two
Meg
The multiple flight delays upended all of Meg’s plans. Now, not only would Becca be unable to meet her at the airport because of her class schedule, but Meg would need to navigate her way from one of the world’s busiest airports into the heart of one of its busiest cities. By herself. “But don’t worry, Mom,” Becca said when Meg awakened her with their latest anticipated departure time. “There’s an Underground—a subway—station right at the airport, and all you have to do is get on the Piccadilly Line—the blue line—and take it to Russell Square. Okay?”
Meg bit her lip and did not reply.
“You don’t even have to change trains. You just get on one train and stay on it for about an hour, okay?” The next time Becca spoke, her irritation was evident. “Do you want me to miss class and come and get you?”
“No—no, of course not, honey. I’m sure I can manage.” She tried to sound far more confident than she felt. “Can you—can you just tell me again what I’m supposed to do?” Feeling heat rise to her neck and face, she took a pen and a Starbucks receipt from her purse so she could scribble instructions. Soon she would again be a splotchy mess.
Once she hung up the phone, she tried to settle herself with a simple breath prayer that Katherine had taught her:I can’t. You can, Lord.
She inhaled deeply through her nose:I can’t.
Exhaled quietly through parted lips:You can, Lord.
Inhale:I can’t.
Exhale:You can, Lord.
She could almost hear Katherine’s voice, saying, “Breathe in God’s affection for you; breathe out your resistance to God’s love.”
Inhale:Help, Jesus.
Exhale:Please.
Her airplane seatmate’s scrutinizing gaze was on her. She could feel it. She pretended there was something important in her carry-on bag and stooped forward to fiddle around with zippers and pouches.
“Which train did your daughter tell you to take?” Jean asked.
Meg glanced at her scribbled directions, the words almost illegible. “Piccadilly Line to Russell Square. Something about a blue line. But I don’t know what that means.”
Jean retrieved from her purse a pocket-sized map with crisscrossing multicolored lines. “Look.” She pointed to the map. “All the routes are different colors, and the stops are marked along the way. See? Here’s Heathrow. It doesn’t get any easier than this. It’s the blue line right out of the airport, and you don’t even have to change trains when you get into the city. See?”
Meg stared at her pointing finger. On paper it looked extremely straightforward: just follow the blue line past place names she recognized from books. South Kensington. Hyde Park. Piccadilly Circus. Covent Garden. In theory, it all seemed so elementary. But a single delayed flight had already catapulted her into anxious turmoil. No predicting what other wrenches might be flung into her carefully conceived plans.
Jean tucked the map b