Page 2 of We'll Meet Again
“It’s London, isn’t it?”
“Well, yeah, but -”
“Then why shouldn’t it be?” she cut across him. “Besides, you’re overdue for meeting a nice girl. You haven’t hardly been on a date since all that ugliness with Sarah.”
He bit back a sigh. Betty had resented his ex-girlfriend from the moment they met, claiming that Sarah was too controlling, and tried to make Ethan into someone he wasn’t. Which, now that he had unpacked that relationship in therapy, he had to agree with. Sarah was a refined young woman who came from old money in Charleston, and Ethan’s humble upbringing was clearly a point of shame for her. No matter how hard he tried to fit into her country club, high society world, it was never enough for her. He just wished she had told him thatbeforecheating on him to spare him some hurt. Even two years later, it stung a little.
“Now, come on,” Betty said. “You’ve got a plane to catch, and we can’t be wasting any more time being silly.”
She released his hand and opened the passenger side door. Ethan rolled his eyes. That was Betty - her sympathy only went so far. Then, it was time to cowboy up and carry on. Following her lead, he stepped into the crisp January air, shuddering against the cold as he came around to the bed of his truck for his luggage. Just one carry on and one checked bag. When he had them secure, he faced Betty again.
“You’ll look after ol’ Lula Mae now, won’t you?” he asked.
He gave his 1971 Chevy Cheyenne a good smack on the tailgate, and yet another fleck of pale yellow paint chipped off. To most, it was a bona-fide piece of shit. But to Ethan, Lula Mae was so much more than that. She was the first car he had ever bought for himself, off a farmer about two hours outside of Charlotte, who had been keeping her on blocks. Ethan cleaned her up, replaced her engine, and put the appropriate tires on. He had considered getting Lula Mae shipped to London, but thought better of it. He was already going to stand out enough. And he didn’t want to risk anything happening to her.
“Don’t be a goose, Ethan, it’s only a car,” Betty said.
“I can’t believe my ears!” he said with a gasp, his hand jumping to his chest. “And from my own blood!”
It was her turn to roll her eyes. “I’ll take care of it, gracious alive.”
He chuckled again, and the more he did so - and interacted with Betty as if it were any other day - the more his nerves began to ebb away. He tossed her the keys. Like a cat, she snatched them out of the air before tucking them into her purse. They started toward the elevator that would take them to the entrance for departures, but Ethan stole one last look at his darling Lula Mae and said a silent goodbye to her.
He had already checked in for his flight, so he went straight to the desk to check his bag when they got inside. He thanked the girl behind the computer - Misty - by name. Her cheeks flushed a little, but she only nodded in return and called the next person up. Ethan watched his bag disappear on the conveyor belt, thinking it looked rather lonely all by itself. But then again, so was he. Or he would be once he reached security, and Betty would no longer be permitted to accompany him.
The security line was also short, given the lack of a crowd. Ethan and his grandmother came to a slow stop. She stood in front of him and looked him over, standing on her toes to run an affectionate hand through his blond locks. Another trait he’d gotten from her, though his was more wavy than curly.
“Shoulda had this cut before you left,” she muttered, half to herself.
“I’ll find a good barber in London,” he replied.
“Of course you will,” she said, but she had already moved on to making sure the drawstrings of his hoodie were even. “Is this gonna be warm enough? It’s colder than a witch’s tit over there.”
He snorted, even though he was long accustomed to hearing his grandmother talk that way. His mirth was cut short, though, when he realized how much he was going to miss it.
“My coat is packed,” he assured her. “I’ll be alright until I get to my new place.”
The TSA agent began barking out instructions to take laptops and phones out, temporarily claiming Ethan’s attention. When he met Betty’s gaze again, he was surprised to find it so watery. She tried to blink back the tears - a move that turned out to be counterproductive, as it caused them to spill out down her cheek.
“Hey, now,” he said gently, reaching out to wipe them away with his thumb.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I thought I was gonna be fine, but I just got to thinking about when you were a little boy and how much you’ve grown and just…how proud I am of you.”
His chest got suffocatingly tight and his brain briefly short circuited. This had to be serious. First of all, Betty hardly ever cried. In fact, he had not seen her shed a tear since she heard that her daughter had died. Even at the funeral, she was the epitome of composure. Secondly, she rarely - if ever - just told people outright how she felt about them. He was certain this was the first time she had said the words “I’m proud of you” out loud.
“Listen to me crying and carrying on like a fool,” she sniffled, drawing herself up to her full height and effectively killing the moment. “It’s damn undignified.”
That forced a laugh from his chest. “I’m gonna miss you too.”
She smiled shakily at that. “Call me as soon as you land in New York.” She paused for a beat. “And again when you get to London.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She yanked him into a hug. He couldn’t help but bury his face in her neck, like he did when he was little, and she comforted him after a loss or when his mother did one of her disappearing acts. The same perfume she had been wearing all his life - some rosy scent he never learned the name of - percolated through him as he committed it to memory. With a deep breath, she pulled away.
“You be good now,” she said. “Mind your manners over there. And always do your best. You show them English boys how it’s done.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated. “I love you, Grandma.”