Chapter 17: The Terminal

At a quarter to seven I stood at the end of Gate B14 in my grey coat.

My third son stood beside me, and no one else came.

Dario had wanted to come.

I had left him at the brownstone with Alessia, who was teaching him to scramble eggs, and I had told him this one was mine.

The gate was crowded with a late flight's passengers, and a television above the desk played the news with the sound off.

My second son came down the concourse at ten to seven, pulling a small black suitcase.

He wore a baseball cap pulled low, and he was looking at his phone.

I stepped into the middle of the aisle.

He walked into the front of my coat before he looked up.

"Mom."

Two women behind him stopped talking.

"Hello," I said. "Where are you flying?"

"Just a trip. A work trip."

"With a one-way ticket."

He looked at my third son, and his face changed.

"You told her."

"I told her," my third son said. "I can't do it either."

"Open the bag," I said.

"Mom, please, not here."

"You picked here. Open it."

He knelt and unzipped the suitcase right there on the floor of the concourse.

On top of his shirts was a folded envelope, and under it a bank bag full of cash.

A man waiting for his flight had lowered his newspaper to watch.

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