One of Carrie’s first remarks after they boarded the plane was:

“It’s funny, isn’t it? Now we’re going to sit together for ten hours to Buenos Aires, and it’s actually the first time we’ve been together this long since the divorce. Since Mom moved away.”

“Aye,” Calum said. “It is, right enough.”

He added, “Of course, there was your brother’s funeral… and what happened after.” He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t have to. The words hung in the air between them.

The cabin lights dimmed to a low amber, and a steady murmur of air vents filled the silence.

“When I went to rehab—my trip—you weren’t there,” she said, picking up the unspoken thread.

“No, but those were the rules,” her father replied. Carrie thought it was a poor example.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said.

“Oh, it wasna?”

“No. I meant this is the longest we’ve been together since the divorce twenty years ago, even counting Christmas visits.”

“Well, we were together then,” he said.

“Yes—with family. Not just you and me. Alone.”

“What d’ye mean by that?”

“When I was little, we both had other things to attend to than being together like most children are with their fathers.” She quickly added, “Or mothers.”

Calum sat for a long time, looking out the window as the plane took off. The lights of Miami disappeared below them. Soon they’d be over the Caribbean, then later the Amazon—just a long way down to nothing but trees.

“Aye,” he said at last. “It’s true enough, that’s how it was.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for that.”

“You’ve apologized many times,” She said. “It’s a closed chapter.”

“Then why bring it up again?”

“I’m not. I just thought it was odd that this is the longest we’ve been together. I can’t remember when we last did something together. Mom was always busy going out to look for you when you’d been at the pub.”

Calum’s mouth became a thin line.

“Maybe this trip was a mistake,” he said. “Are ye sure ye still want to come?” That commander voice—low and measured, steady and unmovable. The same voice he’d used to talk down panicking soldiers. Even commandos cracked sometimes, especially after days of marching and eating little more than half a penguin.

She was keenly aware of how he looked at her now. He had that look she hated—the I know I’m right look that turned something inside him. And now all the old things were back. She regretted it too; this wasn’t how she meant to start. Now they were stuck on this plane for ten hours.

They’d only seen each other in small doses since rehab—twenty years now, though for ten of those years things had been better. Almost civil. It had nearly torn them apart at the time because she hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t thought she needed saving. Only later did she see it was for the best, though she never forgave how it happened. How he’d decided for her.

Now that fragile truce was broken. Carrie looked out the window, wondering what was below the darkness.

It’s my fault, she thought. I started exactly the way I’d planned not to. What will happen with the rest of the trip?

She took a deep breath. Get yourself together, she thought. Just get through it.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “I don’t know—it just came up. You’ll have to excuse me. It was a load of crap.” She didn’t explain further but added, “I said yes to this trip. I mean it. I’m coming with you, and I’ll translate.”

“Good,” her father said, folding his hands. “Then we’re agreed. I ken it’s hard leaving your lad.”

“Jonathan’s good with him when the meltdowns happen. And Mom’s coming down from Los Angeles. It’ll be fine.”

“Aye. It will.”

“It’s strange,” he said. “For me, I mean. We’ve actually gotten along quite well for ten years now, since…” He didn’t say “rehab,” but they both knew.

“It’s strange,” he said again. “But this is my only chance to do this. I hesitated to ask ye—because of your son, and the money—but I’d saved up. Could’ve hired an interpreter down there, or maybe Pablo’s son knows some English, but they’re not exactly…” He trailed off. He didn’t want to say “not well-off.”

“All right then,” he said.

“Of course you shouldn’t hire an interpreter,” said Carrie. “I’ve spoken Spanish for years.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

“Together,” he echoed, testing the word.

“Why say it like that?”

“Because it is strange, isn’t it? For us.”

Carrie didn’t answer right away. She looked past him, out the window into the deep, starless black, tracing an invisible line on the cold plastic of the pane. The word hung there, simple and true.

She turned back to him. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Strange for us.”

“So it’s just the way it is,” she said. “And now we’re on our way.”

“Aye,” he said. “We are.”

The drink cart rattled to a stop beside them. “Just juice,” Calum said. Carrie watched him, then ordered sparkling water.

“Have you seen what there is to eat?”

“No, but it’s probably terrible.”

“It canna be worse than what we had when ye lived at home,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“The food was still better in the States.”

“You mean in Arizona?”

“Oh no, American food’s nothing special,” she said. “In Yuma, sure. But it’s also about how much time you’ve got to cook, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but there’s lots of takeaway,” he said. “Better than before. I mean, in terms of food.”

“You mean better than when I lived in Scotland? On our little island?”

“‘Little’ is relative,” he said. “But aye, better. Ye were never meant to live on fish and chips.”

“No,” she said. “And I don’t think you can.”

“That’s good,” he said, with a faintly mischievous grin, feeling he’d regained footing. She let him have it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

*