Chapter four
Ben
The sun is just waking up when we land at Chicago O’Hare Airport—the windows shaded a pale gold. We left London in the dead of night; the nine-hour flight meant my boys got a full night's sleep. It was the least I could do to give them the best chance of being fresh on arrival.
First class made sense. A once-in-a-lifetime experience for all of us. Both my sons are moving on to new beginnings, a new chapter to live. Sure, they’ll be home in twelve weeks. I’ll be back on this very flight to collect them. But I know they’ll come back different, still teenagers, but grown.
Three months of independence will change anyone, especially young men with hopes and dreams. I can’t wait to see what they’ll become, while feeling unprepared for the difference.
Liam wakes first. He always does. His brother snores, then pulls his hood further over his eyes, a futile attempt to block the light. The plane comes to a stop, and the captain announcesa successful arrival. Most of the passengers cheer. I’ve never understood the practice of cheering when a plane lands. I mean, that’s the pilot’s job to get us from A to B. It all seems unnecessary, performative even. No one gives me a standing ovation after a chemotherapy consult.
Ollie groans. Liam elbows him in the ribs.
“Wake up,” he hisses. “We’re here.”
“Where?” Ollie mumbles, turning his shoulder on his brother.
“Chicago, you douchebag.”
That brings him around fast. Ollie shoots up in his seat, unclipping his belt and propelling himself to his feet. He scrambles to collect all his belongings strewn at his feet, now tangled with the provided red blanket. Liam sits back and finishes slotting the final soccer magazine into his perfectly organized rucksack. Ollie is still looking for his second earbud, hopefully his left one, as I still have the one from the previous set if this one goes missing. Four months—two sets of earbuds. If he returns from Chicago with nothing but his underwear, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Eventually, the airplane doors open, and we shuffle through the jet bridge into the terminal. The air feels different after the long flight, heavy with the smell of coffee and disinfectant.
People crowd around us, everyone vying for space for themselves and whatever overstuffed carry-on luggage they have.
But as my boys’ bright grins widen, there’s no missing the uncertainty in their eyes. The way their pupils dart across the surroundings, alert to risk. This is a big step for anyone, but for mid-teen boys, it’s a leap.
I’m glad they’ve got each other. If only one of them had been accepted into the program, I’m not sure we would have done it. I’m not sure I could let one go on his own.
Once we’ve collected our suitcases, we step out of baggage claim, and that’s where the excitement hits.
Our driver is waiting, formally dressed, Ben Jones scribbled on a whiteboard in his hands. “Check it out, bro,” Ollie says, slapping his brother’s shoulder. “We have staff.”
Liam rolls his eyes. I try not to laugh, narrowing my own in a futile attempt to scold Ollie. Sometimes, I wish he would think before he speaks; his lips open, and whatever he’s thinking tends to pop out. Most of the time, harmless, but on occasions detrimental to us both.
I walk over, taking the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. My sons bounce behind, lambs in spring grass until someone’s toes scrape the back of my heel. I stumble, then pause, but choose not to comment. “Good morning. Ben Jones,” I say.
“Good morning, sir. My name is Carl. Can I take your bags?” He reaches for my case, sliding his fingers around the handle, then turns away. “Please follow me.” Short, professional, to the point, just the way I prefer my interactions.
Carl leads us through the airport, weaving between eagerly awaiting family members and new arrivals. My eyes flick over my shoulder every other second, ensuring I don’t lose a son on the final stretch of the journey. Ollie’s nose is already in his phone, thumbs gliding over the buttons. Liam has hold of his brother’s sleeve, focus fixed firmly on me.
I amend my previous thought. I’m relieved Ollie has his younger brother. At least one of them is sensible enough to keep their eyes facing forward. I smile, and Liam grins back. He’s excited, although calm and reserved. I can see it in his face. There’s a new glow that’s wonderful to see.
Since losing his mum, Liam’s been steady. Always thoughtful, well-mannered. He was prepared for her death, probably more so than me. When it happened, I came home to tell him. He’dbeen sad not to be able to give her a gift he’d bought. Said he didn’t realize the last time he’d seen her would be goodbye.
That’d broken me. The fracture of understanding on his eleven-year-old face, that he’d never speak to her again. But his half-siblings rallied around him, supported him, and encouraged him forward. There are times I see the sadness, when he pauses on a family photo on the wall, or on Mother’s Day as the other kids hand over the cards to my ex-wife.
It’s then I hate not being able to fix it.
Liam was always the quieter of the two boys. I can count on one hand the number of times he caused me any direct issues. Normally, if he’s in any sort of trouble, he’s helping his brother clear up a mess of some sort. Not taking the blame, but making Ollie take responsibility.
They’re true best friends with the added bonus of brotherhood.
Lost in thought, I’m following Carl on autopilot until I find myself standing in front of a silver minivan that mirrors my reflection. The trunk is already open, and Carl is stacking the suitcases methodically.
Ollie grabs the door handle, sliding open the side door, and we all climb in.
“Oh, sweets,” Ollie cheers, already knuckle deep in the small pouch of complimentary snacks in the back. “I’m starving.”