I remembered her answer so distinctly. The look that had crossed her face at the time, the suds of soap bubbling around her neck. The high, messy bun that she hadn’t wanted to get wet since I’d shown her the glorious invention of dry shampoo.

I sighed, shaking my head, thinking how that day felt like only yesterday. Yet, in many ways, it felt like a hundred years ago.

I glanced out the plane’s small window, the ground getting closer, the sky a hazy, dark orange, as the sun was just starting to set. I watched the clouds move higher above us, the runway closing in as the wheels eventually touched down. We were zooming across the pavement until the brakes slowed us, and we taxied to the gate. I reached under the seat in front of me and grabbed my bag, setting it on my lap. When it was time to stand, I slung the strap across my shoulder.

I smiled at the woman who had sat across from me. “Good flight,” I said, as we’d spoken a few times while we were in the air.

“Glad we’re finally here,” she answered.

“That makes two of us,” I heard from behind me, a hand patting my empty arm as I stood in the aisle.

The door opened, and I was one of the first to get out, slowly making my way across the short bridge before arriving at the gate. I’d never been to this airport, so I paid close attention to the overhead signs, making all the necessary stops before getting to baggage claim.

I’d forgotten how long it took when flying internationally.

I saw Whitney when I was halfway down the escalator. She was even tanner than normal, and her hair had gotten longer; she was wearing it in a braid that hung over her chest. She had on a BU T-shirt, cutoffs, and flip-flops. Of course, there was a pink Boston Red Sox cap on her head.

As soon as she spotted me, the biggest smile filled her face. One I hadn’t seen in almost a year. And as I got to the bottom of the escalator, she lifted her hand to wave, and she came running toward me.

But the arms she jumped into were Caleb’s. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands clinging to his back, her face buried into his neck. I was sure she was inhaling his cologne that I’d smelled during the whole flight here to Chile.

He was more than a year into his injury. His movements were still a little stiff, and he hadn’t returned to his adrenaline-seeking ways, but he was holding our girl and bearing all of her weight.