Chapter 24: The Gate

Tony was in front of my coworker's building at four in the morning with the engine running and the heater on.

He had taken the day off.

He had also, I noticed, put a blanket and a thermos in the back seat.

"Hot chocolate," he said. "Plenty for the ride."

Eli was already in the car, with a backpack on his lap.

His sister was keeping Biscuit for the year, and Biscuit had screamed about it all the way down the stairs.

At the airport, the terminal lights were white and flat, and the departures hall smelled like coffee and floor wax.

My mother was waiting beside the glass doors.

She wore her good coat over her robe, and she had been crying for a while.

She held a foil package against her chest.

"It's the lemon cookies," she said. "Nonna's recipe. They're not very good. I never got it right."

"They'll be good."

"Bee."

"Mom."

She stopped, and then she hugged me.

She smelled like our kitchen, and I let her, and I didn't say it was fine.

"I'm not going to say I forgive everyone yet," I said into her coat.

"I know."

"But you can write to me."

"Every week." She pulled back and held my face. "I'll write about nothing. The weather. The cat next door."

"That would be good."

Marty was standing a few feet away with his hands jammed in his jacket.

He looked tired.

"I got you something," he said. "It's not much."

He held out a small envelope.

Inside was a gift card to a bookstore in Edinburgh, which he must have looked up.