On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Twelve - "Chapter One. Rewritten."

Trey

And then, it was time to leave.

I zipped up my two bags – all the things I owned tucked into two weekend bags – and took them downstairs.

“Hey, is it time already?” Kayla popped out of the sitting room.

I nodded. “Meter’s running,” I said.

“Can I ask you something?” she said hesitantly, scuffing her foot against the carpet.

“You know you’re going to ask anyway,” I replied, still a little hurt at her revelation from yesterday. I knew she never really liked me as much as she did Fitch, but to find out that she didn’t at all, it just stung.

“Why did you ask? I mean . . . you’re over me. What do you care?”

I smiled, “Closure. Be good, Kay,” I said, giving her a quick hug and walking outside to the waiting cab.

Ricky and Fitch were standing on the porch, staring blankly into space.

“Ricky, now don’t get emotional on me. I can’t deal with that. You start crying, Fitch starts crying, nobody wins,” I said.

He chuckled, “Take care of yourself, Trey.” He hugged me tightly, patting me on the back, “Come back soon.”

I smiled and nodded.

Fitch hugged me awkwardly, the elephant in the room creating a thick enough wedge between us.

“I’m really going to miss you,” he said, and I clenched my jaw, knowing that despite everything, we were friends and we were family, and the fact that I was leaving them all sent a pang through my chest.

Lexie stepped out through the front door, “Good, you’re still here. Bye,” she said, giving me a hug as well, “Thank you for this weekend.”

I smiled, “Of course. Thank you for coming.”

I stared back at the door, waiting for Chloe to pop out, but she didn’t. I’d gone up to her room earlier to say bye, but she hadn’t even come out of the bathroom. I wasn’t hurt; maybe she just didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t.

“Say bye to Chloe for me, please?” I said, throwing my bags in the trunk.

“Of course,” Fitch said with a sincere nod.

I slipped into the back seat of the cab and left the window fully wound up. Goodbyes were definitely not my thing. The awkwardness, the sadness, the elongated physical contact.

I sat back and said, “JFK please,” looking straight ahead at the fuzzy dice dangling from the cab’s rearview mirror.

“Your family?” the driver asked pleasantly.

I smiled to myself, “Yes. Except one.”

*

The company plane was picking me up, but I had to wait for about three hours while they refueled.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you’d like, Mr. Harrison? We have a couple of wines and spirits,” the stewardess asked for the hundredth time.

“No thank you,” I replied, reclining my chair, “Maybe in another half hour or something,” I finally gave in.

“Of course. We’re just waiting on the pilot and another passenger. We’ll be leaving in another hour or less,” she said, walking back towards the cockpit.

I pulled out my phone – three new messages.

The first one was from the woman renting my cabin over the next month; she just wanted to confirm that she’d be arriving on Tuesday evening and that she’d paid her deposit.