"There are things nobody should do alone," he answered.
Dean felt it might be better if she talked instead of letting the silence and the upcoming events prey on her mind. He used the age-old method of asking questions that needed answers until she swung into something akin to conversation. She had continued her classes and was somehow maintaining acceptable grades. Randy was holding up well and it looked as if he would nail down at least a partial scholarship shortly, perhaps to Lehigh or Bucknell, as both were interested. His grades were good, which helped. Cynthia's mother was due on Sunday and would stay through the memorial service on Tuesday. Or the funeral, she added. Randy had been told before school about the telephone call from Norfolk and she had dismissed his offer to fly down with her. The Rileys would look in on him and she was to call as soon as she identified his father's body.
As they neared the airport, she became pensive. "I hope you didn't spend too much time working on the report of the accident," she said. "It looks as if it won't be needed now."
"I had to write up most of it anyway," he said. Now at least he could include a reference to Cece Baldwin's name without a guilty conscience. There was no further conversation after they parked and hurried to the terminal. They approached the ticket counter with 15 minutes to spare.
"Good luck getting back tonight," said the ticket clerk. "According to National Weather, this is a doozy of a storm."
The smaller airport was a welcome relief from the Philadelphia crowds and the large jet was loaded quickly. As soon as the plane left the runways they were enveloped in clouds, and neither ground nor sky visible during the entire one-hour flight to Baltimore. Cynthia Byrne clutched the armrest firmly during take off and landing, reacting to each noise anew. When they finally touched down, she smiled and took a deep breath.
"That wasn't so bad. I just wish I could see where I was going!"
The rain was steadier and the day was darker as they moved from their arrival gate to find the connecting flight to Norfolk. The plane was scheduled to leave in 45 minutes but one look at the departure board was indicative of things to come. "Delayed" was posted next to all flights headed south. Dean learned at the information counter it would be at least two hours before anything would depart in that direction.
The delay ended up being four hours. The two travelers killed the time picking over a bland lunch and alternating long walks with longer periods of sitting on hard seats, re-reading a discarded newspaper. Cynthia Byrne looked worse with each passing hour and just before their flight was called, excused herself and went to the ladies' room. Dean became concerned when 20 minutes passed. When she returned, looking ashen, he was sure she had been ill. He didn't embarrass her by asking and was thankful when at long last their flight was ready for boarding.