Despite my suggestion that he should have taken his shot at freedom while he had it, and the knowledge—if not the memory—that I have taken this trip before, I am afraid. Not of abandonment, or even of being alone. But at the prospect that the one tie I have to who I was has disappeared.

It occurs to me in that moment that, regardless of what she was to others, a part of me hates my faceless mother. Despises her for not going into hiding or doing whatever she had to in order to keep me. For leaving me with the inheritance of a cause that superseded her daughter, took my mother from me . . . and may, at any moment, end my life as well. Yes, I’m thinking only of myself, it’s selfish and I don’t care.

A sound chimes from behind me and I realize it’s the phone ringing in my backpack.

“I’m standing across the concourse, near the McDonald’s,” Luka says. I glance up, just under the brim of my cap, and find him facing the other direction, phone held to his ear.

“I see you,” I say, feeling instantly, stupidly better.

A pause, the sense that he might say more.

“See you in Amsterdam,” he says at last.

I nod, though I know he can’t see me, and line up to board.

*  *  *

Midway through the flight I head to the bathroom and spot him near the back of the darkened cabin, hat pulled low on his head. Asleep like the other passengers around him.

I emerge from the lavatory to an empty galley, having suggested to the two attendants on duty that it’s time for drink refills in coach. Meanwhile, I’ve started the slow climb out of my skin again. I’m just pouring myself an unsteady cup of coffee with a full inch of cream when the curtain parts.

I glance over my shoulder.

Luka says nothing as he steps behind me. His fingers cover mine on the cup. He takes the coffeepot from my other hand. His breath is warm on the curl of my ear as he pours, steam rising in the too-dry air. I close my eyes, the cup weightless in my hand. A bead of sweat slips down my sternum.

A passenger comes through the curtain and Luka moves away. But electric verve has fired my veins, and the moment he moves I gulp the coffee, burning my tongue.

I’m aware of him as I return to my seat. Glance back once. Know he sees me.

I tell myself I can’t sleep after that. Try to watch a movie—

And I am gone.

I wake just before landing, a crimp in my neck. Rub my eyes and grab the napkin off my drink tray.