The Perfect Stranger (Social Media #2)(38)

Thank goodness those dark days are over.

As far as I’m concerned, remission is the same thing as cured, Meredith wrote once on her blog.

It isn’t really. Not as far as most doctors are concerned. Cancer is a complicated disease; far too complex to be discussed in simplistic terms.

But Landry knew what she meant.

And now that she’s been in remission for years, and her odds for a recurrence are low and shrinking by the day . . .

Yes. She’s as cured as she’s ever going to be. Her illness is behind her now. She’s stronger than she’s ever been.

She refuses to live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder as if a deadly predator is gaining on her. She’d rather focus optimistically on the future, with every reason to expect to live a long, healthy life just as her grandmother did.

Family history is in her favor. So are medical statistics for stage one cancer detected as early as hers was.

“Good,” Rob is saying as he guides the SUV onto Airport Boulevard. “You shouldn’t be afraid to fly. We’ve done enough of it over the years.”

Yes. All those winter ski trips to the Rockies, spring beach breaks in the Caribbean, long weekends in Mexico, summer vacations in Europe . . .

They may not be jet-setters, but they’ve certainly done their share of traveling.

Together, that is.

“I’m just not used to going off alone,” she tells him.

“I know you’re not. But it will be good for you. All you ever do is stay home and take care of the kids and me and the house . . .”

“I like doing those things.” Ordinary days. Ordinary nights. They’re a blessing.

“I know you do,” Rob says, “but everyone needs a change of scenery.”

“It’s not just that. It’s not like this is a pleasure trip. It’s something I need to do.”

Every time she feels a hint of misgiving about what lies ahead, she remembers something she learned in Sunday school as a little girl, and later taught her own children as well.

When faced with a difficult decision or challenging situation, it can be helpful to ask yourself what Jesus would do if he were in your shoes. The answer might just guide you to the right path.

Now, for Landry, the question had become not just, What would Jesus do? but also, What would Meredith do?

Meredith was no saint—Landry knows she’d have been the first to laugh at that notion. But she was centered, and judicious.

Five minutes later she and Rob are out of the car in front of the terminal, the rear flashers blinking red in the darkness. Rob wanted to park and come in with her, but that seems silly.

She already checked in for the flight online. The printout containing her boarding pass is folded in her pocket, along with all the details of her car rental and the hotel reservation for Cincinnati. All she has to do inside is go through the TSA checkpoint to the gate. It’s not as if Rob can accompany her down there and wait until she boards.

“I’d rather you get right back home to the kids,” she tells him, as if the kids aren’t going to sleep for at least another couple of hours, even Addison.

Now that she’s leaving, she just wants to leave. A prolonged good-bye would make it even harder.

Rob takes her rolling bag out of the back, sets it on the ground, pulls up the handle. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” She removes her boarding pass from the packet of papers and shoves the rest back into her pocket. “Tell the kids I said good-bye, and I’ll call y’all when I land.”

“Call me when you get to the gate,” he says. “Just so I know you got through security okay.”

“I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. Don’t you worry.”

“I’m not worried,” she returns, but allows herself to lean on him, briefly, when he hugs her good-bye.

“I’ll miss you,” he says as she starts to lift her bag up over a puddle by the curb. “And Landry—be careful.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got it. It’s not heavy.”

“I don’t mean with the bag.”

For a moment their eyes connect. “I know,” she tells him.

He’s still worried that what happened to Meredith is no random crime. Yet there’s been nothing in the news reports to suggest otherwise. The police are still investigating. No mention of questioning suspects or anything suggesting that an arrest might be imminent.

Whoever killed Meredith is still, presumably, out there somewhere.

Rob doesn’t like that.

She doesn’t like it either, but . . .

It has nothing to do with her. It doesn’t make her less safe.

Chin up. Strength training.

“I’ll be fine,” she assures Rob, “and the next thing we know, you’ll be picking me up right here. I’ll only be gone for two days. Well, less than that. Really, it’s just a matter of hours, when you think about it.”

But a lot can happen in a matter of hours.

A lot can happen in a matter of minutes, in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly, it all seems so . . . precarious.

Why on earth is she leaving her husband and children to spend a weekend with a bunch of strangers in the wake of a murder?

Rob looks at his watch. “You’d better get going. I love you, Babe.”