I grabbed my pouches and backpack in a clumsy attempt to hurry while also allowing the California woman to move down the aisle, but instead she waited. “Maybe you need some vitamins. Do you eat carbs? Carbs make you sluggish. And milk. And wheat does too. I also firmly believe that humans are not meant to eat beans. Maybe you eat too many beans.”

Earlier this year I had seen a sweatshirt on Instagram with the words, I don’t give a crap about your diet, Debbie. I wanted that shirt right now. Then I could stay silent and yell at the same time.

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll give up beans and see if I can stop napping on airplanes. Maybe then I’ll have time to learn Spanish instead.”

“I have a great app for that.”

She stroked the screen of her phone with a pink fingernail. I looked over her shoulder to see what the holdup was exiting the plane. I anticipated seeing Holly at the end of the gangplank, and this California woman was like a warm-up criticism band. Suddenly I experienced a full-body perspire.

“You can learn any language in three weeks.”

“Uh-huh.” I needed some quiet to figure out what to do. Yes, I could call the clinic for a new prescription. Yes, I could have them send it to a Walgreens or CVS near me, but it was a controlled substance, and I’d just had all my meds refilled. Additionally, my doctor had retired, and the new doctor had made it clear that there would be no more sleep meds until I came in for a checkup. Considering the high street-market profit for this medication, essentially what I called “good-girl uppers,” this new doctor did not cotton to the lackadaisical practices of the old doctor, who was burned out and too irreverent to pay attention to drug laws. In short, I hadn’t been for a checkup for this particular problem for ten years. My doctor had always re-upped my prescription when I called him.

Maybe my neighbor would mail them. But where would she send them? Our plan was to be on the road, sleeping in the camper, driving without stopping. I was basically screwed, and that would be fine if I was alone on this trip, but I wasn’t. I was with the intolerant Holly. The woman who never slept, didn’t medicate, and needed nothing artificial to shore her up in any way.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I found two texts on the screen. One from Holly. What’s taking you so long? And another text from Beautiful Drew. Are you there?

With a flash of irritation, I texted Holly that I was on my way. How could I possibly know why it was taking a long time for people to exit? And if she had wanted us to be synchronized and truly time efficient, why hadn’t she splurged for me to join her in first class?

My annoyance turned into anticipation as I texted Beautiful Drew. A safe man who I expected would fall in love with my best friend. Then I could write a memoir and call it The Vicarious Love Life of Samantha Arias. If Katie was with me, I would have made this joke and we’d have laughed, but I didn’t feel like laughing right now. I felt sad.

I slipped the backpack onto both of my shoulders as Maddie said I should. Apparently carrying it casually, with just one strap, was oh so very uncool.

ME: I’m here. Landed. In California. Experiencing minor irritations.

BDREW: How was your nap?

ME: You know me so well.

BDREW: Not yet.

Yet?

BDREW: Katie is in good spirits. Nothing to report.

ME: Anyone coming in to draw blood?

BDREW: Yes.

ME: THX

BDREW: NP

I knew NP was No problem from Maddie, and so I didn’t have to look foolish and reply, What? Or Nurse Practitioner? Needle Problem? Thank God for hanging out with a teen who kept me young. Just another thing I would miss when my daughter left the house for good. There it was . . . a dull thread of loneliness slid through me. I already felt her absence with so many miles between us.

I’d inhaled her scent, hugging her close before letting her go.

“Mom, are you sniffing me?” she’d said, without pulling away.

“You know I am.”

“I’m not leaving forever.” She’d squeezed and released me, knowing how hard this was going to be on me, but wanting the freedom for herself.

“I’m so excited for you,” I’d said, leaving off the next part of that sentence: My God, what will I do without you?

“I left you my shampoo in case you want to sniff me some more.”

I tried to say something funny, empowering, parental, but instead I signed, I Love You with my right hand.

“I’ll text you,” she’d said, like she hadn’t packed my heart in her suitcase and was going to be driving down the road with it.

Who would keep me from grocery shopping in my Birkenstocks and favorite soft sweater, the one with the unidentifiable stain on the sleeve and thread pulls from the neighbor’s snaggletoothed hound named Radar? Who would tell me what music to listen to so I didn’t use references from the nineties when joking with teen cashiers? Who would love me unconditionally? No one. That’s who. And if something happened to Katie, then negative one.

It was good to have this mission even as I walked off the plane, led by my new walking, talking California girl doll.

I texted Katie.

ME: We’re here all is well. Almost no cell service. Everything going as planned. Love you.

KATIE: Ok, talk to you when you get back. You have your hands full. Don’t worry about me. Love you for this.

Observing my texting conversation had not slowed my new friend’s zeal to make my life better. She had hacked my sleep issue, diagnosed it as diet related, and was set on Spanish being my second language. I wasn’t fully listening as she talked over her shoulder. But I couldn’t ignore her when she turned on her heel and proceeded to walk backward out of the plane and up the long aluminum hallway.

“I like to use a couple of different apps when I’m learning a language.”

Reading my nonverbal lack of enthusiasm, she paused for a minute, assessed me, and said, “You’re just visiting, aren’t you? Let me guess. You’re from Nebraska. No, Iowa.”

“Wisconsin,” I said, and she nodded like everything about me suddenly added up.

“Yes. I can see that now.”

If I’d felt rumpled before, this made me feel drab and in need of a full-life exfoliation. Not to kick myself when I was down, but becoming a young widow and a single mom had buffed out most of my shine over the years.

The woman stopped, and I walked right up to her extended leg and almost barreled into her collarbone. She clutched my shoulder, her fingers like well-manicured spider legs. “You should get a blowout and some cupping. I have a shaman you should see too.”

She might as well have said to me, “You should find a million dollars, eat haggis, and grow three feet.” I’d never had a blowout, cupping sounded like a bra fitting, and a shaman? Well, that was just insanity.

She saw my bewilderment, shoved her arm shoulder deep into her bag, and withdrew a card. Apparently, shamans had cards. The two of us were planted like boulders in the middle of a stream of people exiting the plane. The pint-size woman owned the space, and I had to hand it to her: she did not care that people were huffing and pissed that they were forced to dodge us. I glanced at the card.

“Marvin Shamansky? Marvin? The Shaman Shamansky?”

“Don’t judge a spiritual healer by his Marvin. He’s amazing.” At that she moved, and we joined the flow of passengers.

At the last steps up the ramp, I blinked in the bright light. I saw Holly. Tall, thin, looking as she always did, neat and pressed, while I felt frumpy and wrinkled. She spotted me, and I had to admit it was okay to see her standing there. I was about to say so when the woman said, “Is this your partner? That’s awesome. I’m so glad you two found each other after so much loss in your life.”

Holly had a complicated expression on her face. It was as if she wanted me to dispute this, but if I did, I’d offend her. Also, there was that offhanded comment about loss. I hadn’t said two words to this woman. What was she talking about?

“You’ve got to look Marvin up,” the walking doll said. “He’s out of town, but he’s worth it. He can talk to your husband or at least tell you what spirit you’re carrying around on your back. The one that keeps you so tired.”

Then she was gone. California Girl moved into the sea of people and was out of sight faster than I could process what had happened.

“She thinks we’re partners,” said Holly with a nasty smirk.

I couldn’t speak after having my dead husband mentioned by a complete stranger.

“You want to run after her and set her straight? Tell her that we aren’t a couple?” Holly’s tone mocked me.

I considered going after her, but only to ask how she knew about my loss. Was she referring to Jeff, and was he in a place a shaman could reach?

CHAPTER SEVEN

NEVER CHANGE

“Well, it sounded like you spilled your guts.”

“I didn’t talk about anyone. I slept the whole way.”

“Not the whole way it seems. You stayed awake long enough to tell her your life story.” Holly said this with a jeering eyebrow lift.

“I didn’t. I don’t even know her name.” Someone’s luggage hit my ankle and set off a zip of pain up the side of my leg.

“Summer,” said Holly, a silk scarf on her shoulder in the most casual, this-old-thing way.

“What?”