But the official plan was for me to fly with Stesha back to Seattle after I saw my parents off on their flight to Belize. Ash would meet them tonight at their hotel. Barring any further disasters, natural or man-made, by tomorrow midmorning, the three of them would be knocking off one more of my parents’ Fifty by Fifty adventures: scuba diving with manta rays.
“I still don’t know about this,” Mom said, frowning at my crutches while we waited for them to board.
“Mom, it’s just a small sprain.” I shifted my weight to my good foot and lifted the crutches like wings. “See? I’m totally fine.”
“Ack! Stop! You’re not in the Cirque du Soleil. And you sound scarily like Stesha.”
I smiled, knowing that I did. Earlier in the same hotel lobby where we’d started our trip, Stesha had brushed off everyone’s concerns about her getting on an airplane, huffing over our protests, “It was just a small concussion.” Then more emphatically, “Not a single line of research suggests that flying after a concussion is dangerous.”
Dad now returned from the airport gift shop, holding a plastic bag.
“What’d you buy?” Mom asked.
“Just a few things,” he said evasively. Then to Mom he said, “You might want to use the bathroom before they call our flight. You know how you love the toilets on planes.…”
At that apt reminder, Mom hustled off to the restroom, and Dad thrust his bouquet of olive branches on me: a couple of fashion and gossip magazines in Spanish and a bar of dark chocolate.
“Hurry,” he said, gesturing for my bag, “give me the book and the PowerBar.”
I laughed as we traded. How well Dad knew me. Over the last day, we had reached a détente of sorts. He’d relented after I explained why Quattro and I had tried to make a mad dash up to Machu Picchu, not for cheap thrills but on a serious mission.
Still, Dad carried a fatherly grudge. “What really bothers me is that he put his needs before your safety,” he had said last night during dinner at the closest restaurant to our hotel. Then, he spat out one name—“Hank”—as if that were shorthand for selfishness and cowardice. “You can be friends with him, all right? Nothing more.”
“That’s not fair. Quattro’s not a Hank,” I had protested. “And Hank isn’t so bad. He let us stay in his casita, remember?”
“She has a point,” Mom had agreed, spearing two pieces of chicken on her fork as if she couldn’t shovel in the food fast enough. I don’t think any of us had ever been so ravenous for a hot meal.
Dad had started harrumphing, but I’d interrupted. “Dad, if Mom told you that she wanted to commemorate Grandma up on Everest, you would figure out a way to make it happen. And you’d go with her. I know you would.”
Mom had leaned her shoulder against his, nodding over her wineglass as she angled a loving look at him. “She’s right, you know.”
As I dropped Dad’s peace offerings into my tote bag, I felt myself softening. Our family had made a pact not to spend a single unnecessary penny or sol while on this trip. And here was Dad, trying to take care of me and smooth things over between us. I didn’t want us to leave angry or awkward with each other either, not when I now knew how life could blindside us, a life-changing diagnosis here, a dream-ending mudslide there. From overhead speakers, a woman’s deep voice called their flight. All around us, travelers sprang from their seats, ready to leave this flood-damaged region.
Mom returned from the bathroom, smelling of antiseptic soap. She hugged me tight, pulled back, and scowled at my wrapped ankle. “It still doesn’t seem right to send you home alone. And damaged!”
“Mom. I’m not damaged. And I’ll be with Stesha.”
“And here we are,” she continued, “off to have fun when all these poor people lost everything in the flood…”
“We’ll figure out a way to help, but I think we’re supposed to keep on living,” Dad said, placing a kiss on the top of Mom’s head.
“Now you sound like Stesha,” she teased lightly, and beamed at him.
Dad swept me into one final rib-crushing embrace before he draped his arm easily around Mom’s shoulder. That’s when my photographer radar went into high alert. The moment was coming, and I discreetly pulled out the camera I kept tucked in my front pocket.
“Thank you,” Dad told Mom. His eyes were full of her. “You made this trip happen.”
“No, we did.” Mom teared up. I did, too.
“All of us did,” Dad agreed.
They smiled like they were seeing each other for the first time, back in their twenties again, newly in love. But strands of gray streaked their hair, and as youthful as they looked, their faces were yielding to time. Fine lines radiated from the corners of their eyes and bracketed their lips. Their love wasn’t shiny and new, but one that had been tested and toughened. It would last. As Dad passed through the door first, I captured them in the exact moment when his hand reached back for hers.