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I decided that sniping at each other wasn’t going to be helpful. “What do you do to calm her fears?”

“It depends,” Barbara replied. “Sometimes, unfortunately, on how tired I am. Sometimes I sit and talk with her, turn on lights in her room, show her there’s nothing there. Sometimes I just let her sleep in my room. That’s her preference.”

“I know. She asked if she could join me.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I didn’t know if you’d approve of your daughter in bed with me.”

“I’m trying to get her to be able to sleep by herself.”

“Well, that’s a direct answer.”

“Micky, of course, it’s all right. I’d hardly let you stay with my kids if I didn’t trust you. If you told me Cissy had crawled into bed with you last night, I wouldn’t be upset. But still…” She let it hang. Then changed the subject. “Anyway, I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I should be in around five or six. Thanks again for doing this, Micky.”

“No problem,” I answered, not quite truthfully.

I installed the night-light next to Cissy’s bed, then stayed up reading until a little after three, but no one stirred. Maybe the night-light would keep away Cissy’s fears.

Chapter 10

Barbara got home a little after five, tired from the long drive. She thanked me again and even offered dinner, but I declined. It was time for Barbara to be with her kids and for me to be by myself.

The next day, I went to the airport. Cordelia’s plane was only a few minutes late—a minor miracle. Moisant Field, better known as New Orleans International Airport, is located in the far reaches of Kenner, a New Orleans suburb beyond Metairie. Except for the grossly overpriced pralines and crawfish-to-go, it is an airport like any other airport. In the twenty minutes that I waited I saw one definite gay male couple, one highly possible dyke, and a maybe lipstick lesbian. The rest were hetero or well hidden.

I call it my count-the-queers game, but the underlying intent is to fight the alienation and, yes, even paranoia, that hits me whenever I am at some so-called mainstream place. (Danny claims that once you take out the people of color, the queers, the women, the poor, the disabled, the Jews, Buddhists, and other non-Christian religions, the mainstream turns into a trickle of privilege.)

I spotted Cordelia walking down the concourse. I watched her for a moment. She looked tired, subdued, as if she’d spent too many hours confined with strangers and the attendant strains of superficial chatter.

Then she saw me, a radiant smile breaking through the weariness on her face. Her smile stayed in place as she made her way through the crowd to me.

“Hi,” she said, “I wasn’t sure you’d come all the way out here for me.” With the awkwardness of absence, she hugged me.

“Welcome back,” I replied as I returned her hug. “And you should know I’d come for you anywhere,” I whispered in her ear. Then we broke our embrace, in too public a place to risk more than an ambiguous hug.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked as we headed down the terminal.

“Here, take this.” Cordelia handed me a very stuffed backpack.

We chatted a bit about the conference, her flight, and the like.

“I do appreciate your doing this,” Cordelia said as we got into my car. “I feel like it’s a wonderful luxury to be met by someone.”

“You say that now. Pretty soon you’ll take my schlepping you around for granted.”

“I’ll never take you for granted,” Cordelia replied, looking directly at me.

“I hope not. It is quite a sacrifice for me to come this far out in the ’burbs,” I answered, ignoring her seriousness.

“I know,” she said, matching my tone. “What have you been up to while I’ve been gone?”