I open the door for her to get in, then I round the back of the car to the other side. Slamming the door shut, I reach across and grab Mikki’s gloved hand.

‘Forget the seatbelt. Come here.’

She looks relieved that I’ve invited her to cuddle with me. It’s too cold, even with the heater on in this car, to sit two feet away from the one you love. I reach into my pocket and pull out my crushed penny guitar pick. Rubbing it between my fingers, I think of how proud Grandpa Hugh would be if he could see me making my own way instead of depending on my father.

Mikki reaches up and grabs the penny from my fingers. ‘The copper’s all green from your sweaty fingers. I’m going to get you some new guitar picks – custom-engraved with “Crush picked me”. Then you can throw them out into the crowd at concerts and all the girls will swoon.’

‘This is my lucky pick.’ I take the pick back from her and tuck it into my pocket. ‘And I don’t care about driving the girls wild.’

‘But that’s what makes you successful,’ she insists. ‘You don’t have to sleep with them to make them think you want to. You have to appear totally into your music while you’re performing, but flash a little smile here and there. It tells them you’re enjoying their presence.’

‘Since when do you know so much about performing for a crowd?’

‘I don’t. I just watch a lot of live performances on YouTube.’

I tilt her head up and I can see a bit of sadness and embarrassment at this admission. ‘You’ve never been to a concert?’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m taking you to a concert in L.A.’

She smiles. ‘You’re going to be pretty busy making up for all the things I haven’t done.’

‘Spring semester doesn’t start for more than two weeks. We’ve got time.’

Her smile disappears and she pulls back a little. ‘What’s going to happen when we’re both back in school?’

‘I don’t know. I can make it down to Brockton to see you at least a couple of times a week. And definitely every weekend, except some Sundays when I’m performing.’

‘Where do you perform? Wally’s?’

‘I go to Wally’s a lot, but I don’t perform there all the time. I’ll probably take you there pretty often so you can get comfortable with those guys. Is that okay?’

‘Yes, but where do you perform?’

‘I’m in the Sunday Band. It’s one of two jazz bands at Harvard. We do local jazz festivals and university events. Sometimes we only perform once a month and sometimes it’s every weekend for a few weeks in a row. Just depends on what’s going on.’

‘Sunday? That means you have Saturdays free. So . . .’ Her eyes are focused on her lap as she takes a beat. ‘Will I be able to spend the night at your apartment on Fridays?’

‘You can spend the night at my apartment every night.’

She looks up at me, a tiny smile forming on her gorgeous lips, but she doesn’t say anything. She just needed to hear me say the words aloud, whether or not she’ll actually take me up on the offer. Sometimes, you just have to reassure the ones you love in precise language that you’ll always be there. Sometimes words are enough.

*****

We manage to pack our suitcases in less than ten minutes and the bellman drags them across the path they’ve cleared in front of the hotel so we’re back in the car by 8:06 a.m. The driver stuffs everything into the trunk and we head for the airport. The first thought that hits me as the car drives away from the hotel is how much has changed since Mikki and I got into a cab outside Terminal B on Monday morning.

She drops her purse onto the floor then lies back with her head in my lap. ‘I can see inside your nostrils from here.’

‘See anything that interests you?’

‘Ew.’ She tries to act disgusted, but she’s still smiling. ‘I’m hungry, but we don’t have time to stop for anything. I guess I’ll have to eat airplane food.’

‘Looking inside my nostrils made you hungry?’

She smacks my chest. ‘I’m serious.’

‘I’ll ask the flight attendant to donate my food to the little people in coach.’

‘Ooh, so generous. You’re like Brad Pitt. You’re hot and you love poor people.’

‘If we get to the gate in time, I’ll grab you something to eat on the concourse.’ I trace my fingertip over her bottom lip and she puckers up. ‘I can’t let you go hungry.’

She grabs my hand and lays it on the side of her face, then she closes her eyes for the last five minutes of the ride to the airport. I wish I knew what she’s thinking. What I do know is that she loves me. The girl who was planning to kill herself five days ago. The girl who saved my life. The girl I killed for. The girl I’d give my life for. She loves me and all the blackness inside me.

Chapter 43: MIKKI – January 8th

The driver unloads our luggage while Crush gets a Smarte Carte so we can zip through the terminal. We already checked in for our flight online. All we have to do is get our bags checked and head straight to security. But as soon as we enter the terminal and see the line of people waiting at the check-in counter, we realize it’s not going to be so simple.

‘Holy shit. It looks worse than when we were here Monday.’

Crush pushes our luggage cart to the back of the line as I crane my neck to view the length at the first-class check-in counter.

‘There are only a few people at the first-class counter. You can check your bag and go ahead of me. You’re the one who needs to make the flight, not me.’

Just saying this aloud makes me want to cry for two reasons. First, because I don’t want to think about how much it will hurt to know the flight, and Crush, took off without me. And second, because I’m not the same person I was five days ago when I was desperate to make that flight.

‘I’m not leaving without you, so just get that thought out of your head. But I’m going to go stand in the first-class line and see if they’ll allow me to check your bags at the same time. I’ll be right back.’

It’s painful watching him walk away, even with the knowledge that he will be back soon. I don’t know if it’s dangerous to need someone this much. Did I just swap one drug for another? I don’t think I even want to know the answer to that question. I don’t want it to taint my mind with doubts. If love is a drug, then it’s the kind that should be prescribed.

I drag my suitcase a few inches forward every minute or so until Crush rushes toward me with a smile on his face. ‘Come on. They’re gonna check your bag.’

Once my suitcase is checked, we race to the security line, which is about a hundred feet away. A stern TSA officer checks our boarding passes to make sure we’re at the right checkpoint, then he waves me toward the long line of harried travelers.

‘You’re pre-check. You can go to the front of the line,’ the officer says to Crush and he instantly turns to me, a guilty look washing over his face.

I turn away from him to look at the line of approximately fifty people waiting to be screened. This line splits off into four lines of passengers dumping their belongings onto conveyor belts.

‘Go ahead,’ I say, pushing him ahead of me.

‘Other side,’ the officer says to Crush, pointing at the other side of the line with absolutely no people on the other side of the cordon.

I push him toward the other line. ‘Maybe you can make them stop the plane for me. Go!’

He kisses my forehead then ducks under the cordon. ‘If they can’t wait for you, I’m not leaving. See you soon.’

I sigh as I watch him leave, ignoring the angry looks from the six or seven passengers queuing behind me. Then I trudge toward the back of the line and wait. It takes about twenty minutes to get to the front of the line. The whole time I’m placing my purse, shoes, and coat on the conveyor, I keep hoping that the ring in my lip won’t earn me a pat-down.

When I make it through the body scanner, the woman holds up her blue-gloved hand for me to wait. My heart pounds, looking on anxiously as she stares at the screen to my left.

She glances at my lips then waves me past. ‘Go ahead.’

I quickly gather my belongings off the conveyor and dump them onto a small table where I can shakily put on my boots without the annoyed looks of the other travelers. I drape my coat over my arm, sling my purse across my body, and take one last glance at the gate number on my boarding pass before I race to gate thirty-four.

The smell of food instantly makes me hungrier as I pass a seafood restaurant at the end of the corridor. Then I turn left and find another short corridor with a gift shop and frozen yogurt shop. Racing past them, I follow the sign to take another left toward gate thirty-four and I nearly bump right into Crush as I take the turn.

‘What happened? Did you miss the flight?’

‘It’s been pushed back an hour.’ I throw my arms around his neck and he laughs. ‘Don’t get too excited. This weather is shit and they’re hoping there won’t be any more delays, but they’re not sure.’

I let go of his neck and shrug. ‘I’m not happy because of the flight. I’m happy because now I have time to eat.’

*****

Crush gets us both a breakfast sandwich and an orange juice at the Dunkin Donuts kiosk. We sit in gate thirty-four eating our breakfast while I try desperately not to appear too nervous. But it doesn’t take long for Crush to notice something is wrong.

‘I can’t believe I never asked you this before. Is this your first time flying.’

I shake my head. ‘No. I went to Mexico on a family vacation when I was thirteen.’

‘Are you afraid of flying?’ He places his hand on my knee to stop my leg from bouncing up and down nervously.

‘A little. I read a lot and I was reading about the probability of getting in a plane crash.’ He shakes his head in dismay. ‘I know it’s almost impossible. What I’m trying to say is that I ended up stumbling upon all these investigation reports on various plane crashes and I found a few where the cause of the crash was never determined.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

He glances at the person seated on my other side, probably to see if she can hear what we’re talking about. It’s probably an unspoken rule that it’s bad luck to talk about plane crashes while sitting in an airport. I’m not a superstitious person, so if she doesn’t like it, she can move.

‘I’m trying to say that the odds of being in a plane crash are low, but . . . apparently, there is no way to know if you’ll be in a plane crash. Even if conditions are perfect. Great weather. New airplane. Plenty of fuel. Experienced flight staff. There are just some plane crashes that can’t be avoided or explained.’

Shit. I probably sound like a crazy person right now. I wrap the paper around my half-eaten breakfast sandwich, my fingers shaking profusely. Crush takes the sandwich from my hands and gets up to throw it away for me. When he sits back down, he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips.

‘At least if we go down, we go down together.’

Moments later, they begin calling people by groups to board the plane. Crush is in group one, but he insists on waiting to board with me and the rest of the cattle in group four. When they call my group, I’m surprised to find that I’m not really anxious anymore. I pull out my boarding pass and hand it to the lady at the counter. She scans it and hands it back and I wait for Crush to get his pass scanned before we head through the jet bridge.

The bridge is enclosed, but the air inside the bridge is cold enough for my breath to steam and my nose to start aching as we wait in line for people to board ahead of us. I rub my hands together, almost contemplating pulling the gloves out of my purse, but we’re only about four bodies away from entering the plane. Once we’re inside, Crush asks the flight attendant if he can give me his first-class seat and I smack his arm.