Page 23 of Marrying the Guide
“Time to get up,” Howell murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper. His heavy eyes met mine, reflecting my heartbreak.
“Right.” My voice was barely audible. “Airport.”
Neither of us spoke. Words were trivial, powerless against the weight of our shared silence. We moved mechanically, packing the last pieces of my temporary life into my suitcase, our touches lingering, trying to memorize the feel of one another.
All too soon, we were in Howell’s truck, the engine rumbling beneath us as we headed to Sea-Tac. Howell’s hand found mine across the console, gripping it like a lifeline. He drove with a calmness that belied the turmoil in his eyes, the tightness of his face, the tension of his shoulders. The fir trees blurred past us, a green canvas streaked by the tears I refused to shed.
“Will you be okay?” Howell stroked his thumb over the back of my hand.
“Yes,” I lied, squeezing his hand. “And you?”
“Guess I’ll have to be.” His halfhearted smile didn’t reach his eyes.
The miles vanished behind us, each one a countdown I wished I could stop. The closer we got to the airport, the tighter my chest constricted. I talked about mundane things—my flight, the weather in Amsterdam, my mother who awaited my return—anything to fill the void, to keep from crumbling.
Howell found a spot in short-term parking and killed the engine. He turned to me, his jaw hard as granite, the lines around his eyes deepened with sadness. “Let’s grab your bags,” he murmured, his voice laden with resignation.
As we reached for my luggage in the back of the truck, our hands brushed—a spark in the dimming light of our time together. The expression in Howell’s eyes was a reflection of everything unsaid.
We walked into the terminal, silent, holding hands.
“Flight to Amsterdam?” the check-in attendant asked mechanically, her smile practiced but empty.
“Yes.” I handed over my passport, my fingers trembling slightly. Howell’s presence beside me was a pillar of strength I was about to leave behind.
I put my suitcases on the scale, and she labeled them, then gave me my boarding pass. “Have a safe trip,” she said, oblivious to the earthquake shifting the ground.
“Thank”—my voice wavered—“you.”
Howell’s hand found its way to the small of my back, a silent message of support that didn’t need words. His touch was a balm, but it was also a reminder of what I would miss—those strong hands that had guided me, held me, loved me without words.
“Hey.” I put a warm hand on his arm. “I’ll text you when I land, okay?”
“Okay,” Howell said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a brave attempt at a smile, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.
In that crowded airport, with the world rushing by, I felt like we were the only two souls—a small island of stillness in a sea of chaos.
“Take care of yourself,” he whispered.
“I will. You too, Howell.” Each word stabbed my heart.
The security checkpoint was ahead, a physical manifestation of our looming separation. I stole a glance at Howell, finding his deep brown eyes on me. We exchanged a silent conversation. A conversation of “I’ll miss you” and “This isn’t over” interspersed with desperation. Desperation neither of us wanted to voice.
We reached the point where only passengers were allowed to go. I turned to him fully, the world blurring around us until there was only Howell. His sturdy frame, which had shielded me from the perils of the wilderness. His kind eyes, which saw through my defenses. His strong calloused hands that had held me together when I thought I might break.
“Come here,” I said. Howell opened his arms and wrapped me in an embrace that felt like it could stop time. My tears came then, unbidden and hot against my cheeks. He held me tighter, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of something undeniably Howell.
“I’ll come visit,” he whispered, his lips moving softly over my scalp. “As soon as I can.”
“Make it soon,” I choked, clinging to him. “I’ll…I’ll come back too. For you. Always for you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Though the word seemed too small for what I meant.
We kissed, our lips pressing firmly against each other in a kiss that spoke of endless longing and silent promises and whispered confessions. We pulled apart, only to crash back together, each kiss a punctuation mark in a sentence that had no end.
“Go,” Howell said, his voice ragged. “Before I do something stupid like kidnap you.”