Chapter 6

The boarding area was busy by the time they arrived. Families with beach bags, honeymooners with matching shirts, older couples reading paperbacks—a whole plane full of people heading to paradise. Maggie found a seat by the window and watched the ground crew load bags into the hold.

Richard sat beside her, his own boarding pass in his hand. He had rebooked himself on the same flight, but in a different row—two seats apart, a small distance that was also a peace offering. He had not asked for more. He hadn't asked for anything since the café.

"Flight 2217 to Honolulu, now boarding rows 15 through 22," the gate agent's voice rang out.

Maggie stood. Her seatmate-to-be, a woman in her fifties with gray-streaked hair and a kind face, smiled at her as they lined up together. Richard fell in behind them, his hand hovering near her elbow, not quite touching.

The line shuffled forward. Maggie handed her boarding pass to the gate agent, who scanned it with a beep. The doors were open ahead of her, the jet bridge stretching toward the plane.

"Gary Smith, Gary Smith, please return to gate 14—"

A voice cut through the announcement. "Maggie!"

Maggie stopped. She knew that voice. She had known it for six years, had braced for it at every family dinner, had flinched at it across every Thanksgiving table.