Three Years Earlier
“Attention, passengers on Flight 523 to West Palm Beach. We are experiencing mechanical difficulties with the aircraft that will cause a delay in our departure time. We will update you as soon as we get additional information. Thank you for your patience.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply through my nose. It was the third time a delay had been announced over the crackling airport intercom.
“How much longer are we going to be stuck here?” Liam whined.
“Forever,” Bridget moaned.
I privately agreed with my daughter that it certainly did feel like we would be stuck there forever in airport purgatory. The terminal at JFK was crowded with holiday travelers. Everyone looked grumpy as they slumped on uncomfortable seats, their luggage and possessions scattered around them. When the announcement had begun, the herd had raised their heads hopefully, ears pricking up. At the news of another delay, shoulders sagged and groans rang out all around.
“Mom, my tablet is almost out of power,” Liam said, waving the device at me for emphasis.
Like most modern mothers, I firmly believed that my children should spend less time on electronics, staring at screens, and more time in the real, nondigital world. Looking at the scenery, interacting with real people, reading actual books. I was, however, willing to abandon these scruples completely when we were in crowded airports, only halfway through our journey, with no hope of being home before—I checked my watch and stifled another groan—midnight.
“Let’s find a place to charge up.” I looked around.
Liam nodded toward a bank of high stools in front of a counter equipped with touch screens and electrical outlets. Most of the spots were occupied, but miraculously one of the screens was free.
“Hurry. Let’s grab those stools.” I moved swiftly, pulling my small wheeled suitcase behind me. The kids took longer to gather up their belongings, so by the time they joined me, I had already claimed three stools, by sitting on one and putting bags down on the other two.
“Are you, like, using all of those?” a twentysomething girl asked, her voice a contemptuous squawk. She had squinty eyes ringed with black eyeliner and long, straight hair in an odd shade of pink-streaked blond.
“Yes, I am.” I nodded toward my approaching children. “My children are sitting here.”
The girl let out an exasperated snort, rolled her eyes and turned away. I felt a surge of petty pleasure at this small victory.
Once seated, Liam and Bridget were keenly interested in the touch screen. After they each plugged in their devices, they started tapping and discovered the screens offered very slow internet access as well as the ability to order food and drinks from a nearby restaurant in the terminal.
“Hey, Mom, can we get fries?” Liam asked.
“Only if there’s something resembling dinner on the same plate,” I said. “Do they have hamburgers?”
I got out my credit card while Liam tapped at the screen. He frowned. “It’s not working.”
“Maybe you’re tapping it too much,” I said. “Give it a chance.”
“It’s really slow,” the woman sitting next to us said. “It takes forever to place your order.”
“Did you get it to work?” I asked.
“Yes, finally. And not a moment too soon,” she said as a waiter arrived, bearing a single martini on a tray.
I looked at the drink and smiled—I loved martinis, and a drink seemed like the perfect antidote for the too-bright, too-crowded airport terminal.
The woman, I noticed then, seemed incongruously glamorous to the disheveled mass of weary travelers. I guessed that she was a bit older than I was, probably in her mid to late forties. She was very thin and had shiny dark hair cut into an angled chin-length bob. I’d always coveted a sleek bob, but it was a style I’d never be able to tame my wavy hair into. Her eyes were a startling bright blue, and her face was made up of interesting, strong lines—a long nose, full lips, square jaw. Her features were too angular to be truly pretty, but she was a very striking woman.
“A vodka martini, straight up, with a twist?” the waiter asked, setting the drink in front of her.
“Perfect,” the woman said, trying to give him a five-dollar bill.
The waiter raised his hands. “All tips have to be done electronically.”
The woman crinkled her nose. “Really? I didn’t know.” She tried to hand him the bill again. “Please, take it. I didn’t add one on my total, and I already checked out.”
The waiter shrugged and turned away.
The woman looked at me with a smile. “I guess I’ll have to order another one and double the tip.”
I looked at her drink again, this time covetously. “I’m jealous. That looks delicious. I wish I could have one.”
“You can,” she said. “Just tap the martini picture on your screen once it stops freezing up. And voilà! A drink magically appears.”
“I can’t,” I said, glancing over at Liam and Bridget. The screen was cooperating with them now, and they were entertaining themselves by ordering far more food than they would eat. I would need to delete half their selections before I swiped my credit card. “I’m here with my kids.”
“I’ve been there. Traveling with children should come with hazardous duty pay,” the woman said. “Trust me, you need a martini even more than I do.”
I hesitated. A drink sounded wonderful, but I was on my own with the children. We had spent the New Year with my parents in Syracuse. Todd had begged off the trip, claiming he had too much work to do. Although when I’d spoken to him the day before, he’d sounded deeply hungover from whatever party he’d been to on New Year’s Eve. It was not the first or the last time I would wonder how unfairly the parental burden fell. Men could get away with bacchanalian nights out, while their wives usually couldn’t unless it was preplanned under the pink polka-dotted banner of a Girls’ Night Out. In any event, on New Year’s Eve, my straitlaced academic parents had gone to bed early, as was their custom. I’d spent the night watching the ball drop at Times Square on television while my children—who’d insisted they were old enough to stay awake—slumbered heavily on the couch.
I decided this woman was right. I did deserve a martini.
Besides, Liam and Bridget were old enough that I didn’t have to monitor them like toddlers. And once we reached the airport in Florida, Todd would be there to drive us home.
“Are you on the flight to West Palm?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “If there ever is a flight to West Palm, that is. I’m starting to worry that we’ll be stuck here all night.”
“I’m
