Hand Me Downs

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

NowA hissing noise yanked John back into his body. He slowly recognized the curving tan walls, tiny oval windows, and constant engine roar of an airplane. The person sitting in front of him peered out at the pink light of sunrise over the Atlantic.

He didn’t think he’d actually been asleep, but the memory was real enough he wasn’t quite sure where he was or why. That early autumn of his seventeenth year seemed much more vivid than wherever he was in his adult life.

But after a lifetime of nightmares, John had anchoring himself in his surroundings down to a science.

He smelled stale recirculated air sharp with the aroma of brewing coffee. He also smelled Branwen, warm and close by. He turned to her, taking in every detail. She was still asleep, her color better than before. Her full lips were slightly parted, and her hands were folded under her cheek like a little girl.

John’s disorientation gradually faded.

They were going to Wales for her grandmother’s one hundredth birthday. He remembered the past few days of rushing to get ready for this trip, the past few months of getting ready to move. Branwen had been ill, but she seemed to be keeping water down now.

He brushed her hair back and touched her face, not wanting to wake her, just wanting the comfort and reassurance of her flesh. Her hair crackled with static, and her skin felt warm, not chilled and clammy.

He didn’t get any clear impressions of dreams. Only a quiet, a calm he hadn’t seen or felt in her for a long while. He barely caught that undercurrent of unease within her, a strange, alien sensation.

Focusing on his own body, John realized he was indeed too weary to have been asleep. His eyes were achy, and his stomach felt unsettled. The nagging pull of memory had faded, but he didn’t quite feel free of it.

Some part of him lingered there in his parents’ house, a frightened boy trying to figure out what would change after such a terrible ordeal made it clear something had to. He hadn’t spoken of that time in his life for many years, and he’d never spoken to Branwen about it.

He hadn’t even thought about it for longer than he could remember.

He looked down at the back of his right hand, at the faint scar below his ring finger. The violent ghosts in his past had to stay right where they were. He had to focus on whatever was going on in his marriage, then move on to less important things like new city, new house, and new jobs.

He hoped the restless door to his childhood would be willing to wait for his attention.

“John?”

Nothing in his life, past or present, mattered more than that voice, the sleepy brown eyes looking up at him. He kissed Branwen’s cheek. She sent out warmth loud and clear now. John savored it like a caress.

“I’m here, love.”

“What time is it?” Branwen said, stretching and groaning at the same time.

“It’s seven in Wales. We’ll be landing in about an hour and a half. They’re getting breakfast ready now.”

“Good, I’m starving. I think I slept harder than I have in weeks,” she said as she sat up and looked around, much like John had done.

“You needed it. I don’t think either of us has sat still since the end of summer.”

The rest of the flight was pleasant, almost as if there had been no problems between them just a few hours ago. She even seemed excited about this holiday for the first time.

Everything came crashing down while they were waiting for their luggage in Manchester. Branwen stood still with her eyes closed and her jaw clenched.

The cold wall between them went up.

Before John could ask if she was ill again, she answered by covering her mouth and running toward the restroom.

Not harsh enough to be flu or food poisoning, and after a calm night he didn’t think dehydration could be causing her trouble. Pregnancy didn’t make sense with a woman so meticulously careful about birth control.

He didn’t notice the luggage carousel start up until someone pushed past. John realized the younger man had said excuse me more than once.

“Sorry, jet lag,” he said to the retreating back. The kid looked over his shoulder long enough to smile.

John turned back to the carousel just as their small herd of black bags emerged from the chute. He got out their passports, one blue and one burgundy, and pushed the loaded cart slowly toward customs.

When Branwen stepped up beside him, she was again pale and subdued.

She didn’t smell sick this time, not that he could catch over strong breath mints. He decided not to ask her what was going on until they got settled in at her grandmother’s house.

With two hours of driving still ahead of them, he didn’t want any more stress. But he needed going to figure this out before she got any worse.

“Ready?” he said, watching her eyes.

Her face had absolutely no expression, and everything about her asked him—nearly begged him—to leave it alone. She looked at their bags, then over at customs. No one was waiting anymore.

“Let’s go.”