Chapter 16 of A Net Too Wide To Break His Fall, by Matt Boothman
I wrote this story chapter by chapter, without outlining first. It was an experiment in writing consistently, producing a chapter once a month, without fail, for the Foggy Outline newsletter. So don’t expect something polished or finished; but what it does have is momentum, and a fluidity that came from wanting to change things up enough to keep myself interested enough to write more.
If you’d be interested in a properly edited, fleshed out, finished version of this story, let me know!
Callum attacked the airport security checkpoint like an assault course, vaulting barriers, running across the top of X-ray machines and swinging around metal detectors. The agent with the wand stiffened when he misjudged a landing and sent a stack of plastic trays scattering, but all the attention that should have converged on Callum instead got spread between whichever flyers each agent happened to be looking at right then.
Callum’s own attention only had one focus. Beyond the checkpoint, beyond the attempted distractions of the spirits and fragrances, around the blind corner into the main concourse, for the first time in the five years since their parting at Vivian Hithercombe’s house on Bronze Street, Callum set eyes on his sister Marielena. The first and central node in his network. The one person who’d ever perceived him all by herself, without an introduction. Without needing another person to confirm, “Yes, he’s really there”.
Mari perched at a high table by the bar, on her phone, wearing business formal with a couple of temporary substitutions for in-flight comfort. Within sight of a departure board, but not glued to it like many of the others airside. She looked taller than he remembered. Allowed five years to grow unburdened into herself.
All Callum’s momentum bled out in a moment. His heels dragged. Maybe this was selfish after all. To intrude back into her life.
Five years. He’d never tried tracking anyone down again after drifting away. Never in their lives had he and Mari been out of touch for this long. Five years. Maybe the connection could fray. Maybe those connections—people—friends he’d let lapse would look straight through him if he could find them again. Maybe Mari, his first node, his only family, wouldn’t look up when he said her name. He’d been psyching himself up for a tough conversation, but maybe what was about to happen instead was, he’d take the seat next door and touch her should and say her name and she wouldn’t react. Not even an autonomic twitch of the tiny vestigial muscle behind her ear. No awareness of his existence at all.
He sat.
She looked up from her phone.
Not the vigilant side-glance of a woman travelling alone, unobtrusively assessing an intrusion into her personal space.
The total attention-shift of recognising, just from the corner of your eye, the silhouette, the body language, the smell, the entirety of the presence of a person you know, really know, who’s never far from your thoughts.
“Hey, Mari.” He’d meant to be humble, rueful, but the relief stretched his lips into a wide smile. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”