Vivian Vale: The Last Flight Home

Vivian Vale had always liked airports, not because she particularly enjoyed flying, because after enough years of delayed departures, indifferent coffee, cramped seats, lost luggage, and cheerful announcements explaining that a mechanical problem would require only another twenty minutes when everybody in the terminal knew perfectly well that twenty minutes meant at least an hour, she regarded flying as merely the inconvenient portion between one place and another, but because airports were full of people suspended between versions of their lives, carrying everything they believed mattered in bags small enough to fit beneath a seat while making promises, breaking promises, inventing excuses, saying goodbye, changing destinations, and occasionally discovering, somewhere between Gate Twelve and baggage claim, that the person beside them was not who they had believed. It was, in Vivian's experience, one of the best places in the world to hear a lie. She was sitting in the airline lounge with a glass of red wine beside her, a novel open across one knee, and a departure board informing her that her flight to Chicago had been delayed by ninety-seven minutes, when she noticed the woman three tables away. Vivian noticed women easily. She had stopped apologizing to herself for that years ago. This one was perhaps thirty-five, East Asian, with smooth shoulder-length black hair framing an expressive face, a cream silk blouse tucked into tailored black trousers, and the slightly defeated elegance of someone who had removed her heels beneath the table without caring whether anyone noticed, and although there was nothing theatrical about her beauty, nothing calculated or aggressively glamorous, Vivian found herself watching the way her face changed whenever the man sitting opposite her spoke. The woman was angry. The man appeared inconvenienced by her anger. Vivian immediately disliked him. Not enough to interfere. Not yet. “I don't understand why you're still doing this,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that he probably believed the surrounding conversations would swallow it. “I told you what happened.” The woman folded her arms. “You told me your flight was canceled.” “It was.” The familiar metallic bitterness touched the back of Vivian's tongue. Lie. Her eyes lifted from the page. There it was. The man continued. “I spent six hours trying to get another seat, Naomi, and there was nothing.” Lie. Vivian looked toward the woman again. Naomi. A good name. Naomi stared at him with the exhausted expression of someone who had already heard this explanation enough times to memorize the places where it did not fit. “You called me from your apartment.” “No, I didn't.” Lie. “You did, Evan. I heard your neighbor's dog barking.” “I was outside the terminal.” Lie. “The terminal has your neighbor's dog?” Evan sighed. “You know what I mean.” “No, actually, I don't, and that's becoming the problem.” Vivian slowly closed her book. Evan leaned toward Naomi and lowered his voice, apparently believing that intimacy made dishonesty more convincing. “I tried to get to Cabo.” Lie. “I wanted to be there.” The metallic taste did not come. Truth. Vivian's eyebrow moved slightly. That was interesting. Naomi looked at him. “Then why weren't you?” “Because the airline canceled the flight.” Lie. “You never sent me the cancellation notice.” “I deleted it.” Lie. “You delete airline emails?” “I was angry.” Lie. “You weren't angry when I spoke to you.” “I was trying not to ruin your trip.” Lie. Naomi laughed, although there was no amusement in it. “My trip was already ruined, Evan. I spent four days in a resort we'd booked together, eating dinner alone while everybody around me assumed the mysterious boyfriend would eventually arrive.” “I know.” “Do you?” “Yes.” Truth. “Were you disappointed?” “Of course.” Lie. Vivian took a slow drink of wine. Bad liars annoyed her more than skilled ones, because at least skilled liars respected the intelligence of the person they were deceiving. Naomi leaned forward. “What flight were you booked on?” Evan hesitated. “You know which one.” “No. I know which one you told me you were taking. What was the flight number?” “I don't remember.” Truth. Of course he didn't. Naomi watched him carefully now. “What hotel did the airline put you in?” “The Hilton.” Lie. “Which Hilton?” “The airport Hilton.” Lie. “There are three airport Hiltons.” Evan's jaw tightened. “Naomi, I don't want to spend the next hour being interrogated.” “And I didn't want to spend four days alone in Mexico.” “I apologized.” “You explained. That's different.” Vivian almost smiled. She liked her. Evan reached across the table and took Naomi's hand before she could pull it away. “I love you.” Nothing. Truth. Vivian looked back toward the departure board, although she was no longer seeing it, because there was something especially ugly about lies built around something true, something almost more cruel than simple deception, because people expected betrayal to mean love had disappeared when quite often love remained perfectly intact while respect, loyalty, and decency quietly died beside it. Naomi withdrew her hand. “I think you're lying to me.” Evan's expression hardened. “About what?” “I don't know.” “That makes no sense.” “It makes enough sense that I've barely slept since I got back.” “You're angry.” “Yes.” “And paranoid.” The metallic taste came so sharply that Vivian nearly laughed. Lie. Naomi's face changed. “Paranoid?” “I didn't mean—” “Yes, you did.” “Naomi.” “No. Say it again.” Evan looked around the lounge. “Can we not do this here?” “We're already doing it here.” “You're making something out of nothing.” Lie. That was enough. Vivian set down her glass. There were nights when she could leave strangers to their mistakes, because adulthood included the right to discover unpleasant truths on one's own schedule, and there were nights when a man called a woman paranoid while lying directly to her face and Vivian's patience simply ceased to exist. She stood. The aisle between the tables was narrow, Evan's chair protruded just far enough to make passing awkward, and when a traveler dragging an oversized suitcase suddenly backed into Vivian's path, she shifted naturally to one side and let her fingers brush lightly across Evan's forearm. “Oh, excuse me.” Evan glanced up. “No problem.” Vivian smiled politely. “Thank you.” She continued toward the bar. Behind her, Naomi said, “You really were at the airport?” Evan answered without hesitation. “No.” Vivian stopped beside an empty stool. She loved that first second more than she should have, the tiny silence in which everyone involved understood that something had happened but nobody yet knew how bad it was going to become. Naomi stared at him. “What did you say?” Evan's eyes widened. “I said no.” “You weren't at the airport?” “No.” He looked horrified by his own answer and immediately pressed his lips together. Naomi's voice became very quiet. “Where were you?” Evan shook his head. “Don't.” “Where were you, Evan?” He could refuse to speak. That was one of the limits of Vivian's gift, and an important one, because her touch did not turn people into fountains of unsolicited confession; it merely made deliberate lies impossible for several minutes, three sometimes, five if the strange current between her skin and theirs lingered unusually long, and anyone clever enough could remain silent until the compulsion passed. Evan was not clever enough. “With Lauren.” Naomi stopped breathing. Vivian turned toward the bar and ordered another glass of wine. “Lauren,” Naomi repeated. “My ex.” “I know who Lauren is.” “I didn't mean to say that.” “Apparently.” “Naomi, please.” “How long?” Evan looked away. “How long have you been seeing her?” “Three months.” Naomi closed her eyes. The bartender placed Vivian's wine in front of her. Vivian did not touch it. “Three months,” Naomi said. “Yes.” “And you told me you hadn't spoken to her since January.” “I lied.” “You said she kept calling you and you ignored her.” “I lied.” “You said you blocked her number.” “I lied.” Naomi sat back slowly, and although her face remained composed, Vivian could see something beginning to crack beneath it, not yet grief because anger was still holding everything together, but the first dangerous fracture through which grief would eventually come. “Did you ever book the Cabo flight?” Evan swallowed. “No.” Naomi stared at him. “Say that again.” “I never booked it.” “You never intended to come?” “No.” “Why?” Evan's mouth opened. Closed. Naomi waited. “Why?” “Because Lauren asked me to spend the weekend with her.” Naomi laughed softly. There was something terrible about the sound. “And you chose that.” “Yes.” “You let me fly down there alone.” “Yes.” “You listened to me cry on the phone because I thought we'd lost our vacation.” “Yes.” “And while I was doing that, where were you?” “At Lauren's apartment.” “Sleeping with her?” Evan shut his eyes. “Yes.” A woman two tables away abruptly became interested in her laptop. Naomi leaned back and folded her arms, and for several seconds she simply looked at Evan as though the man across from her had become somebody she had never seen before. Then she asked, “Do you still love her?” “Yes.” “Do you love me?” “Yes.” The answer came immediately. Truth. Naomi looked down. For the first time Vivian wished one of the answers had been a lie. “You love both of us.” “Yes.” “And were you planning to keep both of us?” Evan said nothing. Naomi waited. He looked toward the lounge entrance. “Answer me.” “Yes.” Her face changed. Not dramatically. That was what made it worse. Something simply went still. “You thought you could keep me and her.” “Yes.” “How?” “I thought I'd figure it out.” “You thought I'd never know?” “Yes.” “You thought she'd never know?” “Yes.” Naomi nodded slowly. Then she reached beneath the table, picked up her heels by their straps, and stood. Evan rose with her. “Naomi.” “No.” “Please.” “You've had months.” “I can explain.” “You already did.” “That isn't what I meant.” “It is exactly what you meant.” He reached for her hand. Naomi stepped back before he could touch her. “Don't.” “I love you.” “I believe you.” That seemed to surprise him more than anything else. Naomi continued, her voice steady even though her hands were beginning to tremble around the shoes. “That's what makes this so much worse, because if you didn't love me I could tell myself I misunderstood the relationship, or that you were using me, or that I imagined the good parts, but apparently you did love me and still decided that lying to me every day was acceptable.” “Naomi—” “No.” She turned and walked toward the lounge exit. Evan followed. Vivian glanced at the clock on the wall. The truth window was still open. Perhaps another minute. Maybe two. Enough. Naomi reached the concourse and turned so suddenly that Evan nearly walked into her. “One more question.” His face tightened. “Please don't.” “Were you ever going to tell me about Lauren?” He stared at her. “No.” Naomi nodded. “Were you planning to take me on another trip?” “Yes.” “While still seeing her?” “Yes.” “Were you going to tell her about me?” “No.” “Were you going to choose?” “I hoped I wouldn't have to.” Naomi looked at him for a long moment. Then she said, “That's not love.” Evan opened his mouth. Naomi continued before he could speak. “That's greed.” She turned and walked away. By the time Evan called after her again, Vivian could feel the familiar release, the subtle closing of whatever door her touch had opened, and she knew before he spoke that the compulsion had ended. “Naomi! Wait!” Naomi stopped without turning. Evan hurried closer. “None of that came out right.” The metallic taste returned. Lie. “I panicked.” Lie. “I didn't mean half of it.” Lie. Naomi finally turned. For several seconds she simply looked at him. Then she said, almost sadly, “You're not even good at this.” She walked away. Vivian smiled into her wine. II Twenty-five minutes later, Vivian found Naomi standing at an airline service counter beneath a departure board whose endless rows of cities seemed, for one irrational moment, like a catalogue of alternative lives. Again, Vivian was not following her. Not exactly. Her own flight had acquired another delay, and there were only so many times a woman could reread the same three pages of a novel while pretending not to be curious. Naomi stood barefoot beside a small rolling suitcase, her heels dangling from one hand while the airline agent typed. “I can get you on the eight-ten tomorrow morning,” the agent said. Naomi rubbed her forehead. “And tonight?” “Everything is full.” “Another airline?” “I can check, but with the weather—” Naomi sighed. “No. It's fine.” The agent looked sympathetic. “Do you want to keep your original reservation for tomorrow evening instead?” Naomi considered it. “No.” Something in her voice made Vivian look more closely. “Put me on the morning flight.” The agent nodded. “Done.” Naomi turned away from the counter. Saw Vivian. Recognition arrived quickly. “You.” Vivian smiled. “Again.” “You were sitting near us.” “I was.” “You heard all of that.” Vivian considered diplomacy. Then decided against it. “Yes.” Naomi closed her eyes. “Wonderful.” “For what it's worth, everyone else was pretending not to.” “That somehow makes it worse.” “Probably.” Naomi looked down at her bare feet. “I suppose this is where you tell me airport floors are disgusting.” “I was considering it.” “I took the shoes off because my feet hurt.” “And now?” “Now I'm carrying them out of principle.” Vivian smiled. “A sound principle.” Naomi looked at her more carefully. “You're the woman who bumped into Evan.” Vivian's expression did not change. “I brushed past him.” “He started talking strangely right after that.” “Stress does interesting things to people.” Naomi studied her. Vivian held the gaze. Then Naomi exhaled. “I don't care.” That surprised her. “You don't?” “No. If you somehow caused him to grow a conscience for four minutes, congratulations.” Vivian laughed. “That's quite an accusation.” “I've had a strange evening.” “That you have.” Naomi looked toward the concourse. “My flight is tomorrow morning.” “I heard.” “Apparently every airport hotel is full or charging the price of a small car.” “There is one connected to Terminal C.” “Six hundred and twenty dollars.” Vivian winced. “That's offensive.” “You're telling me.” Vivian hesitated for just long enough to make sure she was choosing the next sentence rather than allowing appetite to choose it for her. “I have a room.” Naomi looked at her. Vivian lifted one hand. “That sounded more calculated than I intended.” “It sounded exactly as calculated as you intended.” Vivian laughed. “Fair.” Naomi's mouth twitched. “Are you offering me a bed?” “I am offering you access to a room containing a bed, a shower, coffee, chairs, and, according to the minibar menu, a bottle of whiskey priced as though it survived the Titanic.” Naomi laughed. There it was. A real laugh this time, small but warm. Vivian liked it immediately. “And what do you get?” Vivian looked at her. “Company, if you want to give it.” Naomi raised an eyebrow. “That's all?” Vivian smiled. “For the moment.” III They ended up in the hotel bar because neither woman was quite ready to acknowledge the elevator. Naomi ordered bourbon. Vivian ordered another glass of wine. For several minutes they spoke about nothing important, which Vivian knew was sometimes the kindest thing one stranger could offer another after a life had suddenly become too important, and Naomi told her about a terrible sandwich in Cabo, a sunburn she had hidden from Evan because she had wanted the trip to sound better than it had been, and the elderly couple from Minnesota who had adopted her for dinner on her second night because they had noticed she was eating alone. “They asked where my boyfriend was,” Naomi said. “What did you tell them?” “That his flight was canceled.” Vivian watched her. Naomi smiled without humor. “So technically I was lying too.” “You were repeating what you believed.” “Does that matter?” “Yes.” “You seem very certain.” “I usually am.” Naomi studied her over the rim of the glass. “What do you do?” “Consulting.” “That means nothing.” “It means enough.” “What kind of consulting?” “The kind where people hire me because they've made a complicated mess and would prefer somebody else to look at it.” Naomi laughed softly. “Relationships?” “Usually businesses.” “That's disappointing.” “Why?” “Because you looked extremely comfortable during my disaster.” Vivian smiled. “I've seen a few.” Naomi rotated the bourbon glass slowly between her fingers. “I knew something was wrong.” Vivian waited. “Not what,” Naomi continued, “and certainly not Lauren, because if you'd asked me yesterday whether I thought he was cheating I would have said no, but I knew something about that trip didn't fit, and every time I asked him another question I felt ridiculous because he always had an answer.” “Answers aren't the same thing as truth.” Naomi looked at her. “You really hate lies.” “Yes.” “Personal?” Vivian took a sip. “Everything eventually is.” Naomi smiled faintly. “That is a very evasive answer.” “It is.” “So you do lie.” “No.” Naomi laughed. “Everyone lies.” Vivian's expression softened. “Yes. They do.” Something in the way she said it made Naomi look at her more closely. Then, perhaps because the evening had already taken enough from her that caution seemed extravagant, Naomi asked, “Were you flirting with me in the lounge?” Vivian answered immediately. “Yes.” Naomi almost choked on her bourbon. “That was fast.” “You asked.” “I expected you to pretend you were only concerned.” “I was concerned.” “And flirting.” “And flirting.” “You watched me arguing with my boyfriend and thought what?” Vivian considered the question. “That you were beautiful.” Naomi's expression shifted. “And then?” “That he was irritating.” “Before you knew he was lying?” “Before I knew anything.” Naomi laughed. “You disliked him on instinct.” “I have excellent instincts.” “Modest too.” “Occasionally.” Naomi looked toward the bar. Then back at Vivian. “And now?” “Now what?” “Are you still flirting?” Vivian leaned back slightly. “Do you want me to stop?” Naomi did not answer immediately. “No.” Vivian smiled. “Then yes.” For a moment Naomi simply looked at her, and Vivian could see the conflict moving behind her eyes, the awareness that two hours earlier she had been planning a future with a man and that now she was sitting barefoot in an airport hotel bar allowing a woman she barely knew to make her pulse noticeably quicker. “This is ridiculous,” Naomi said. “Most worthwhile evenings become ridiculous eventually.” “I broke up with someone tonight.” “Yes.” “I haven't even processed it.” “No.” “And you're sitting there looking at me like—” “Like what?” Naomi looked directly at her. “Like you want to kiss me.” Vivian smiled. “I do.” Naomi stared. “You really don't make anything easier.” “I wasn't aware that was my assignment.” That earned another laugh. Naomi shook her head. “I've never kissed a woman.” Vivian's eyebrows rose. “That seems unexpectedly relevant.” “It might be.” “Have you wanted to?” Naomi hesitated. “Yes.” No metallic taste. Truth. Vivian's smile changed, becoming gentler. “For how long?” “College.” “And you never did?” “No.” “Why?” Naomi shrugged. “Men happened.” Vivian laughed. “That sounds like a medical condition.” Naomi covered her mouth, laughing harder now. “That's awful.” “Accurate.” When the laughter faded, Naomi looked down at her drink. “I used to think about it.” “Kissing women?” “Yes.” “And then?” “I got busy. Work. Relationships. Evan.” She looked up. “I suppose I decided curiosity was something you were supposed to outgrow.” Vivian leaned slightly closer. “Curiosity is one of the few things worth keeping.” Naomi's eyes dropped to Vivian's mouth. Then quickly returned. Vivian noticed. Naomi knew she had noticed. “Oh, damn you.” Vivian smiled. “What?” “You saw that.” “Yes.” “Of course you did.” “I notice things.” “So I've gathered.” Naomi finished the last of her bourbon and set down the glass. “Are you really staying upstairs?” “Yes.” “Alone?” “At present.” Vivian allowed the silence to remain where it was, because she had learned years ago that seduction often became clumsy the moment somebody tried to explain it. Naomi looked toward the elevators. Then back at Vivian. “My flight is at eight-ten.” “I remember.” “I should sleep.” “Probably.” “I don't think I can.” “Also probably.” Naomi smiled. “And you are absolutely not going to help me make this decision.” “No.” “Why?” “Because then it becomes mine.” Naomi held her gaze for several seconds. Then she stood. “I want to kiss you.” Vivian rose more slowly. “That's a decision.” “Yes.” “Are you sure?” Naomi smiled. “Ask me again in the elevator.” IV The elevator doors closed with a soft metallic whisper, shutting out the lobby, the airport, Evan, Cabo, Lauren, and almost everything else Naomi had been thinking about for the last several hours. Vivian pressed twelve. Naomi leaned against the mirrored wall. “This is insane.” “Probably.” “I met you about an hour ago.” “A little longer.” “You counted?” “No.” “You absolutely counted.” Vivian smiled. Naomi looked down at the shoes in her hand. “I'm barefoot in an elevator with a woman I met while my boyfriend was confessing to cheating.” “When you say it that way, it sounds unusual.” “It is unusual.” “Yes.” “Do you always agree with everything?” “No.” “Good.” “I disagree with your choice of boyfriend.” Naomi laughed. “Former boyfriend.” “Already an improvement.” The elevator passed seven. Naomi's laughter faded. She looked at Vivian. Then she became nervous. Vivian saw it immediately. “You don't have to do anything.” “I know.” “You can come upstairs, drink terrible minibar whiskey, sleep for six hours, and leave.” “I know.” “You can also go back downstairs.” “I know.” Naomi's expression softened. “Would you be disappointed?” “Yes.” The answer surprised her. Vivian continued. “But disappointment is survivable.” Naomi smiled. “You are very strange.” “So I've been told.” The elevator reached nine. Naomi looked at the illuminated number, then back at Vivian. “Ask me again.” Vivian stepped closer. “Do you want to kiss me?” Naomi whispered, “Yes.” Vivian did not move. Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Well?” “You said you wanted to kiss me.” Naomi stared at her. Then laughed softly. “You are impossible.” “Occasionally.” Naomi took Vivian's face between her hands and kissed her. It was cautious at first, almost analytical, the kind of kiss given by someone discovering whether a fantasy she had carried quietly for fifteen years belonged only in imagination, and when she pulled back several seconds later her expression was so startled that Vivian could not help smiling. Naomi blinked. “Oh.” “Good oh?” “Shut up.” Vivian laughed. Naomi kissed her again. This time there was nothing cautious about it. When the elevator doors opened on twelve, neither woman moved immediately. A man waiting outside looked at them. “Oh.” Naomi laughed against Vivian's mouth. Vivian stepped aside. “Our floor.” “I noticed.” They walked down the corridor. At Vivian's door Naomi stopped. “This is the last easy exit.” “Yes.” “And if I come inside, you're not going to assume—” “Anything.” Naomi studied her. “You're annoyingly good at saying the right thing.” “Experience.” “With women like me?” Vivian unlocked the door. “There are no women exactly like you.” Naomi looked at her. “That was dangerously smooth.” “It was also true.” Naomi smiled. Then she stepped inside. V Morning arrived slowly, pale sunlight spreading across the hotel room while aircraft moved beyond the window like enormous silver animals waking one by one. Naomi opened her eyes at six-fifteen and found Vivian sitting near the window with coffee. “You're awake.” “I am.” “You're dressed.” “I'm wearing a robe.” “That counts as dressed compared with me.” Vivian smiled. “There is another robe.” Naomi pulled the sheet higher. “Coffee?” “Already ordered.” Naomi closed her eyes. “Marry me.” “No.” Her eyes opened again. “That was immediate.” “I value clarity.” Naomi started laughing. “I'm beginning to understand that.” Twenty minutes later she sat by the window in one of Vivian's white shirts, barefoot again, holding coffee between both hands while a plane taxied below. “My vacation was awful,” she said. “I gathered.” “Cabo was beautiful.” “That's usually the rumor.” “I had an ocean-view room, perfect weather, a beach that looked like an advertisement, and every morning I woke up checking my phone because I thought maybe he'd found another flight.” Vivian said nothing. “I kept waiting.” Naomi's voice softened. “For four days.” “That part is over.” Naomi nodded. “Yes.” She watched the plane disappear beyond the terminal. “You know what's strange?” “What?” “I think that's the part I'm happiest about.” “Not Evan?” “No.” “Not Lauren?” “No.” Vivian put a hand over her heart. “Not even me?” Naomi smiled. “Maybe slightly you.” “I'll accept slightly.” “But mostly I'm happy that I don't have to wait for him anymore, because I didn't realize how much of the relationship had become waiting for Evan to arrive, waiting for him to call, waiting for him to make plans, waiting for him to become the man he kept promising he already was.” Vivian looked at her. “That sounds exhausting.” “It was.” Naomi took another drink. Then she turned toward Vivian. “This isn't becoming anything.” It was not a question. “No.” Naomi nodded. “I thought so.” “Does that bother you?” “A little.” Vivian appreciated the honesty. Naomi smiled. “But I think I'd be more bothered if you suddenly told me we had some enormous future together, because then I'd wonder whether last night was just another promise made because it sounded good at the time.” “I don't make promises because they sound good.” “I know.” “How?” Naomi studied her. “I don't know.” Vivian smiled. “Excellent answer.” Naomi laughed. Then her expression became thoughtful again. “Last night was about me.” “Yes.” “Not Evan.” “No.” “Not revenge.” “No.” “Not some sudden identity crisis.” “No.” Naomi smiled. “Although I may have several questions.” “Questions are useful.” “And perhaps a few regrets later.” “Also useful.” Naomi looked directly at her. “But not this morning.” Vivian smiled. “Good.” Naomi dressed slowly, returned to her black trousers and cream blouse, attempted the heels for approximately six seconds, then removed them again and carried them in one hand. Vivian watched. “Wise.” “My dignity can survive airport carpeting.” “Probably.” Naomi picked up her suitcase. At the door she stopped. “I should call Lauren.” Vivian raised an eyebrow. “Why?” “Because she may not know about me.” “You don't know that.” “No.” “You also don't owe her anything.” “I know.” Naomi looked down at the suitcase handle. “But nobody told me.” Vivian understood. “That matters to you.” “Yes.” Naomi looked up. “I don't want another woman spending months believing something that isn't true because nobody wanted to make the conversation uncomfortable.” Vivian smiled faintly. “I like that.” “You approve?” “I do.” Naomi stepped closer. “One last kiss?” Vivian tilted her head. “You have a flight.” “I have time.” “You've become dangerously confident.” “I had an excellent teacher.” Vivian kissed her. It was gentler than the elevator kiss, without urgency and without expectation, the kind of kiss that understood perfectly well that goodbye did not make what came before it meaningless. When they separated, Naomi whispered, “Thank you.” “For the room?” “No.” “For the coffee?” “No.” Vivian waited. Naomi smiled. “For not pretending this was more than it was.” Vivian looked at her. “And what was it?” Naomi considered the question for several seconds. “A night I didn't know I needed.” Vivian nodded. “That sounds about right.” Naomi stepped into the hallway. Then she turned back. “And possibly the beginning of me making better decisions.” Vivian smiled. “Let's not become unrealistic.” Naomi laughed. “Goodbye, Vivian.” “Goodbye, Naomi.” The elevator doors eventually swallowed her, carrying her downward toward Gate C18, toward a morning flight she had chosen herself, toward a conversation with a woman named Lauren, and toward whatever came next now that she was no longer waiting for somebody else to arrive. Vivian stood in the corridor for a moment before returning to the room. Her phone vibrated. FLIGHT 284 TO CHICAGO — BOARDING IN 52 MINUTES. Vivian collected her handbag, checked the room once, and stepped into the hallway. Near the elevators, a man was speaking urgently into his phone. “I swear, sweetheart, my battery died. That's why I couldn't answer all night.” Metal touched Vivian's tongue. Lie. Vivian looked at the departure time on her phone. Fifty-two minutes. Then she looked at the man. A woman stood beside him, arms folded. Vivian smiled. Plenty of time.