The Empty Jar(7)

“I don’t. Not anymore. But he did. Not that it did him any good.”

“Well, you don’t need prayers for this trip. It’s going to be perfect, which is why I brought you this for those long, Tuscan nights,” Nissa says brightly, discarding the red dress in favor of a slinky black negligee. She holds it up and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Can I pick or can I pick?”

I reach for the lingerie. “You can definitely pick. Nate will love this!”

“He absolutely will,” Nissa agrees, smiling sweetly at me. It seems her suspicions have been put to rest.

I just wish all things could be put to rest so easily.





Four

Seat Next to You

Lena



The hour is late and everyone on the airplane has settled in for as much rest as can be had at thirty five thousand feet. Nate chose a flight that left late so we could sleep in the makeshift beds in first class. His idea was to thwart jet lag by arriving in London in late morning. I admire his efforts, but I’m skeptical. I figure the best chance we have of this working is our level of exhaustion when we departed. We were both running on steam by the time we boarded.

In the quiet, I let my mind drift wherever it wants to go in an effort to calm myself. My insomnia is bad enough on a regular basis, so if there is any disturbance in my life’s rhythm, it throws me into a tailspin.

I consider this—this trip, this circumstance, this time in my life—a disturbance. If one can call a Category Five Hurricane a “disturbance,” that is.

I’ve always hoped my sleep patterns would get better, but they never have. Now I can only assume they won’t ever. At least not until medication is introduced. Once it is, I won’t be aware of much of anything at times. But at least I’ll finally be able to sleep.

Pushing that thought aside, I turn my head to look out the window. I left my shade up so I could see the puffy clouds below us. They’re illuminated only by the moon, which gives them a silvery appearance, like the white caps of waves in the ocean. They stretch as far as the horizon—a sea of shimmering curls, dancing lazily below the plane. I can almost feel the beauty of their glow, like a whisper-soft kiss on my cheeks.

As I stare out at the radiance, willing a dream to come for me, I’m reminded of the way I was ushered into dreams as a child—by a different kind of glimmer, one just as gentle, just as soothing. A jar full of lightning bugs.

My father has been on my mind a lot lately, for good reason. And where my father is, there are lightning bugs. And where there are lightning bugs, there is my father.

“Goodnight, stars. Goodnight, moon,” I murmur, reaching out to brush my fingertips over the thick plastic of the window. “Goodnight, lightning bugs. Come again soon.”

“What’s going through that gorgeous head of yours?”

Nate’s soothing voice is near my ear, his tone so as not to disturb the other passengers in first class.

“Just thinking about Dad. This little thing he used to say every night when he put me to bed. A ritual, after we’d caught lightning bugs.”

“Lightning bugs? You caught lightning bugs?” My husband’s expression is quizzical.

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a Yankee! You probably called them fireflies.”

“I know what lightning bugs are, babe,” he snorts. “We called them that, too. But why would you want to catch them? What did you do with them?”

I shift my shoulders so I can better look into my husband’s handsome face. I’m bemused. “I guess I never told you about that, did I?” He shakes his head. “For a lot of years, it was an almost painful memory. And I suppose when you put a memory away long enough, it sort of…fades.”

“But you remember it now?”

“Like it was yesterday,” I reply quietly, a dull ache squeezing somewhere deep behind my breastbone.

“Tell me.”

“It was just something Daddy and I used to do when I was a kid. We’d poke holes in the lid of a Mason jar so they wouldn’t suffocate and we’d put a bunch of lightning bugs in there. I imagine it started out as just a little game, but for us, it ended up being so much more.” I smile as I step back in time to some of the only sweet memories I have from my childhood. “I remember twirling through the backyard on a night a lot like this, catching the bugs I could reach and pointing out the ones I couldn’t. My dad would get those. Sometimes we’d spend a whole hour out there.”

I close my eyes for a moment, recalling one of the nearly perfect nights spent with my father, doing what I loved most as a child.

“Daddy, get that one! Get that one!” my younger self cried, indicating one stubborn firefly that had made its lazy ascent to a place just beyond my tiny fingertips. The sky was littered with dozens of the insects. Their luminescent bellies winked on and off in a staccato rhythm, as if to a tune only they could hear. Catching them, with my sweet daddy by my side, was my favorite part of every warm summer night. For that one hour, my dad and I would dart in circles all around the yard, rounding up the beautiful bugs to put into a wide-mouthed Mason jar.

I open my eyes and smile over at my husband. “My heart would pound so hard. I’d hold my breath as he’d try to catch the ones I wanted. So many of them were out of my reach, like they would find a spot right beyond my fingertips and dance there just to tease me.”