, mildly sunburned, and a little depressed.
I see my mom as soon as I round the corner. She stands only a few feet beyond security. Any closer and the TSA employee would probably ask her to take a few steps back.
A grin stretches my face. She looks good. Skinnier than I imagined, but healthy. Bits of silvery gray weave through her shoulder-length brown hair, showing me what I will one day look like. I don't even allow the other half of my DNA into the equation. I think of my dad as a donor, and that's it. He walked out on my mom before my first birthday, so he doesn’t deserve more than a fleeting thought.
The closer I get to her, the more I take in. I see it now … the way her t-shirt hangs limply on her body, and then I realize she's in a long-sleeve and it's hot out. There are deep dark bruises on her legs and my mouth goes dry. I don't mean for my smile to falter, but it does, and like a reflection in a mirror, her grin falls a fraction too.
The cancer has returned. It has hit her not once, not twice, but three fucking times.
Who the hell gets cancer three times? It’s not fair, but I can’t go down that road right now or I’ll end up cursing God in the middle of this airport.
The odds aren't good for her … but I am here now and I’ll be damned if cancer is going to take my mother from me.
Maybe my presence will be the difference. During her first two diagnoses, she'd told me to stay in New York and keep working. I'd argued, but my mom is stubborn and firm. I'd have better luck arguing with a brick wall. So, I listened. I also knew she needed my help financially, even though she didn't say it. The best way for me to help was to stay at my job and keep climbing, making sure those paychecks came in and got bigger along the way. I sent her a chunk of money each month and she accepted it gratefully.
But this time, when she called to tell me about the current diagnosis, she asked me to come home. She didn't tell me to stay put like she had before. She just told me she’d pick me up at the airport.
That's how I knew it was bad.