Max grunted as he set down his heavy garment bag. The enticing scent of pastrami wafted back to him from the front of the line. Way too skimpy on the meat. And airport prices, of course. He should wait. He’d be in New York soon. Then he could get a real one, piled so high with perfectly smoked and steamed beef that it would look like a Swiss chalet, with rivulets of salty, greasy juice filtering through the layers, adding their flavors to the tangy rye. In New York, he could choose a different deli for each day of the week, and they’d all be fantastic.
He hadn’t had one in so long. Carol still held such an iron grip over his life. She could always tell, when he picked up Sean for their weekends, that he had gained a couple pounds. Just by looking at him. Had to mention it too, right in front of his boy.
As if in sympathy with his waning confidence, his stomach growled. Oh well, the new salary would more than cover one high-priced pastrami sandwich. He placed his order.
He found a seat next to a freckle-faced boy tapping with lackluster strokes on his Nintendo. Max balanced the open container on his knees and contemplated the meager fare.
A squeaky voice piped up. “Aren’t you going to eat it?”
Max examined the boy. The sullen set of the kid’s mouth seemed at odds with the searching expression in the pale blue eyes. The height and frame put him at about ten. “You’ve got to let it sit for a few minutes. Give the flavors a chance to run together.” He lifted the box and inhaled deeply, testing the mingled scents of warm beef, sauerkraut, and spicy mustard.
The boy leaned closer.
Max chuckled and held the sandwich up to him.
The kid’s nose instantly wrinkled and retreated. “Adults are sooo weird.”
So true. “Interesting game?”
“Naw, it’s lame. I told Dad three times what game I wanted, and he still got it wrong. Too distracted by his new squeeze.” After pausing to contemplate a toddler across the way offering a sticky Cheerio to his baby sister, he turned back to Max, an impish gleam sparking in his eyes. “You have a squeeze in New York, mister?”
Max closed his gaping mouth. “N-no. No, I have a new job in New York, a good job.” An office of his own. No more of Mr. Bowman’s strident voice rising over the cubicles, ‘Max, get me the plans for the Neuberger building, stat. And clean up that desk for Pete’s sake. You think you’re in the mail room? I can accommodate you.’
“Everything all right over here?”
The attendant’s voice jolted Max out of his reverie.
“Everything’s fine.” The boy gave her the most stupendous ‘I’m a sweet, super-mature young man’ smile Max had ever seen. “We’re just … conversing.”
The woman grinned. “I’ll be helping with check-in if you need me.”
Max picked up half his sandwich as the attendant moved away. “So, is your dad in New York?”
“Mom’s in New York. Dad’s here.”
Here. The sprawling suburban armpit of the world. How had Carol convinced him to move the family so far from New York? His arms seemed to lose their strength, and he set his lunch down again.
The boy stared at him as if expecting more.
“You do anything besides Nintendo in New York?”
“Like what?”
“Well, like soccer, or drums, or swimming. My son likes swimming.” Receiving nothing but a blank stare, Max made a swimming motion with his arms.
The pale eyes rolled.
Max shrugged and turned away. Great! Hadn’t even taken a bite, but he’d somehow leaked sauce on his best suit.
“Is he any good? Your son.”
“He has a good chance of making states this year.” Max dampened his napkin from his water bottle and dabbed at the spots. “Even if he didn’t, he’d still be having a lot of fun.”
This time the boy shrugged and look down. His lips twisted and curled a few times. “I kinda liked softball … but the other kids … weren’t very nice.”
Max waited until the contorted face relaxed. “Yeah, team sports can be rough that way. There are other things to do.”
“Like martial arts.” The boy’s tone had turned sarcastic, and he put quotes about the phrase with his fingers. “Mom keeps pushing that. Tae Kwon Do, Karate, Judo. There’s always some stony-faced dude strutting around, acting like he owns you. I showed them they don’t own me.”
Max blew out a long breath. “There are things you could do on your own, or with one of your parents. Sean and I like to find interesting bugs.” He dug out his phone and brought up a photo. “This one’s called a blue-fronted dancer.”
The boy’s face grew animated as he leaned closer. “Wow! That’s pretty cool. Look at those eyes!”
“Yeah! They can actually see more colors than us, ultraviolet colors.”
The boy bobbed his head. “Can I see another …”
The attendant loomed over them, ready to collect him for the flight.
After shouldering his backpack, the boy turned to meet Max’s gaze.
“Go find some bugs.” Max tousled the boy’s hair.
The boy smiled and gave Max an inconspicuous wave before turning to leave.
Some time later Max found himself alone, staring at a cold pastrami sandwich on his lap. With a sigh, he took up his heavy bag and made his way back down the center aisle of the airport, dumping the sandwich and his ticket to New York in the trash on the way out.