Swinging for the Fences

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The next morning Christy and I left a note for my parents and roused a very hungover Erin to drive us to the airport. I knew exactly how she felt, so I fetched her a cup of coffee instead of giving her a hard time. It was only Folgers Crystals, but she accepted it with relief that bordered on religious ecstasy.

“The best part of wakin’ up…,” I joked.

She wasn’t ready for humor. She shook her head, winced at the pain, and closed her eyes instead. Christy glanced at our garment bag and I took the hint.

“Right. Take your time, Er. I’ll load the car.”

She eventually finished her coffee and grabbed her car keys. She drove us to the airport in silence but climbed out to hug us goodbye. Then she collapsed into the driver’s seat and looked miserable until she mustered the willpower to start the car and drive off.

Christy and I talked about everything and nothing during the flight back to Knoxville. I wanted to talk about her decision to “do something” with a guy, but she changed the subject when I steered the conversation toward it.

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