Title: "A Reconnection"
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent. We ask that you please turn off and stow all electronics. We will be in San Francisco shortly."
The stewardess' announcement over the intercom caused Lint's eyes to open. He had tried to sleep on the long flight over. Perhaps there was an hour or two snagged while inflight. But for the most part, he couldn't rest. His mind wouldn't let him. Apprehension. Uncertainty. He had not been to the Bay area since 2002. But more so than that, things had changed dramatically for him since that time. Since seeing her. This was a new turn of events that had him arriving.
He pulled the photograph out of his pocket. Soon, this new world would become the reality for him. Apprehension and joy mixed together.
"Please place all trays in the seatbacks and return your chairs to their upright positions."
He looked out of the window to the city skyline in the distance. This was a foreign world to him. Would he even recognize it?
He sat back and closed his eyes until he felt the wheels touch down on the runway.
Walking through the terminal, he turned his cellphone back on. He had a text message and a voice mail. He looked at the text message first. "R U here?" it asked. He replied that he was. He walked outside to the vehicular pickup zone and waited for her arrival. Would she still recognize him? He had not forgotten her.
While waiting for her to arrive, he looked back to his phone at the voice message. It was a 407 area code. He dialed in to his phone to retrieve the voice message, but hung up before listening to the content. She had arrived.
Opening the door, there was a moment of silence between the two. He looked at her. She, at him. He extended a smile. Hers was slow in response, but immediately followed with a "hop in." Throwing his duffle into the backseat, he got into the passenger seat and they were off to the 101, northern bound for San Francisco.
"Hi," he said. First words after so many years have so many possibilities. But in this instance, the simplest form of acknowledgment was never planned and the instinctual first offering.
"How was your flight?" she asked. She kept her eyes forward to the road.
"Fine. Turbulent over Colorado, but..." He paused. He wasn't interested in discussing his travels. There was a reason why he had arrived. "Is he here?"
"No," she said.
Lint turned to look at her. She looked just as he remembered her. The long brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail. The blue eyes. The last time they had seen each other, he was packing few of his belongings in Oregon and setting off to Maine. It had been a conflicted moment for both of them. Probably not the best of goodbyes, but given the circumstances, the decision was something he felt needed to be done.
"How long did you suffer last night? You know, because of..." She looked over to him, and motioned with her eyes to his chest.
His hand instinctively moved over his chest. "It was a good recovery." His breathing pattern had worked itself out while sitting at the terminal the night before. "I've learned to adjust." It was a daily struggle. His body wasn't up for what he was embarking on.
She glanced over to him and to his chest. "You really shouldn't be doing this. It's not safe."
"I've done lots of things that weren't safe." He looked ahead to the highway in front of them.
She didn't respond.
"So how are we?" He asked. This was not the welcome he was expecting. But in all honestly, should he have expected anything different? "Let's take the next turnoff and stop. Anywhere. I want to actually talk to you and not play this driving game."
"What are you even doing here?" She glanced over at him as she merged into the exit lane and proceeded down into South San Francisco. The first place she came to was a small diner. Pulling in, she stopped the car and they went inside.
He looked across the table to her as she sat down. Was this a mistake in coming? She hadn't invited him. This was his own idea. Years separated the sparse times they spoke since he left. His exile had ensured it. But ever since the recent letter he received from her, they were back in contact.
He pushed the menu away from in front of him. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" Seeing her brought back memories. The good moments. Their experiences together. Moments he had suppressed for years.
A waiter approached but Lint waved the worker away from a moment. He looked across to the woman from his past life.
She took a deep breath and calculated her words. Tenderly, she reached out and took hold of one of his hands. Looking into his eyes, she said, "I knew you wouldn't want this." As the words came out, she recoiled her hand from his and waited.
He didn't react to her hand gesture. He sat, still, looking back into her eyes. His eyebrows furrowed slightly. A range of emotions swirled inside of him, but he calculated the best way to respond. "Why would you think that?" It was the compromise of remarks. His mind raced back to how well his life had changed during those brief glimpses when life was more than just about him. Years ago. The last time things could be considered perfect. How could she think that? How could she forgot those times he told her?
She sat back against her seat and looked down. She remembered that time before quite vividly. They both did, she was sure. "Because of the panic," she said. Slowly, she raised her eyes up to meet his unwavering expression back to her. "You left. You left me. You left everything.
"I had to," he said. His own memory flashed back to their final moments together back then. The love. The fear. The uncertainty of what their future meant to each other. And those split second moments when a snap decision had to be made. He did the best he could. But the doubt he left Portland with haunted him some nights in his dreams. He questioned if it really was the best choice. But there was no other alternative. He had made his decision, and the years spent on the Atlantic were the output of such a choice.
She was conflicted. A hint of outrage bellowed up inside of her, but she pushed it away. Too many years had been spent angry over his choices. They had a life together and he threw it away. She understood his reasoning. She could maybe even agree with it. But that didn't mean she enjoyed how things turned out. It made the consequences that much trickier. "Are you past it now?" she asked. This was their moment, if there was to be one.
Inside of his pocket, Lint's cellphone began to ring. He pulled hit out to see the caller. Again, the 407 number was calling. "I'm back here now," he said, pushing the phone away to send it to voicemail. Someone was obviously trying to reach him, but his life was before him right now. His past. His future. "The last time I was here," he told her, "you and I were driving out over the Bay Bridge, leaving this life behind."
"Things change," she said. Unconsciously, she felt the diamond ring on her left hand. They were younger, brazen, and daring. Back then. And more importantly, they were unknowing.
Lint lowered his head. This was not the returning trip he expected. The brief phone conversations before led him to believe otherwise. "You never told me about this," he said. Slowly, he lifted his head. He didn't reach out to her. He sat still and alone on his side of the booth. Fearing the answer, he asked, "Did you tell him about me?"
"No," she said. Her voiced lowered upon saying it.
He didn't flinch. It was what he expected. He breathed in and slowly exhaled. "But I asked..." he said. The pain in his shoulder from the previous night slowly trickled back to him as a form of stress.
She turned away from him. There had been no argument. They had never had a conflict against each other. They were not enemies. Which made it even harder. "And I said no," she whispered.
This time, he reached out to touch her hand. Years of solitude, disrupted by a new understanding of what his life meant. This new meaning was out of his control. He looked at her until she finally turned back to face him.
"Carenthia..."
She reached out with her other hand and placed it atop his. She wasn't against him, but the pain of the past years wouldn't let her. The truth prevented her. "Lint," she said.
"I don't want to tell him you're his father."
