The kitchen clock in Grand Rapids showed exactly six in the morning, and the linoleum under my feet felt like ice. Allison was already at the table, her small hands lost inside the cuffs of her grey oversized hoodie, which smelled faintly of laundry soap and fear.
I reached for her blue backpack on the counter, checking the side pocket for the three small cartons of apple juice I had purchased the night before. My thumb rubbed against my gold wedding band, spinning the metal round and round until the skin went red.
“We need one more,” I said.
“The zipper won’t shut if we put another one in,” Allison whispered.
She did not look up from the table, her fingers busy picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. Her face was pale, and her dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that made her look even younger than nine.
“We are not taking any chances on a travel day,” I said.
I slipped the cold, cardboard juice box into the main compartment anyway, forcing the plastic teeth of the zipper to close. Every movement of my hands felt heavy, weighted down by the silence of the early morning.
Allison pulled the thick fabric of her sleeve down over her wrist, carefully covering the small plastic circle of her glucose monitor. She hated when people stared at her arm in public, and the giant grey hoodie was her shield against their curiosity.
“We will be just fine, Mom, I have my monitor right here,” she said.
She gave me a small, brave look that did not match the tightness in her shoulders.
“Let me see the screen before we walk out the door,” I said.
She reluctantly pulled back the grey fleece, showing me the small blue screen that kept her alive. The number was steady at ninety-eight, but numbers on a screen did not stop my chest from tightening.
We had to leave for Detroit in ten minutes.
The drive down Interstate 96 had been a blur of grey pavement and heavy trucks, but the Detroit Metro Airport was a different kind of noise. We stood before the customer service desk at Gate A12, surrounded by the smell of salted pretzels and the low hum of hundreds of travelers.
