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Amanda looked at her watch, and leaned forward to glare at the front door. She wriggled her phone out of her jeans pocket, a bit of a struggle in the confines of the car seat, and double-checked the time. They were going to be late, dammit.
She tapped her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. It was tempting to honk the horn until her husband finally emerged. Despite his work hauling him all over the country, he could never get it into his head that you had to be there well before the flight time, that check-in wasn't something that you just breezed through fifteen minutes beforehand.
Trouble was, he somehow always managed it, schmoozing at the staff and getting on the plane.
He wasn't the one flying this time, though. Amanda had been anticipating this trip for months. Her father, a man her mother described as "a deadbeat perma-child", had contacted her for the first time in 18 years. Despite the history- forgotten birthdays, promised visits that never eventuated, Christmas gifts that never arrived- she was looking forward to seeing him, if for no other reason than to tell him that she never wanted to see him again. She hadn't quite decided.
Nervousness coiled in her stomach, and she gave in to the impulse. She leaned on the horn, blat blat blaaat, and finally he came out. He climbed into the passenger seat, grinned at her, and said "Ready to go?"
Amanda repressed the urge to snarl at him, and started the car in silence. In her peripheral vision she could see Paul open his mouth as if to speak, but change his mind. She accelerated roughly down the street, the tension in her body expressed in her foot. A corner of her mind felt guilty; she wasn't really mad at him, just overwhelmed with anxiety, nerves and the memory of past hurts.
The 20-minute drive to the airport passed without conversation. Amanda stopped the car in the drop-off zone outside the main doors, pulled the key from the ignition, and sat for a moment with her hands in her lap. With a deep breath, she pulled the lever to open the boot, opened the car door and went around to the back. Paul had already collected a luggage trolley from a rack beneath the "Drop-off zone - 5 minutes or less" sign.
He hauled her suitcase out and dropped it on the trolley. She looked at him, and proffered the car keys. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's not-"
Paul pulled her close and hugged her. "It's okay," he said. "I know this must be hard for you."
She nodded, snuggled against his chest. A moment passed, and with another deep breath she stood up straight.
Paul kissed her on the forehead. "It'll be okay. He'll either have got his act together and realised that he's been a fool not to be part of your life, or he's a total dickhead and you'll be right there to kick him in the crotch."
Amanda laughed, offering him the keys again. Paul always made everything all right. He tucked the keys into a pocket, and turned back to rummage in the boot. "If he's a dickhead, I'll kick him twice. He deserves it."
He grinned at her. "Now now, stay calm," he said. He held out her carry-on bag. Amanda took it, and slung the strap over her shoulder. Together they wrangled the trolley up onto the footpath, battling the obligatory wonky wheel.
Paul gave her one last kiss, confirmed her return flight details, and climbed into the car. He waved over his shoulder as he drove away; Amanda waved back.
She pushed her trolley through the automatic doors, and into the bustling airport crowds. Whatever happened on the trip, it would be okay. There was one man in her life she could count on.
She tapped her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. It was tempting to honk the horn until her husband finally emerged. Despite his work hauling him all over the country, he could never get it into his head that you had to be there well before the flight time, that check-in wasn't something that you just breezed through fifteen minutes beforehand.
Trouble was, he somehow always managed it, schmoozing at the staff and getting on the plane.
He wasn't the one flying this time, though. Amanda had been anticipating this trip for months. Her father, a man her mother described as "a deadbeat perma-child", had contacted her for the first time in 18 years. Despite the history- forgotten birthdays, promised visits that never eventuated, Christmas gifts that never arrived- she was looking forward to seeing him, if for no other reason than to tell him that she never wanted to see him again. She hadn't quite decided.
Nervousness coiled in her stomach, and she gave in to the impulse. She leaned on the horn, blat blat blaaat, and finally he came out. He climbed into the passenger seat, grinned at her, and said "Ready to go?"
Amanda repressed the urge to snarl at him, and started the car in silence. In her peripheral vision she could see Paul open his mouth as if to speak, but change his mind. She accelerated roughly down the street, the tension in her body expressed in her foot. A corner of her mind felt guilty; she wasn't really mad at him, just overwhelmed with anxiety, nerves and the memory of past hurts.
The 20-minute drive to the airport passed without conversation. Amanda stopped the car in the drop-off zone outside the main doors, pulled the key from the ignition, and sat for a moment with her hands in her lap. With a deep breath, she pulled the lever to open the boot, opened the car door and went around to the back. Paul had already collected a luggage trolley from a rack beneath the "Drop-off zone - 5 minutes or less" sign.
He hauled her suitcase out and dropped it on the trolley. She looked at him, and proffered the car keys. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's not-"
Paul pulled her close and hugged her. "It's okay," he said. "I know this must be hard for you."
She nodded, snuggled against his chest. A moment passed, and with another deep breath she stood up straight.
Paul kissed her on the forehead. "It'll be okay. He'll either have got his act together and realised that he's been a fool not to be part of your life, or he's a total dickhead and you'll be right there to kick him in the crotch."
Amanda laughed, offering him the keys again. Paul always made everything all right. He tucked the keys into a pocket, and turned back to rummage in the boot. "If he's a dickhead, I'll kick him twice. He deserves it."
He grinned at her. "Now now, stay calm," he said. He held out her carry-on bag. Amanda took it, and slung the strap over her shoulder. Together they wrangled the trolley up onto the footpath, battling the obligatory wonky wheel.
Paul gave her one last kiss, confirmed her return flight details, and climbed into the car. He waved over his shoulder as he drove away; Amanda waved back.
She pushed her trolley through the automatic doors, and into the bustling airport crowds. Whatever happened on the trip, it would be okay. There was one man in her life she could count on.