Hugging them both quickly, I was off, hearing Sam yelling, “Remember, only seekers of love are finders of love!”

“Sam, do you have to be so dramatic all the damn time?”

“Yes, I’m gay!”

Racing past gate 1 headed to gate 12. Past gate 2 I sprinted, throwing off my jacket, hoping to gain more speed, past gate 3 I threw off my shoes, running in stockings, past gate 4 and then 5 and then 6, past a policeman taking a break.

“Hey! Slow down!” The policeman yelled.

Still I ran. At gate 8, glancing over my shoulder, I noticed that by now there were at least half a dozen policemen behind me shouting, three concession workers yelling, and one police dog barking, all chasing me. But like the fugitive, I ran.

Still I ran, past gate 9 all the way to gate 10, and finally up to gate 12, lunging for the door as several policemen caught up to me, guns waving, night sticks poking, workers yelling, and dog growling. As they held me from behind, I was waving my tickets, yelling and screaming like a mad woman while I watched the gate doors slowly close.

“Nooooooooooooo!”

They grabbed my arms while I yelled and they yelled back. I could see the plane slowly pull off from the gate when they finally released me.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you were running, and with airport security as it is…”

“I know. I know. It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.”

“Well, uh, Merry Christmas,” they said, walking away, seemingly compassionate and apologetic, but having no idea of the impact they had just had on my life.

Sighing, I sat on the floor, watching the airplane head for the runway and then take flight into the air, fading into the distance. Looking at the clock, I saw it was eleven fifty-five and I had just about run out of holiday magic.

I stayed on the ground, almost paralyzed with pain. Thinking to myself that I had just let the only man who had ever proposed to me slip through my fingers twice. Thirty years ago and then again today, thirty years later. Another almost fairy tale gone bad.

I headed toward the airport exit while every possible scenario went through my mind about what William was probably thinking about me, and what he would probably be doing in Venice alone without me, and how by now he probably didn’t want to have anything else to do with me. Finally I reached the airport exit and stood on the curb, attempting to hail a cab.

“Can I help you with your bags?”

“No, thank—” Turning my head, I noticed a man standing in a skycap uniform with his head lowered. He slowly raised it, and I saw it was…William?

“I think you should really let me help you with your bags.”

“Oh my God, William, what are you doing?!