Part Four.

I hate waiting in airports. And I really hated them this particular morning. It was just after five in the morning and I was stuck sitting in an uncomfortable chair, sipping mediocre coffee and trying to wake up. I'd managed to sleep about an hour and a half the night before and was feeling it. Amy was sitting in the seat across from me, dozing off with her head leaning on our mother's shoulder. Our father was reading the paper, about as cheerfully as he ever appeared, while waiting for the boarding call. I wanted to be back home in bed, and I wanted Amy's head on my...