Brian held up the TSA line and stared at his parents. “Why are you sending me there? Why can’t I stay here with you guys?”
The attendant waved him forward. “Come on through, please.”
Dad looked down, shook his head, and shrugged without saying a word. Mom pulled her jacket around herself tighter and spoke loud enough to turn heads. “Now, Brian, we decided on this as a family. You just be careful up there and make sure you come back to us at the end of summer.”
People behind him shuffled their carry-ons. The attendant rose her voice. “Either come on through or move aside, please.”
Suzanne kissed him abruptly on the cheek, spun him, and pushed him down through the station without giving him a chance to drop his stuff on the inspection belt. Alarms went off. He turned back to face her. “Mom.”
Too late. Her head bobbed like a cork floating in a too deep sea. She saluted and shouted something he couldn’t hear. He started to wave then saw she was shouting at Dad. Brian’s hand fell by his side as he watched.
She caught him at a red roofed kiosk. He was holding a cigar in his hand, his other hand swimming in his pocket, probably for change. Mom tore the cigar out of his hand and threw it back on the counter. Her hand came up and her crooked index finger scratched the air between their faces. Brian could almost feel her accentuate her words on each downward thrust. Dad did as he did before; looked down, shrugged, turned his back, and walked away. Mom’s shoulders fell. She picked up the cigar and waved it like a prize as she ran after him.
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