Rollback

Don had ended up with a window seat. That was perhaps a plum position on a domestic flight, but when one wanted to get up frequently to stretch one’s legs, it meant disturbing, in this case, not one but two fellow passengers, one of whom, the one with the middle seat, adjacent to Don’s, was a man of at least seventy-five. Don all too vividly remembered what it was like to try to haul himself to his feet, especially in a cramped, awkward space, at such an age, and so he mostly endured being trapped, alternating between looking out at the endless vistas of cloud tops and watching a succession of programs on his seat-back monitor.

About four hours into the flight the old man next to him struck up a conversation.

"God eye," he said — and, after a moment, Don’s brain decoded it as "Good day" filtered through an Australian accent. "Name’s Roger." He must be heading home, Don presumed; this flight would continue on to Melbourne after its stop in Auckland, where Don himself would change planes for Christchurch.

"What were you doing in Toronto?" asked Don, after they had confirmed Roger’s pedigree in conversation.

"Actually, I was in Huntsville," Roger said. "You know it?"

"Sure," said Don. "Cottage country."

"Bingo. My daughter lives there. Runs a B-and-B. And she just had a baby girl, so I had to go see."

Don smiled. "Grandkids are great."

Roger looked at him quizzically, but then nodded and said, "That they are, mate."

"Have you been to Canada before?" Don asked.

"This was my fourth trip, but…" His face, so full of delight when he mentioned his new granddaughter, now looked sad, and Don thought he was perhaps going to say it was likely to be his last time. But what he actually said was "It was my first time going on my own. My wife passed away last year."

Don’s heart skipped a beat. "I’m sorry."

"Thanks. A wonderful woman, my Kelly was."

"I’m sure. How long were you married?"

"Fifty years. Fifty years and one week, actually. It was like she’d been holding on, wanting to make that milestone."

Don said nothing.

"I miss her so much," Roger said. "I miss her every day."

Don just listened as Roger talked about his wife, and the fine times they’d had together, and he resisted the almost overwhelming urge to say, "I know," or "Same here," or "That’s just the way it was with Sarah and me."

Finally, though, Roger looked at him with an embarrassed expression. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I’ve been rambling. You’ll have to forgive an old geezer."

"Not at all," said Don.

Roger smiled. He had a roundish head and very little hair, and the rough skin of a man who’d enjoyed being out in the sun much of his life. "You’re a fine young bloke, listening to me go on like that."

Don found he had to suppress a grin. "Thanks."

"So, mate, what’s your story? Why are you going to Oz?"

"Actually, I’m not. I’m heading to New Zealand."

"North Island or South?"

"South."

"Well, they’re both lovely. Lots of sheep, though."

This time Don didn’t suppress his grin. Still, he couldn’t say he’d been there almost sixty years ago, and he didn’t know enough contemporary details to speak convincingly of a more-recent trip, so he simply said, "So I hear."

"What’s bringing you to Kiwi-land? Business or pleasure?"

"Honestly? I’m chasing after a girl."

To his surprise, Roger slapped him on the knee. "Good on you, mate! Good on you!"

"Maybe," said Don. "Maybe not. We broke up over a year ago. She went to Christchurch to study. But I’ve missed her more than I can say."

"She knows you’re coming, though, right?"

Don shook his head and steeled himself for being told he was being foolish.

Roger lifted his eyebrows. "Can you stand a spot of advice from an old man?"

"Best kind I know," Don said.

Roger tilted his head; he’d presumably expected an attempt to deflect his input. But then he nodded sagely. "You’re doing the right thing. The only regrets I have are over the mad, impetuous things I didn’t do."

Don smiled. "You are a very wise man."

Roger chuckled. "Live long enough and you’ll be one, too."

Chapter 44

After changing planes, Don finally made it to the airport in Christchurch around 5:00 a.m. local time. He hated having to pay for a night’s hotel when he wasn’t checking in until almost dawn, but the alternative would be trying to rendezvous with Lenore in a disheveled, wild-eyed, sleep-deprived state, and he felt enough like a crazy person doing this already.

He’d booked the cheapest hotel he could find online, and took a taxi over to it. His room was small by North American standards but it had a little balcony. After he’d washed up a bit, he stepped out onto it. Even though it was summer here, he could see his own breath in the crisp early-morning air.

Almost all the lights were off in the surrounding buildings. He went back into his room for a moment and killed the lights there, then returned to the balcony and let his tired eyes adjust to the dimness.