The traffic to the airport is horrendous, so bad that even Wilson’s driving skills can’t help. After two and a half hours of inching forward a foot a minute, I finally see the cause of the jam: an accident in the left lane. As soon as we pass it, the traffic starts moving more briskly, but the damage is done.
Emma’s flight is due to start boarding in a half hour.
Taking a deep breath to combat my frustration, I try calling her again.
Voicemail. Same as the other five times I’ve tried it.
I text her again.
Nothing. No response.
Fighting the urge to slam the phone against the window, I check the airline app.
The f*****g flight is on time, and the boarding starts in twenty-three minutes.
Even if I were at the airport right now, I’d need longer than that to clear security.
She’s going
