Read Online Flight by Darren Hynes - Free Book Online Page A

its name and opened for business. Bought some land about seven miles outside of town and had a house built. Too big for one person. Sometimes she’ll see him out walking, hands behind his back like a poet, or a tourist with nothing but time. She’ll see him every now and then at the marina too, when she’s with Kent and the kids. Terry’ll raise an eyebrow from across the way, then sip his coffee, slurp his chowder from a big spoon. She’ll pretend he’s not there.
    His paperwork is in a neat pile in the centre of his desk beside a mug filled with pencils and pens. There’s a notepad near to the phone on the right, and a book of crossword puzzles. No computer. The stained oak is dust free, shined to a luster, smooth against her fingertips when she runs them along it.
    She reaches inside her pocket and hauls out an old, already-paid electric bill. Flips it over to where she’d written the number down. Picks up the phone. Dials nine to get an outside line, then punches in the 1-800 number. She waits for the call to connect, then listens to the rings going through. Tells herself that she’s safe, that no one can hurt her here. Still though, she keeps her focus on the door, as if, at any moment, Kent might come barreling through, his heavy breathing and unblinking eyes, no colour in his face, those pounding steps just behind her as she tries to get away, the hand gripping her hair, hauling her backwards and to the floor, all of his weight bearing down.
    All the operators are busy the recorded voice says, first in English, then in French, and that her call is important and for her to stay on the line.
    She waits while music comes through on the other end. A piano with an accompanying woodwind instrument. A saxophone? Heather would know, she thinks.
    Her eyes go to the small filing cabinet, then rest on the nearly full pot of coffee on top, a container of Maxwell House beside it with its lid off, and a plastic spoon submerged. Like drinking maple syrup that coffee would be now, she figures. There’s a plant beside the filing cabinet, a fern or something that, despite the lack of natural light, appears to be thriving.
    For the first time in ages she feels hungry. Imagines her mother’s goulash, topped with mozzarella cheese. Blueberry tart for dessert.
    Someone human comes on the line. “Thank you for calling Air Canada. How may I assist you?”
    â€œHello. I’d like to confirm my reservations for this Friday,” Emily says, her voice low.
    â€œConfirmation number, please,” says the female voice on the other end.
    It’s on her plane tickets, she bets, but they’re underneath the basement floor. “I don’t have it on me. Can you find my booking by my name?”
    â€œWhat is it, please?”
    â€œGyles, G – Y – L – E – S, first name, Emily.” There’s a tapping of computer keys in her ear. She takes a pen out of the mug.
    â€œThat’s Emily Gyles?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œTraveling with a Jeremy and Lynette Gyles?”
    â€œMy children – yes.”
    â€œDeparture time from Gander airport is 11:00 a.m., Friday, the eighth of May, arriving in Halifax at 12:05 p.m. before departing for Toronto at 12:45 – ”
    â€œSorry, departing when?”
    â€œDeparting from Toronto at 12:45.”
    â€œOkay. Got it.”
    Arriving in Toronto at 3:00 p.m., and then departing for Vancouver at 5:30. Arrival time in Vancouver is 7:30 p.m.”
    The information is already on her plane tickets, but Emily scribbles it all down, her fingertips white from holding the pen so tightly.
    â€œDid you get all of that, Miss?”
    â€œYes. Thank you.”
    â€œAlright. Take this down too. It’s your confirmation number.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œAre you ready?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt’s J –K – ”
    â€œI’m sorry, but didn’t you say it was a