Minutes later, the plane’s wheels hit the ground and I pull the phone from my bag. He’s just busy, I say to myself like a mantra- he’s just busy, just busy. I fold the paper in my lap and close my eyes. People don’t live in Raleigh– Durham any more than they do in New York– New Jersey or San Francisco– San Jose. I don’t know why it irritates me so much every time I hear it, but it does. The flight attendant gets on the intercom to tell us that we’re beginning our descent into Raleigh–Durham. Silver screen legend dead at the age of ninety-six. New campaign finance legislation introduced.
I pull the newspaper out of my bag and try to flip through it but I can’t focus. I called Owen’s cell twice in the hour I sat at the airport in Philadelphia and once before that, from my hotel. What else could explain why I haven’t heard from him?
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