Flight

Flight

He had come home with a bandaged head, burns up his white arms, more burns down his thighs. After
three long months. He stood in the doorway like that, while two year old Adrian toddled over and
hugged his knees. She could've looked at him, shown him her concern over his injuries, but instead she went back inside.

Mark came in, feeling the anger rippling her silence, wondering of the words Sarah would fling now on him. Perhaps about him going away
for so long, leaving her alone with two little kids, as usual. Perhaps other matters.

She stood now, in the living room, juggling Jane in the cradle of her arms, the baby's cry
piercing to the ears. She saw it now, his face grimacing, the fine lines on his forehead deepening from the cries. He's sorry to be home now, isn't he. She hates his numerous flights, his stupid job in Discovery Travel, his smooth voice introducing the places. He has no idea what she's going through. He never does.

Mark put a finger on his temple, indicating a headache, indicating no disturbance whatsoever. He began to walk over to the stairs,up to the bedroom,but stopped when he heard her.

" Stop pretending."

He looked down at her, at her blazing eyes.

" What now?" His voice almost irritable.

She put down Jane on the crib next to her. She would say it now, what Mark's colleague had
suspected. She would'nt care. All this time she wished she had stopped caring, caring about him in the plane crash reported in the news, about everything else. She spoke, her eyes staring, her lips stiff, her voice shaking with fury.

" I heard. Of the woman. The producer."

It struck him - so she knew. Does she know then of the loneliness and frustration leading him to her? That it was a moment of forgetfulness, on the flight to Egypt, Sal touching him in a strange way? Them being alone in the wreckage? The things she would've imagined.

A minute passed.

Two minutes.

Tick tock.

She asked him if what she had heard was true. He said yes.

Sarah sagged then, as if boneless, her back leaning against the dining table. She could've
grabbed his collar, slapped his face hard, but she didn't. Adrian was watching.

Mark could've told her truthfully that Sal meant nothing to him, that he regretted that flight to Egypt and the flights before that that had wrecked their relationship, but he didn't. For he thought there was no reason for her to believe him.

Jane wailed again, and Sarah went to pacify her. Mark carried his bags upstairs into the bedroom.He didn't come out.

That evening they ate dinner in silence.

The time came for them to sleep, and Sarah pulled her pillow away from his. He saw this. He would stay here in London for another two months, and he wanted peace. He held her shoulder, muttered good things to her, asked her to forgive him. She said nothing, turning away to lie down, but he could see her red eyes, could see it was going to be hard for her. It wouldn't be so easy. He turned off the lights, and as they lay away from each other each wondered why they had tolerated each other this long.