Free Distant Shores by Kristin Hannah

“That’s it, Jacko. Either it’s done or throw the sucker away. I’m goin’ home.”
    Jack glanced at the clock. It was ten p.m. Too late to stop by the news director’s house.
Damn.
He’d have to do it first thing in the morning; unfortunately, he was scheduled to fly out at seven a.m.
    There was no way he could make that flight.
    Elizabeth would kill him.
    The Nashville airport was quieter than normal for the holidays. Another sad sign of the uncertain times. Since September 11, every potential trip was considered carefully, weighed in importance. More and more people had chosen to stay home.
    Elizabeth had arrived almost an hour early, and now she had to bide her time. She browsed through the newsstands and flipped through a magazine that promised her a “YOUNGER, FIRMER STOMACH IN TEN MINUTES A DAY—”
    (Yeah, right.)
    â€”and bought the newest Stephen King novel.
    Finally, she went to the gate and took a seat in front of the dirty picture window that overlooked the runways.
    She tapped her foot nervously on the floor. When she realized what she was doing, she forced herself to sit still.
    It was embarrassing. A grown woman this excited to see her children. They’d probably have to lock her up or tie her down by the time she had grandkids.
    She had never been one of those women who took her children for granted.
    Stephanie had been twelve years old, a seventh grader with budding breasts and gangly legs and braces when Elizabeth had first realized:
Time is running out.
She’d watched her almost teenage daughter flirt with a boy for the first time, and Elizabeth had had to sit down. That was how unsteady it made her. In a split second, on a blistering cold winter morning, she’d glimpsed the fragile impermanence of her family and she’d never been the same since. After that, she’d videotaped every semiprecious moment, so persistently that her family groaned in unison every time she said
hold it
! They knew it meant she was going for the camera.
    She heard an announcement come over the speaker and she looked up.
    The plane had pulled up to the Jetway ramp.
    She stood up but didn’t move forward. The girls hated it when she crowded to the front of the line. She’d learned that back in the old ski bus days. Once she’d even—God forbid—dared to walk into the school to meet them.
    We’re not babies, Mom
—Jamie had said impatiently.
    Of course, Jamie said almost everything impatiently. Her younger daughter had been in a hurry from the moment she was born. She’d started walking at nine months, had been talking at two years, and she hadn’t slowed down since. She ate life with unapologetic enthusiasm and took as many helpings as she wanted.
    â€œMom!”
    Stephanie emerged from the crowd of passengers. As usual, she was the picture of decorum—pressed khaki pants, white turtleneck, black blazer. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled off her face and held in place by a black velvet headband. Her makeup was lightly, but perfectly, applied. Even as a child, Stephanie had had an invisible, unshakable grace. Nothing was beyond her grasp. Everything she did, she did well.
    Elizabeth ran forward, hugged her daughter fiercely.
    â€œWhat?” Stephanie said, laughing as she drew back. “No camera to record the auspicious event of our deplaning?”
    â€œVery funny.” Elizabeth’s throat felt embarrassingly tight. She hoped it didn’t ruin her voice. “Where’s your sister?”
    â€œThere was a seating mix-up. We got separated.”
    Jamie was the last person off the plane. She stood out from the crowd like some gothic scarecrow. First there was her height, almost six feet, and her hair color—cornsilk blond that fell in a wavy line to her waist. And then there was her outfit. Skintight black leather pants, black shirt that must have sported a dozen silver zippers, and black combat boots. The