Part 24 (1/2)

As soon as she was gone, I got the newspaper out again and took it into Hunziger's office to read.

”Legislature Pa.s.ses Balanced Budget,” the other articles read. ”Escaped Convict Turns Self In,” ”Christmas Food Bank Donations Up.”

I read through them and then threw the paper into the waste-basket. Halfway out the door I thought better of it and took it out, folded it up, and took it back to my desk with me.

While I was putting it into my purse, Hunziger wandered in. ”If anybody asks where I am, tell them I'm in the men's room,” he said, and wandered out again.

Wednesday afternoon I took the girls and Allison to the airport. She was still fretting over her newsletter.

”Do you think a greeting is absolutely necessary?” she said in the baggage check-in line. ”You know, like 'Dear Friends and Family'?”

”Probably not,” I said absently. I was watching the people in line ahead of us, trying to spot this unusual behavior Gary had talked about, but so far I hadn't seen any. People were looking at their watches and complaining about the length of the line, the ticket agents were calling, ”Next. Next!” to the person at the head of the line, who, after having stood impatiently in line for forty-five minutes waiting for this moment, was now staring blankly into s.p.a.ce, and an unattended toddler was methodically pulling the elastic strings off a stack of luggage tags.

”They'll still know it's a Christmas newsletter, won't they?” Allison said. ”Even without a greeting at the beginning of it?”

With a border of angels holding bunches of mistletoe, what else could it be? I thought.

”Next!” the ticket agent shouted.

The man in front of us had forgotten his photo ID, the girl in front of us in line for the security check was wearing heavy metal, and on the train out to the concourse a woman stepped on my foot and then glared at me as if it were my fault. Apparently all the nice people had traveled the day Gary came home.And that was probably what it was-some kind of statistical clump where all the considerate, intelligent people had ended up on the same flight.

I knew they existed. My sister Sueann had had an insurance actuary for a boyfriend once (he was also an embezzler, which is why Sueann was dating him) and he had said events weren't evenly distributed, that there were peaks and valleys. Gary must just have hit a peak.

Which was too bad, I thought, lugging Cheyenne, who had demanded to be carried the minute we got off the train, down the concourse. Because the only reason he had approached me was because he thought there was something strange going on.

”Here's Gate 55,” Allison said, setting Dakota down and getting out French-language tapes for the girls. ”If I left off the 'Dear Friends and Family,' I'd have room to include Dakota's violin recital. She played 'The Gypsy Dance.'”

She settled the girls in adjoining chairs and put on their headphones. ”But Mitch says it's a letter, so it has to have a greeting.”

”What if you used something short?” I said. ”Like 'Greetings' or something. Then you'd have room to start the letter on the same line.”

”Not 'Greetings'” She made a face. ”Uncle Frank started his letter that way last year, and it scared me half to death. I thought Mitch had been drafted.”

I had been alarmed when I'd gotten mine, too, but at least it had given me a temporary rush of adrenaline, which was more than Uncle Frank's letters usually did, concerned as they were with prostate problems and disputes over property taxes.

”I suppose I could use 'Holiday Greetings,' ”Allison said. ”Or 'Christmas Greetings,' but that's almost as long as 'Dear Friends and Family.' If only there were something shorter.”

”How about 'hi'?”

”That might work.” She got out paper and a pen and started writing. ”How do you spell 'outstanding'?”

”O-u-t-s-t-a-n-d-i-n-g,” I said absently. I was watching the moving sidewalks in the middle of the concourse.

People were standing on the right, like they were supposed to, and walking on the left. No people were standing four abreast or blocking the entire sidewalk with their luggage. No kids were running in the opposite direction of the sidewalk's movement, screaming and running their hands along the rubber railing.

”How do you spell 'fabulous'?” Allison asked.

”Flight 2216 to Spokane is now ready for boarding,” the flight attendant at the desk said. ”Those pa.s.sengers traveling with small children or those who require additional time for boarding may now board.”

A single old lady with a walker stood up and got in line. Allison unhooked the girls' headphones, and we began the ritual of hugging and gathering up belongings.

”We'll see you at Christmas,” she said.

”Good luck with your newsletter,” I said, handing Dakota her teddy bear, ”and don't worry about the heading.

It doesn't need one.”

They started down the pa.s.sageway. I stood there, waving, till they were out of sight, and then turned to go.

”We are now ready for regular boarding of rows 25 through 33,” the flight attendant said, and everybody in the gate area stood up. Nothing unusual here, I thought, and started for the concourse.

”What rows did she call?” a woman in a red beret asked a teenaged boy.

”25 through 33,” he said.

”Oh, I'm Row 14,” the woman said, and sat back down.

So did I.

”We are now ready to board rows 15 through 24,” the flight attendant said, and a dozen people looked carefully at their tickets and then stepped back from the door, patiently waiting their turn. One of them pulled a paperback out of her tote bag and began to read. It was Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Only when the flight attendant said, ”We are now boarding all rows,” did the rest of them stand up and get in line.

Which didn't prove anything, and neither did the standing on the right of the moving sidewalk. Maybe people were just being nice because it was Christmas.Don't be ridiculous, I told myself. People aren't nicer at Christmas. They're ruder and pus.h.i.+er and crabbier than ever. You've seen them at the mall, and in line for the post office. They act worse at Christmas than any other time.

”This is your final boarding call for Flight 2216 to Spokane,” the flight attendant said to the empty waiting area. She called to me, ”Are you flying to Spokane, ma'am?”

”No.” I stood up. ”I was seeing friends off.”

”I just wanted to make sure you didn't miss your flight,” she said, and turned to shut the door.

I started for the moving sidewalk, and nearly collided with a young man running for the gate. He raced up to the desk and flung his ticket down.

”I'm sorry, sir,” the flight attendant said, leaning slightly away from the young man as if expecting an explosion. ”Your flight has already left. I'm really terribly sor-”

”Oh, it's okay,” he said. ”It serves me right. I didn't allow enough time for parking and everything, that's all. I should have started for the airport earlier.”

The flight attendant was tapping busily on the computer. ”I'm afraid the only other open flight to Spokane for today isn't until 11:05 this evening.”

”Oh, well,” he said, smiling. ”It'll give me a chance to catch up on my reading.” He reached down into his attache case and pulled out a paperback. It was W. Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage.

”Well?” Gary said as soon as I got back to work Thursday morning. He was standing by my desk, waiting for me.

”There's definitely something going on,” I said, and told him about the moving sidewalks and the guy who'd missed his plane. ”But what?”

”Is there somewhere we can talk?” he said, looking anxiously around.

”Hunziger's office,” I said, ”but I don't know if he's in yet.”

”He's not,” he said, led me into the office, and shut the door behind him.