Chapter 5 - A Layover in Chaos
We landed at Humberto Delgado Airport in Lisbon at 6:45 a.m. local time. The Mediterranean morning was crisp, the sky painted in pale shades of apricot and lavender. The smell of roasted espresso beans and warm pastry drifted through the terminal corridors, instantly waking my senses.
While waiting at the baggage carousel, Linda tapped my arm. “Are you going to turn it back on?”
She was pointing at my phone.
I took a deep breath. “I suppose I have to face the music eventually.”
I slipped the phone from my purse, swiped off Airplane Mode, and connected to the airport’s free high-speed Wi-Fi network.
The phone immediately began to violently vibrate in my palm.
*Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.*
It shook non-stop for nearly two full minutes. The notifications flooded the screen like an overflowing dam:
*38 missed calls from Caleb.*
*14 missed calls from Tori.*
*6 missed calls from an unlisted Tokyo number.*
*52 text messages.*
*7 urgent voicemails.*
Linda whistled softly. “Looks like the bomb went off.”
I opened the text thread from Caleb first. The progression of messages was a masterclass in psychological unraveling:
**9:15 a.m. (CST):** *Mom, Tori forgot to pack Leo’s eczema cream. Can you check under the bathroom sink at our house? Key is under the fake rock.*
**11:45 a.m. (CST):** *Mom? Did you get my message about the cream?*
**3:30 p.m. (CST):** *Mom, pick up your phone. Patrice just texted Tori something completely insane. What is going on?*
**5:15 p.m. (CST):** *MYRNA. Call me right now. Tori is having a panic attack in the Tokyo terminal.*
**7:00 p.m. (CST):** *How could you do this to us? Do you have any idea how much this trip cost?! Patrice is threatening to call child services if we don’t wire her money for a nanny! CALL ME!*
I didn't answer Caleb. Instead, I scrolled down to a message from Patrice, sent four hours ago while I was over the ocean:
*“Dear Myrna. The children are well fed and currently asleep in my guest rooms. Tori landed in Tokyo and tried to scream at me over speakerphone. I hung up on her three times until she learned to speak in an indoor voice. I have already booked a licensed daytime nanny through my country club network and charged the $1,800 retainer directly to the emergency credit card Caleb left on file. Enjoy your pastel de nata. Do not dare cut your trip short.”*
I let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-laugh.
“What does it say?” Linda asked eagerly, leaning in.
I showed her the text from Patrice. Linda clapped her hands together in pure delight. “I take back everything I ever said about Patrice being stuck-up. That woman is a tactical genius.”
Just then, the phone rang in my hand. The caller ID flashed: **Caleb (Japan)**.
Linda gave me an encouraging nod. “Put him on speaker.”
I took a breath, swiped the green button, and brought the phone to my ear. “Hello, Caleb.”
“MOM?!” Caleb’s voice was frantic, pitched half an octave higher than normal, echoing through the airport terminal. “Where the hell are you?! Why haven’t you been answering your phone?!”
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“I was on a transatlantic flight, Caleb,” I said calmly. “As I told you three separate times this month, my flight to Portugal left yesterday afternoon.”
“You actually went?!” he shrieked. “We thought you were bluffing! You knew we were leaving for Tokyo! Who goes to Europe when their own grandchildren need them?!”
