Chapter Four: THE JOURNEY
721 Words
Eli
Friday
The jet climbed through a blanket of clouds while I stared out the window.
Most people enjoyed flying.
I tolerated it.
There wasn’t much to look at beyond endless stretches of white and blue anyway.
The cabin remained quiet. A few members of my team occupied seats further back, sleeping through most of the journey.
I envied them.
Sleep and I had not been on speaking terms for years.
I glanced at my watch.
Eight more hours.
Then I’d be home.
The thought should have been comforting.
Instead it left me restless.
I loosened my tie and leaned back against the leather seat.
Russia had been productive.
The mission was completed.
The reports were filed.
The operation had gone according to plan.
By military standards, it was a success.
Yet all I could think about was Kira.
I reached for my phone.
No signal.
Of course.
The one thing I wanted to do during the flight was the one thing I couldn’t.
Call my daughter.
The corner of my mouth twitched.
She was probably driving Miss Kingsley insane.
Not intentionally.
Kira rarely intended to cause chaos.
Chaos simply followed her around like an extremely loyal pet.
I opened my photo gallery instead.
Most of the recent pictures had been sent by either Kira or Miss Kingsley.
Kira eating ice cream.
Kira holding a flower.
Kira showing off a drawing.
Kira sitting inside what appeared to be another blanket fort.
I narrowed my eyes.
The fort looked even less stable than the last one.
I wasn’t surprised.
Miss Kingsley encouraged entirely too many of Kira’s ideas.
I supposed that was one of the reasons Kira adored her.
She was patient.
Kind.
Reliable.
Everything a child needed.
Not that I spent much time thinking about it.
As long as Kira was happy and safe, that was enough for me.
The cabin door opened.
Captain Reeves stepped inside carrying a tablet.
“Sir.”
I looked up.
“What is it?”
“The final report.”
I accepted it and skimmed through the pages.
Everything appeared in order.
No surprises.
Exactly how I liked it.
After several minutes I handed it back.
“Good work.”
The captain looked startled.
Interesting.
Apparently compliments from me had become a rare species.
“Thank you, sir.”
He hesitated.
Then said carefully,
“Your daughter must be excited you’re coming home.”
The question caught me slightly off guard.
I wasn’t used to discussing personal matters.
“She is.”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“My son gets the same way.”
I nodded once.
The conversation ended there.
Neither of us seemed interested in extending it.
The captain returned to the main cabin.
Silence settled around me once more.
I closed my eyes.
Immediately another face appeared.
Blonde hair.
Blue eyes.
A smile that could brighten an entire room.
Stephanie.
The familiar ache followed.
Five years.
Five years and it still felt wrong.
Some days the grief sat quietly in the background.
Other days it arrived without warning.
A photograph.
A memory.
A scent.
A song.
And suddenly it felt as though no time had passed at all.
I remembered movie nights.
Weekend dates.
Long walks after Kira had fallen asleep.
The way Stephanie always listened.
The way she somehow made every problem feel smaller.
My chest tightened.
I opened my eyes.
The memory faded.
Not completely.
It never completely faded.
But enough.
The pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom.
“We’ll begin our descent in approximately forty-five minutes.”
Finally.
I looked out the window again.
The clouds had started to break apart.
Far below, the city stretched toward the horizon.
Home.
For the first time during the entire flight, something inside me eased.
Not because I missed the estate.
Not because I missed my own bed.
And certainly not because I missed paperwork waiting on my desk.
I missed Kira.
I missed hearing her endless questions.
I missed the way she launched herself at me every time I returned from a deployment.
I even missed the chaos.
The thought almost made me smile.
Almost.
I checked my watch one final time.
Forty-three minutes.
Then I’d be home.
Back to my daughter.
Back to normal.
Or at least as normal as life ever was in the Winslie household.
- Writer
