Layover

by Amy Andelson

  It was Amos who had the bright idea of alerting the hotel authorities. While the three of us ran up and down the hallways, screaming Poppy’s name, with a doorman who in retrospect was no more than twenty-two and most definitely on drugs, hotel security scoured the surveillance footage for any sign of our two-and-a-half-foot-tall little sister. For Amos and me, it was all a hysterical adventure. We were small enough not to worry about all the dangers that could befall her. She could have made her way up to the roof, or out the front door and into traffic, or God forbid into the arms of any one of the bad people that we know now to be afraid of. Only years later does it seem strange that no one thought to get our parents out of the party to tell them about the situation.

  When we finally found Poppy, it turned out she had found her way into the arms of the housekeeping staff, who’d deposited her at the hotel’s front desk. She was sitting with the concierge, so content, and so oblivious to all the chaos she had created.

  “We’re going to find her,” I say again. And this time, I believe it.

  I’m starting to lose my mind, sitting here. Waiting. Flynn pulls a pack of Sour Patch Kids from her backpack and offers it to me. I pour some of the sugary candies out and hand Flynn the green ones, because I know they’re her favorite.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  And then we continue to sit. And wait. I look over at Flynn, who’s twirling the short strands of her hair.

  “Flynn, I’m sorry,” I offer, my voice tired and penitent.

  She shakes her head. “It’s both of our faults. We should have kept a better eye on her. We got distracted and—”

  “No, I mean, not just about Poppy.” I take a deep breath. “About…everything.”

  She keeps her eyes fixed to the floor. “Amos, it’s fine. I get it. You didn’t want to be around me anymore, so you left, and—”

  “Wait, is that what you really think? Flynn, that’s not it at all. What happened between us was…”

  “Confusing?”

  “Yeah. And scary. But also not scary. Because it’s you. And everything with you always feels good. And right. But I was so afraid that I would scare you, or hurt you, or ruin us, and…and so I did nothing.”

  “You didn’t do nothing, Amos. You left.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do. I kept thinking I would suddenly know what to say to you, or understand how I was feeling. But June turned into September, and then it was December, and…”

  “Here we are.”

  We sit, not saying anything. Finally, she looks at me. “You know, it’s really messed up. That you would just leave like that,” she says. “You think I wasn’t confused? Or hurt? Or afraid? And I was just left there. To sit with your silence.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am,” I say, wishing there were a bigger word for sorry.

  “Well, now that we’re here…what are you thinking?” she asks me.

  “That I care about you more than I ever thought I could care about anyone. But also that—”

  “We can’t be together.” She finishes my thought.

  “At least not right now,” I add. “It’s too…”

  “Complicated?” Flynn suggests.

  “Just with everything—with our parents. Life feels too messy right now. I don’t want what’s happening with us to get mixed up in their bullshit.”

  She nods, as if she’s processing.

  “What are you thinking?” I return the question.

  “I think you’re right,” she says after a moment. “Our family’s in free fall, and we have no idea where we’re going to land. I’ve lost so much….I can’t risk losing you, too.” She pauses, and then adds, “I need to know we’ll always be friends. Well, not friends, but…”

  “Us,” I say. She smiles.

  “But, Flynn, what’s been going on with you lately? Your hair? The piercing? And don’t even get me started on that toolbox Neel Khan.”

  She playfully nudges me. “He’s not that bad. I don’t know…it was never really about him anyway. I think—I think I just needed to feel like someone other than myself for a little,” she says. And then after a while she adds, “And I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  She nods. “How do we go back to the place where we can just be you and me?”

  “Amos!” a voice calls out, saving me from having to figure out the answer. Believe me, turning to him for help was the last thing I wanted to do. I wasn’t even sure he’d pick up the phone when I called—let alone show up. And yet here he is. We both stand up.

  “Flynn, this is my dad, Clay.”

  Flynn takes him in. “It’s nice to meet you.” She looks at me. “I’m…going to check back in,” she says, and goes inside. And I know that she’s doing it as much out of concern for Poppy as she is to give me a few minutes alone with Clay.

  “Your mom’s a nervous wreck,” he offers once we’re alone.

  “You’ve been talking to Louisa?” I ask him, genuinely shocked that the two of them could be conspiring about anything together.

  “You think I didn’t realize something was going on when you just showed up at my door?” I guess I’m more cynical than I thought, because I honestly didn’t think Clay would care enough to try to connect the dots. “Come on, kid. Give me a little more credit than that.”

  “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you’d jump at the opportunity to communicate with my mom. Last I checked, you two were still persona non grata with each other.”

  “Well, sometimes we do things we really don’t want to do for the people we love.”

  “Yeah,” I say, looking down. I know he’s sincere; I just don’t know how to take it. I’m not used to hearing him talk this way, and it’s making me uncomfortable. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

  We sit back down on the steps and just kind of stare at the ground.

  “Listen, kid,” Clay says, “I know there’s no way to say sorry to you for the things I’ve done, and all the ways I haven’t been there for you over the years.” He puts his hand on my back. “But I want to be in your life.”

  “What is this, some kind of amends?” I ask, slipping into a petulant tone I don’t mean to use.

  “Would it be okay with you if it was?”

  The guy’s got his heart on his sleeve. He’s laying it all out for me. All the things I wouldn’t admit I’ve been wanting to hear from him for years. And I can’t manage to say a thing.

  “I’m not asking you to forgive me for the past,” he says. “I’m just hoping that you’ll give us a chance to build something new.”

  “Listen.” I take a breath. “I’m sorry. For not taking your calls the last few times you reached out, or trusting that this time was different.”

  “Amos, you don’t ever have to apologize to me. You hear me?”

  Just then, Flynn comes rushing out. “They found her!”

  I’m in a room filled with lost children. Snow White brought me here after she found me shaking and alone on a bench.

  “Are you all right, little one?” she asked in a soft singsongy voice.

  “I…I can’t find my brother and…sister,” I managed to eke out through my sobs. And as I said the words, I started to cry even harder. And then Snow White wrapped her arms around me, and I wept into her velvety dress. Of course, I know she’s not really Snow White, but her hair was dark and her skin was pale, and she had the dress and everything.

  She took me to a brightly lit room that looks like it could be in a hospital, except they tried to make it look cheery. The carpet is kind of icky, and there are ragged stuffed animals everywhere. When I got here, I was so upset I was hyperventilating, so they had a nurse check me out. She asked me to try to slow my breathing so she could check my stats, and when they finally got me settled down, she gave me water and animal crackers.

&nb
sp; I had to register my name along with the name of the adult in charge. So I gave them Amos’s name, and hoped that if Flynn ever found out, she wouldn’t be too offended. After all, he is a year older than she is. And he already lives away from home, so he is pretty much an adult.

  I realize that I am definitely the oldest lost kid in here, and that just makes me feel even worse. I try not to feel too pathetic as I struggle to stop crying and bring my breath back to normal. The little girl next to me inches closer and closer to me with her blankie in tow, until she’s basically in my lap. I wonder how long she’s been here…waiting. I think about asking her, but before I can, someone calls my name.

  As we rush to get Poppy, Clay puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Take a deep breath, sweet girl,” and it’s only then that I realize I’ve been holding it.

  I’ve wondered a lot about Amos’s father over the years. He’s sort of become this mythic figure in my imagination: Clay the artist, the asshole, the ex-husband, the absentee father. And then suddenly here he is. He’s smaller than I expected—or maybe it’s that Amos got taller while he was away. Clay’s strong in his build, but there’s something gentle about him.

  It’s weird—it’s like Amos is nothing like him, and yet he’s everything like him, too. Like how they both squint when they smile. Somehow, Clay makes Amos make more sense to me. Louisa is all edges, but Amos has a softness to him. A sort of heightened sensitivity I now recognize in his father. Kinda funny that the best parts of Amos could come from a man who’s always been so demonized.

  As we reach the Baby Center, I try to let myself be calmed by his comforting words. Clay opens the door. I scan the room, and there’s Poppy—her cheeks are red, her eyes are teary, and there’s a rip in her Ariel sweatshirt. She runs straight into my arms. She’s crying and I’m crying, and I’m squeezing her so tight it’s like I’m never going to let go.

  I finally stop crying, but I think only because my eyes have run out of tears. I still feel tired and headachy and just not like myself, but Flynn and Amos have their arms around me, and that’s helping.

  “I was just looking for my camera,” I try to explain.

  “Poppy, we were terrified. You know you’re not supposed to wander off,” Flynn says.

  “I know. I’m sorry for scaring you. I guess without my medicine—”

  “Wait! You haven’t been taking your medicine?” Amos interrupts.

  Poppy guiltily shakes her head.

  “Poppy—are you serious? Why not?” Flynn asks.

  “They were in my checked bags,” I admit, in a voice so small, because I know I’m in trouble. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” But instead of yelling at me, Amos and Flynn just look at each other—not like they’re mad, just really concerned.

  “No, I’m sorry, Pops.” Flynn shakes her head. “I should have realized.”

  “I was hoping that maybe I would be okay without it, but once I started freaking out, I couldn’t stop,” I tell them. Guess I need those two little white pills more than I thought.

  Amos turns to Clay and asks to borrow his phone. He looks up my therapist’s number online, then leaves her a message, and Susan calls us back a few minutes later. And just hearing her voice makes me feel better. After we talk for a little bit, Susan asks to speak with Flynn. I hand her the phone, and she steps away for a second.

  “Susan called your medicine into a pharmacy nearby,” Flynn says when she comes back in. “She said you should be feeling like yourself again in no time. You’re going to be fine,” she assures me.

  “I’m sorry for ruining our last day.”

  “Are you kidding? All that matters is that you’re here, and that you’re okay,” Amos says as he rubs my back and adds, “And that you never do that again.”

  “How about we all promise to never run away again?” I suggest.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Flynn says.

  “First stop, pharmacy, then airport,” Clay says. I’m glad Amos’s dad is here. It’s strange seeing the other half of where Amos comes from. I know Mom has a lot of mean things to say about Clay, but so far he seems like a very nice man.

  “Thanks,” Amos says.

  “Anytime, kid. So, are we ready to get outta here?” Clay asks.

  “Mind if we take a short detour through Malibu first? We’ve got a hot Maserati on our hands,” Amos says with a wink.

  As I watch my father valiantly guide my sisters through the park and into the sunset, I can’t help but think this must be a magical kingdom after all. I mean, we found Poppy. And she’s okay. She wasn’t maimed or molested or kidnapped or any of the other fifteen thousand horrors I hoped and prayed would not befall her. She made it. Maybe she’s more resilient than we give her credit for. Flynn and I, on the other hand, are still reeling—so relieved to be reunited. So, Disneyland, you got me. I’m in. And if that weren’t enough magic for one day, who swept in on his white horse (okay, Porsche, but you get the point) to save the day but Clay, of all people. Talk about your least likely knight in shining armor.

  “So I was thinking…” I turn to Clay. “Maybe I’d come out over spring break? We could hang for a few days?”

  “It’d be cool to spend some QT, you and me. Maybe I could finally get you out on the water?”

  “I don’t know about the surfing part, but I’d like that.”

  “Wait!” Poppy cries out, and we all stop and turn toward her. “We can’t go yet!”

  Flynn, Clay, and I look at each other, confused, because for the last however many hours, getting Poppy and getting out of here have been the only things in the world we’ve wanted to do.

  “We can’t leave yet,” Poppy says again.

  “Why not, Pop?” I ask, trying to be patient, but to be honest, I’m pretty exhausted by this point.

  “Because,” she says sweetly, “we never went on Small World!”

  Flynn and I catch each other’s eyes. And without another word, we know that Poppy is right. There is just one more thing we have to do. After all, we did make a promise.

  I’ve gotta say, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the Happiest Place on Earth, but when Poppy pointed out that we never made it back to Small World, what could we do? I mean, at this point, after everything I’ve put her through, who am I to refuse her anything? So we get in line, and I’m grateful that it’s significantly shorter than it was earlier. When it’s our turn to board the little boats, Poppy declares that she wants to sit with Clay. I know she’s enjoying this rare glimpse of Amos’s dad as much as I am. We practically have the ride to ourselves—all the little kids must be at the Christmas show on Main Street, or on their way home, full of tummy aches and fond memories, their sleepy heads gently rattling against their car windows. Poppy and Clay settle in up front, so Amos and I slide into the last row alone.

  A warning sounds on a continuous loop. “Please keep your hands and arms inside the ride. Parents, watch your children. Please keep your hands and arms inside the ride.” I wave my hand out over the dark, murky waters in mock defiance—it’s childish, I know, but I’m too exhausted to be self-aware. Amos grabs my arm. He reaches for my hand, but instead of simply pulling it back inside the safe confines of the boat, he holds it firmly in his. And he doesn’t let go. My tired heart stutters, and skips a beat.

  “I think our days of living on the edge are done,” he warns me, but the thing is, his voice sounds woeful, and I’m not sure he’s talking about the ride anymore.

  “We had a good run, though,” I reply.

  “That we did.”

  “Ready to be back on the right side of the law…?” I say, letting it sound just enough like a question.

  “Play it safe—back on the straight and narrow,” Amos answers.

  “Safe is good,” I concede, even though I’m not sure I mean it.

  “Safe is boring.�
�� Amos sounds about as unconvinced as I am. And then he leans in and kisses me slow and deep. And as much as I know it is not goodbye, a part of me worries that it could be the last kiss of its kind that we share. But with everything happening around us—all the unknowns with our parents—this is how things have to be. For now.

  Our boat docks, and that ubiquitous warning comes on again: “Parents, watch your children.” And as we emerge out of the darkness back into the bright light, I can’t help but be relieved that we made it out the other side—changed, but somehow the same. Amos lets go of my hand, but I tell myself it’s okay. I have to believe that if it’s meant to be with us, it will happen…if the time is right and the stars align.

  Here we are, back at LAX—where it all began. It’s hard to imagine that just two days ago we were running so fast, and so hard. We walk slowly, Clay trailing behind us. Across the terminal, I clock Jack and Louisa pacing back and forth in front of the escalators. Even at this distance, I can tell that they are legitimately distraught. Louisa’s tightly wound bun is fraying at the sides, and Jack’s short-sleeved oxford shirt is sweaty in places and partially untucked. Despite all the reassurances from Clay, their faces remain strained with worry. And I have to admit, seeing them so freaked out makes me feel better. Like it’s evidence of their love for us.

  They spot us, and relief washes over their faces. As they race toward us, I reach for my sisters’ hands, and together we cross the concourse to meet them.

  “Mommy!” Poppy cries as we approach our parents.