San Francisco or LA?
After the successful opening of The Music Man at Paige’s school, and the trip for ice cream suggested by her parents (which Ava ghosted, Paige politely endured, and Logan enthusiastically embraced because, face it, eleven-year-old boys can’t stop eating)—after finally saying goodbyes and good nights and settling back in bed with a glass of wine, Holly had opened her laptop to find the answer.
Jack was a miles-and-points monster, so there was only one possible airline. And checking that airline’s scheduled direct flights from San Francisco to Chicago, Holly found . . . nothing. No flights had been flagged for cancellations or delays. Everything was right on time. Los Angeles it was.
Except when she checked direct flights from LA, it was the same story. No significant delays.
The momentary relief Holly had felt evaporated.
She stared at her phone. Considered texting, Where are you? It was two hours earlier on the West Coast. If he was on the West Coast at all.
Had he for some reason decided to fly a different airline? That unlikely possibility occupied her for another hour and another glass of wine while she tried all the major carriers. Jack wouldn’t fly a discount airline under any circumstances. He would rather have walked.
By the time she finally closed the laptop, her head was throbbing.
And then today he had arrived in late afternoon like a conquering hero—after putting in an obligatory half day at the office. Ava, Paige, and Logan all happened to be home and greeted him in the foyer like a scene out of Father Knows Best. Holly had served enough years as the stay-at-home parent to know she would never receive such a hearty welcome, but that didn’t mean it didn’t rankle. He had gifts for all of them, of course, and flowers for Paige, insisting he had heard rave reviews of her opening-night performance when, in truth, he couldn’t have known a thing unless he’d asked someone other than Holly.
Which, come to think of it, she couldn’t entirely rule out.
Paige had been terrific, of course, singing in tune, delivering her lines with almost no mistakes, and getting quite a few laughs.
Holly bided her time while Jack squired Paige back to school for that night’s performance, then dutifully gathered Ava and Logan in response to his postshow text message: What a show! Paige told me it was even better than last night, and I believe it! We’re all going out to celebrate at the Anvil Club.
The kitchen will be closed, she texted back.
Not to us, he answered. I’ll make a call.
Sounds good, she wrote, knowing there was no point dragging her feet.
She couldn’t help but note the lack of complaint from both Ava and Logan when she pulled them away from their respective screens and told them the plan. Jack had the same effect on investors as he had on his own family: everybody got with the program.
Apparently, the manager of the Anvil Club was on board, too, greeting them with a smile as they arrived. A few evening drinkers were watching a Blackhawks game in the bar, but the dining room was empty except for Jack and Paige, waiting at a corner table—and Brian and his wife, Nancy, who were just leaving.
“Finally found a sitter we like!” said Brian abruptly as he realized they were headed toward each other.
“Good for you!” said Holly, sounding a little false, even to herself.
Nancy smiled and said hello. Even though they crossed paths from time to time, she’d always struck Holly as distant.
“If you need a backup, you can always ask Ava,” she added, sensing her eldest’s eye roll without seeing it. Ava had been an enthusiastic babysitter at fourteen but was now over it.
Ava and Logan continued on to the table where their father and sister waited as Nancy headed for the door. Brian lagged behind, and Holly guessed it was just because he didn’t want to seem brusque.
“Jack went to see the show tonight, so we’re all celebrating,” Holly told him, just to say something. “We’ll be sure to toast the sound and lighting, too.”
Brian chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s more than we did.”
“How’s Nancy?” she asked.
“Busy. And Jack?”
“You know it. Home from California, anyway.”
Brian broke the awkward silence that followed by saying, “Look, Holly, I’m sorry if I was out of line—”
“It’s okay,” she said, as quietly as she could.
He glanced ruefully over at Jack. “I just had to—”
“Not. Now,” she practically breathed.
Brian nodded and then walked quickly out of the room as Holly collected herself before proceeding to the table. Nothing had happened, yet Holly couldn’t help feeling somehow caught. Why should she, though?
Fortunately, Jack was oblivious and in an exceedingly good mood. He held forth during the meal, shining the spotlight on each of the kids in turn and making sure it wasn’t all about Paige. A round of drinks and desserts was followed, improbably, by plates of sliders because Logan’s hunger somehow turned infectious, and they all agreed that why, yes, they would like a second dinner—Why, yes, I would repeated until it became a catchphrase likely to last into next week.
She waited until the hubbub died down and the kids were all showing each other things on their phones before she said, quietly, “There was no cracked windshield, was there?”
“What?” he said, smiling as though he hadn’t heard her.
“The cracked windshield, your canceled flight. I checked United, American, and Delta. Even Southwest and Alaska. It was silly, I couldn’t remember if you were coming from San Francisco or LA, so I looked for the canceled flight.”
He should have been outraged. You were checking up on me?
He could have said, Why didn’t you just ask?
“I was in San Francisco and LA,” he said without batting an eye. “Back and forth. Crazy week on the shuttle. The flight with the cracked windshield was private. My LA investor had to send his plane to Chicago anyway
