Mostly, she decided, she was bothered by the prospect of leaving behind so many loose ends. She was a runner, a competitor, and she was used to seeing things through to the finish, not giving up halfway. And that’s what her leaving felt like.

For a time she managed to put it aside and think about what waited at the other end of her flight. Northwestern University, with classes first thing in the morning, three days of homework waiting to be made up, and her lapsed training regimen. Her grandparents’ home, now hers, and the papers sitting on the kitchen counter, which would permit its sale. Pick, with his incessant questions about her commitment to Sinnissippi Park. Robert, waiting patiently for a phone call or letter telling him everything was all right.

As she would wait for a phone call or a letter from John Ross telling her the same thing.

Or would she never hear another word?

The taxi took the airport exit, wound its way along a series of approaches, and pulled onto the ticketing ramp. She looked over at the big airplanes parked at the boarding gates and contemplated the idea of flying home. It didn’t seem real to her. It didn’t seem like something that was going to happen.

She got out at the United terminal, paid the driver, and walked inside. She checked in at the ticketing counter and received her boarding pass and gate assignment. She decided to keep her bag with her because it was not very big and she did not want the hassle of trying to retrieve it through baggage claim at O’Hare. She walked toward the shops and gate ramps, remembering suddenly, incongruously, she still hadn’t replaced her windbreaker. She had thrown on her sweatshirt, but that wasn’t going to provide her with enough warmth when she had to go outside in Chicago.

She glanced around, then walked into a Northwest Passage Outdoor Shop, a clothing store that sold mostly logo products. After rooting around in the parkas for a while, she found a lightweight down jacket she could live with, carried it up to the register, and paid for it with her charge card.

As she carried it out of the store, under her arm, she found herself wondering if the dead children’s memories that had helped make up Ariel would be used to make another tatterdemalion or if they would be blown about by the wind forever. What happened to tatterdemalions when their lives ended? Little more than scraps of magic and memories to begin with, did they ever come together again in a new life? Pick had never said.

She moved to a seating area facing a security check and sat down. She was back to thinking about John Ross. Something was very wrong. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was there. She was trying to pretend everything was fine, but it wasn’t. On the surface maybe, but not down deep, beneath the comfortable illusion she was trying to embrace. She held up her anxiety for examination, and it glared back at her defiantly.