CHAPTER 34
The airport had brought out cots and laid them out in the hallway between gates. It looked like an army field hospital.
Georgie didn’t feel like she could sleep in front of strangers like that—or at all, tonight. Though she wished she had a blanket. . . . If any of the airport stores were open, she’d buy one of the giant blue and orange Broncos sweatshirts in the window displays.
People were sleeping around her, too, in chairs, and against the wall. They slept with their heads on their purses and their hands on their carry-ons. Like they were worried about pickpockets. Georgie wasn’t worried about pickpockets; she had nothing to steal.
It must be late. Or early. Georgie’d lost track of time completely—she kept checking her dead phone out of habit. The airport hadn’t dimmed the lights, but it was still too dark to read without a book light. The wind seemed to be pushing the darkness into the terminal.
There was a lull in the storm. Or maybe it was just dying down—Georgie didn’t know how blizzards were supposed to end.
There was a gate change, then another wait. Then she was boarding, only half-conscious of which flight was hers and where it was going.
“Omaha?” the flight attendant asked when Georgie stepped onto the plane.
“Omaha,” Georgie replied.
The plane was only about fifteen rows long, with just two seats across. She’d never been on a plane this small; she’d only heard about planes this small when they crashed.
Georgie wondered if the pilots were as tired as she was. Why even bother taking off, at this point? In the middle of the night? Unless the flight crew was heading home, too.
WEDNESDAY
CHRISTMAS DAY, 2013
CHAPTER 35
The sun was rising when they left Denver, and now Omaha was a blinding white below them. Georgie gripped her armrests through the landing and stood up in her seat before the seat belt light went off.
She’d done it. She was here now. She was close.
Alice. Noomi. Neal.
The Omaha airport seemed abandoned. The coffee shop was closed. And the little magazine stand. Always before, when Georgie’d walked past the security checkpoint, Neal’s parents—or just his mom—had been waiting right there, in the little row of chairs.
There was only one person sitting there today. A young woman in a heavy purple parka. She jumped out of her chair and started running toward Georgie. Then someone else ran past Georgie the other way—the boy from the Denver airport who’d lent her his phone.
The girl jumped into his arms, and he swung her in an ecstatic, lop-sided circle. The joy of it hit Georgie like a shock wave. The boy’s duffel bag fell to the ground. His face disappeared in the girl’s long, wavy dark hair.
Georgie walked past them, holding her breath.
Keep moving. So close. It’s almost over.
The main terminal was empty except for the dozen or so people from Georgie’s plane and a security guard. If the girls were here, Georgie would have let them run ahead. Alice could even have done cart-wheels, if she wanted. There was no one in the building to bother.
Georgie started running down the escalator. She was close. So close. She ran to the exit and pushed through the revolving door—then stopped.
Everything was covered in snow.
Like—well, like on TV. The parking garage across the street looked like a gingerbread house topped with thick white icing.
The snow looked as soft as icing. Smooth, but almost furry. She pushed through the doors and stepped outside, feeling chilled through after her first inhale. (Her T-shirt wasn’t any protection from the cold. Her skin wasn’t any protection.)
God. Oh my God. Have the girls seen this?
Georgie leaned over an empty planter, pressing her hand into the snow, watching her fingers make four canyons. The snow was light, but kept its form. She moved her palm up, shaping a soft curve.
She expected the snow to feel cold, but it didn’t. Not at first. Not until it started to melt between her fingers. She’d brushed some onto her feet, and they were cold now, too. She tried stamping the snow off her ballet flats, and looked up and down the drive for the taxi stand. There weren’t even any cars.
Georgie folded her arms and walked down the sidewalk, looking for a sign.
“Can we help you find something?” someone said.
Georgie turned. It was the ecstatic young couple. Still hanging on each other, as if neither of them could quite believe the other was finally here.
“Taxi stand?” Georgie said.
“You’re looking for a taxi?” the boy asked. The man. She should probably call him a man. He must be twenty-two, twenty-three; his hair was already thinning.
“Yeah,” Georgie said.
“Did you call for one?”
“Uh.” Georgie was shivering, but she was trying not to let on. “No. Should I call for one?”
The boy looked at the girl.
“There aren’t really taxis here,” the girl said apologetically—but also like Georgie might be an idiot. “I mean, there are a few, if you call ahead. . . . But it’s Christmas.”
“Oh,” Georgie said. “Right.” She looked up and down the drive again. “Thanks.”
“Do you need to use my phone?” the boy offered.
“That’s okay,” Georgie said, turning toward the door. “Thanks again.”
She heard them talking quietly. She heard the boy say something about Joseph and Mary and no room at the inn. “Hey, do you need a ride somewhere?” he called out to Georgie.
She looked back at them. The boy was grinning. The girl looked concerned. They were probably part of some fresh-faced Nebraska death cult who hung out at airports on holidays, picking up strays.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”