Eighteen Hours Day!

Her husband flew out last night. She's tying up the loose ends and flying out tonight. It's 6 AM. She has to be on her way to the airport at midnight. The speed limits don't go above 35 MPH in her little suburb. She's doing 57 so that she can get inside a house across town with as little of the remaining 18 hours wasted on travel time as she can manage.

He lives almost dead smack en route to the airport. All those times in the past, when she said never again, when she panicked, thinking her husband knew, she never imagined her very last visit would be a pit stop on the way to leaving town forever. She never noticed that he would be right there on the way. She hasn't been back for months. She only just contacted him to tell him goodbye, and he said once more please let me kiss you. When she looked at the map, the convenience of stopping by washed away all guilt. So convenient it belongs on her to-do list. She's delirious, yes, made evident by the fact that she feels she could tell her husband about the stop when she sees him tomorrow and begins to laundry list everything she got done.

Cancelled the paper. Turned off the electric. Dropped off the spare sets of keys to the realtor. Grabbed Kevin by the naked clavicle and didn't let him go for 18 hours straight. Boarded Rex…

She has nine more minutes drive time. She's driven there enough to know it. It's 6:08. She'll find him smoking on his step at 6:17. By no later than 6:18, he'll hold her. That leaves her only 17 hours and forty two minutes. Strange to know for certain that such a brief window of time opens out on the rest of your life.

Happy Eighteen Hours Day!