Jordan Delay couldn't decide which was a more potent source of his irritation. The sterile chill of the jetway stretching into the darkness where a plane should have been, the tinny synthetic version of a forgotten pop song torturing him from his phone's speaker, or the ghost of his own voice, naively telling his boss this trip would be simple.
"Fly up on Monday," he had said with confidence. "Wrap it up by midday Tuesday, and I'll be back home in plenty of time for Thanksgiving."
A splendid plan. Except it didn't factor in a storm cell squatting over Chicago, strangling air traffic across the country. The fact that it was a crystalline, star-pricked night here in Philadelphia just felt like the universe was taunting him.
"Good news, Mr. Delay," the voice from the corporate travel office was so unnaturally cheerful, it scraped his raw nerves. "We have you rebooked on the 1:45 PM flight to Charlotte tomorrow."
"Oh, nothing earlier?" Jordan's mind was already a frantic spreadsheet of cascading problems. Land in Charlotte, navigate the labyrinth parking deck, race across town just as the kids get home from school. Then the real gauntlet: the bumper-to-bumper day before Thanksgiving exodus toward the rental cabin in Gatlinburg. That was the best case scenario, assuming no new delays, a dangerous assumption at any airport.
"It was the best I could do," she chirped. "With so many cancellations, it took pulling some serious strings to get you a confirmed seat instead of standby. I was happy to make that happen for you. Now, let me find you a hotel. Hang on."
The hideous music returned before he could protest. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, taking a slow breath. Just a travel hiccup, he told himself. It will all be fine. Once they were in the cabin, smelling the pine and watching the fire, they could relax. If relax was the right word for shepherding two over-excited children through the sensory overload of Dollywood on Black Friday, a prospect they hadn't stopped chattering about for a month.
A young couple he had chatted with an hour earlier trudged back from the gate agent's desk, their shoulders slumped. They'd stood in the rebooking line, lacking his corporate lifeline. Well, that's something to be thankful for, Jordan thought, a small, selfish comfort.
"Any luck?" he asked.
The young woman—Allison, that was her name—shook her head. "Our flight is now Thursday afternoon. We'll miss most of it." She looked at her fiancé. "My uncle puts on a huge Thanksgiving feast for the entire clan at his house in Asheville. I was so excited for Drake to finally meet all my crazy cousins."
Drake wrapped an arm around her, his smile a little forced. "And in return, she gets to suffer through my brothers at Christmas. Fair trade."
Allison attempted a smile back, but it crumbled at the edges.
The cheerful voice on Jordan's phone reappeared, a sonic bluebird of happiness. "Mr. Delay, the airport hotels are completely booked, but I snagged you a room at the Loews downtown. Will that be okay?"
He closed his eyes. A long, expensive cab ride into the city was the perfect rotten cherry on top of this miserable day.
"Fine. That works."
Bland music filled the void again. When Jordan opened his eyes, he noticed a young man slumped in a seat, just a few feet away. Buzzed hair, a worn duffle bag at his feet. A soldier, obvious despite his civilian clothes. He was staring out the panoramic window, his body angled away as if to conceal his phone call from the world. But despite the hum of conversation around him, his hushed, strained words reached Jordan's ears.
"Friday. That's the best they've got... No, the USO is already closed for the night here."
There was a long pause. Jordan saw the young man's shoulders hitch. Saw him knuckle a tear away from the corner of his eye. His voice was thick when he spoke again.
"I know... Tell her... just tell her I'll be there as soon as I can."
He hung up, but didn't move. He sat there, the phone cradled in his palm, his reflection a ghostly silhouette against the vast, empty darkness outside. The quiet scene pulled at something in Jordan.
"You okay, son?"
The soldier flinched, startled. "Oh, oh yes, sir. I'm fine."
Jordan could have accepted the perfunctory answer. It wasn't his business. But the image of that single, swiped-away tear wouldn't let him go.
"Headed home for the holiday?"
A slight shrug. "Not exactly."
Jordan settled back. Suddenly, he had nowhere to be. "Then what?"
The soldier let out a long, shuddering sigh. He was used to holding things in, a trait Jordan normally admired. "Emergency leave, sir. I'm stationed in Germany. Flew into Dover this morning and they shuttled me here. Trying to get home."
"And where is home?"
"A place you've never heard of. Erwin, Tennessee."
A small smile touched Jordan's lips. "I know it. Over by Johnson City."
"Yes, sir."
"So, not for Thanksgiving then?" Jordan pressed gently.
The boy, and he was just a boy, maybe 19, swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "My ma... she told me it was in remission when I shipped out. It wasn't a total lie, I guess. But it came back." He took a shaky breath. "They started chemo again, and it was working until it wasn't."
"Oh," Jordan breathed. The word felt hollow, useless, but he had nothing else.
"I didn't know how bad it was," the soldier continued, his voice cracking. "The Red Cross got a hold of my CO. They said the doctors... they don't think she'll make it through the week."
Allison, who had been listening from her seat, slid quietly into the one beside the soldier, resting a gentle hand on his arm.
"I just wanna say goodbye, you know?" the boy whispered to the floor.
At that exact moment, the hold music died. "I have you booked at the Loews, Mr. Delay," the travel agent sang. "Confirmation is in your email. How does that sound?"
Jordan couldn't find his voice. His own frustrations—the traffic, the missed dinner, the logistics of a theme park—felt so petty, so shameful. They burned in his throat.
"Mr. Delay?"
His world had shrunk to the size of three strangers in an airport.
"Sir? Is the Loews okay?"
Finally, Jordan spoke. His voice different, firmer. "Change of plans. I need a car."
"Of course, sir. I can arrange a black car service to pick you up..."
"No," Jordan said cutting her off. "A rental car. One way. I'll be dropping it off at the Charlotte airport."
"You want to drive home? Sir, that's over 10 hours. The hotel and the flight are already..."
Jordan wasn't listening to her. He leaned forward, looking first at Drake and Allison, and then at the soldier. "The four of us, we can take turns. We'll drive through the night. We can get you to your cousins in time to carve the turkey."
Drake's eyes widened. "Really? But," he tilted his head toward the soldier.
"We'll go to Erwin first," Jordan stated, the plan solidifying as he spoke it aloud. "I'll drop you two off after that. Then I'll head to Charlotte."
"But that's hours out of your way," Drake protested.
Jordan's gaze settled on the soldier, whose head was now up, a fragile, desperate hope dawning in his exhausted eyes. He thought of his own kids, safe and warm. He thought of his wife, waiting. And he thought of a mother in a small town in Tennessee holding on for one last word with her son.
"No," Jordan said, a profound certainty settling over him. "It's not out of the way at all."