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Show Moon -177 man with a paunch like Mr. Henry's handed her the cane, gathered up the scattered contents of her purse, her tumbled carry-on bag. Some people had gathered around her. She was used to this. A woman in uniform, a stewardess perhaps, asked her if she was all right. Anne said, "Yes, thank you, but could you call one of those cute carts?" She climbed carefully into the cart when it finally came, wedged herself just right with the carry-on bag. To the nice man with the paunch, she said, "Bon Voyage." To the black driver she said, "Could you just drive around for a while? I need to think." He turned in his seat so as to fix his eyes on her with the proper authority, and said, "Can't do that, ma'am; others need me." "Of course. I'm sorry. To Northwest Orient then," she said. She liked the name, Northwest Orient, and she would decide there where to go next. She felt playful, adventurous, not quite so tired. She felt a great warmth toward the black man for sharing this leg of the journey with her, even if he had no idea that was what he was doing. I can't help it. It's the past all over again, time falling in on itself: I've hurried ahead of my mother despite my good intentions to let her go first. She's taking so long at the Northwest Orient counter, I couldn't wait. Esther and Ruth meet me at Dulles Airport. Esther has let her hair grow in natural, a lovely streaking of gray and strawberry. She is wearing an exotic black rain cape that swirls as she moves. I haven't seen them together since long before my mother died, and I am astonished to see how alike my grandmother and my youngest aunt look. |