The flight to Boston is short.
Forty minutes.
Airborne.
Brief.
Transition.
Eleanor sleeps.
Most of the way.
Head on my lap.
Warm.
Heavy.
Trust.
Marcus works.
On the table.
Laptop.
Glowing.
Screens.
Numbers.
Plans.
Foundation.
Tour.
Security.
Logistics.
He looks up.
Occasionally.
At me.
At her.
Checking.
Confirming.
Present.
I look out.
Window.
Below.
Clouds.
Breaking.
Land.
Emerging.
Green.
Gray.
Water.
Harbor.
Boston.
My heart shifts.
Beat.
Skipping.
Heavy.
Memory.
This is where it started.
The sale.
The contract.
The fear.
The night.
Giovanni's.
The table.
The portfolio.
The words.
The arrangement is you.
I close my eyes.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
Slow.
Controlled.
Centered.
Not then.
Now.
Not victim.
Author.
Not prey.
Protected
