As the Seattle-bound flight soared out of Oklahoma City, Cal plucked a single long strand of her sterling hair from his satchel. His heartbeat settled. He pressed his lips into a wistful smile, holding the remnant of her to the overhead reading light for a brief glint. He was still hers, if only in memory—one more thread to protectively bind his heart to a love he could not let go of.

  He laid the strand on his leg, flicked off the light, and shoved his satchel under the seat in front of him. He was headed to rehearsals for Puccini’s opera: Madame Butterfly. His third Pinkerton role that year. He could only guess how many times he’d performed the role. Perhaps one too many.

  Feeling drowsy after a scotch and soda with several hours of air travel ahead, he pressed the recline button and began easing back until he heard a “Drat!” followed quickly by a stinging “Dad burnit!”

  Cal craned his head around his aisle seat to find a furious woman with cranberry juice dripping down her white blouse. “So sorry,” he said. “I suppose I could have given you a warning.”

  “A warning? How about permission?” she said sharply, rapidly dabbing the juice off her blouse with a cocktail napkin.

  “I’m sorry…uh…permission?”

  “What! You think just because your seat leans back that you can lean back whenever and on whomever you please? They should never have put that blasted button on airplane seats. They are clearly designed to assist ill-mannered, inconsiderate louts in identifying themselves to the rest of civil society!”

  “Listen, lady!” he shot back, “Some of us travel for a living. Some of us have stiff backs that need an ounce of comfort once in a while, and it is our right to lean back whenever we please because that’s what that little button is for. It comes with the price of the ticket!”

  “Well, agree to disagree,” she said with a scoff. After everything she said, she pursed her lips as if it were their most natural position.

  As their voices rose, nearby passengers shifted in their seats and gave witness to the conflict. Neither of them noticed.

  “Disagree? You can’t disagree with facts! They have been making planes this way for decades specifically so that I can lay back, and…” He stood partially out of seat and to examine the way she was sitting, “look, see you’re doing it wrong!” he explained, her jaw dropping in disbelief. “The beauty of the design here is that when I lean back, it frees up more leg room on the bottom. You just have to stretch out your legs a–”

  “So you’re just gonna start telling me how to sit, now?! Well of all the insufferable–”

  “Yes! Because you’re accusing me of being a louse and—”

  “Lout. I called you a lout, not a louse, because that’s what you are. Maybe you are a louse, I dunno, I haven’t been around you long enough.”

  Passengers nearby were beginning to glance nervously at them.

  “Look–” he started but paused, took a deep breath, and settled back into his seat. He returned the seat to its original position and muttered, “Drat. Dadburnit. Jesus Christ, someone needs to teach this woman how to cuss.”

  Shaking his head at the outburst, Cal settled back and focused on Seattle—Liu’s insistence, Jamie’s smile, and the bittersweet memories they always brought. Although Oklahoma was his home base, he spent most of his life traveling from one opera house to another, staying in hotels and Airbnb, except when he sang in Seattle. Lou-Ling’s sister, Liu, and her daughter, Jamie, lived in a small town inland of Seattle in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. The first time he was engaged to sing in Seattle after Lou-LIng’s death, he wasn’t sure if it made sense to stay with Liu anymore, but she insisted. She said that a part of her older sister lived with him, and she felt closer to her when he was around. Cal was relieved, especially since he adored his niece.

  Cal did his best to the avoid his rival passenger for the rest of the flight, and as all the travelers disembarked, they went their separate ways. He did not see her at baggage claim and was relieved not to stand in the sightline of someone he’d argued with just hours before. “What a piece a work,” he muttered.

  Bags gathered, he lost track of what to do next. By then, Lou-Ling would have contacted her sister. With a quiet strain of grief in his heart, he dug his phone out of his pants pocket, thumbed through his contacts and tapped out a one word text to Liu: “here”.

  Three dots begin to wiggle around in his text app and out popped, “parked nearby. Be there in five, sweetie”.

  He slung his satchel over his shoulder and began to roll his suitcase to the pickup lane. The sliding doors opened, and the gentle Seattle city sounds and cool air immersed him as he joined other travelers on the sidewalk, awaiting their various modes of transit.

  A memory surfaced of his first gig in Seattle, a flicker of a feeling. He had sung with smaller regional opera companies like the Tulsa Opera, the Boulder Opera, and the Wichita Grand Opera–all bringing him positive reviews, but Seattle was a bigger league for him. When he stepped onto this sidewalk, he knew his career was secure. A mountain of worry and self-doubt crumbled into dust in that moment. Now, the scene was all too familiar; not just the airport, but the coming ride with Liu, the Puccini role, the Seattle weather, and the quaint village where he would be staying. If asked, he could not have given the number of times he had sung here in his twenty-year career in opera. The one thing missing, the one thing that made any of it worthwhile, was Lou-Ling, and it would never be the same without her company on the Seattle gigs.

  His ride and hostess for the month pulled to the curb in a red Corolla and gave him a friendly beep-beep-wave-smile. Liu was Lou-Ling’s younger sister by five years. She was a petite woman with a pixie cut. Her hair, unlike the stark black and silver of her sister’s, was inlaid with highlights. They shared the same subtle nose contours and a delicate grace in their movements which could only be a common trait. Where Ling was soulful, Liu was cheerful and playful. She popped the trunk, and Cal shoved his luggage in, slamming it shut so the USC license plate cover rattled.

  As he got into the car, she nudged him and spoke with a blend of exasperation and affection that only comes with family. “I swear to God, dude, you’re like a bull in a china shop! Now, gimme a kiss!” She shifted into the park, unbuckled, and twisted around to give him a good peck on the cheek, followed by a sharp pat on the knee as she pulled back.

  “How was the flight?” she chirped as she buckled back in and pulled out of the loading zone with a slight punch of the accelerator.

  Cal started his usual post-flight small talk but interrupted himself, “Oh! But there was this total jerk sitting behind me. All I did was lean my chair back, and she threw this huge fit like it was my fault she had spilled her drink. She even called me…what was it?” He thumbed his ear twice to recall the word. It came quickly, and he raised a finger in the air. “A lout! She freakin called me a lout!”

  Liu spouted a burst of laughter as she pulled left for the airport exit. “A lout? For real? As in ‘a pox upon me for a clumsy lout’?”

  “I spent the rest of the journey trying to avoid her. Seems like a bit of a nightmare–wait! It’s a Wonderful Life?”

  “Right? Yeah…It’s a Wonderful Life, but don’t you think she’s like…quoting Shakespeare or some shit?”

  “Oh my God, I once spent a whole bout of insomnia trying to figure that out. The closest I could find was from the Tempest: ‘A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!’”

  Liu laughed at that, trying to get out, “You bawling…blasphemous…dog!”

  “But I can totally hear her saying that, too. She must be an English teacher or something.”

  They always had an easy way with each other, but their affection had intensified since Liu’s death. They found comfort together. He had friends of a sort on the road, mainly other singers in his tier who would show up in the cast, but Liu was a constant. Day or night, it was rare that one of his texts didn’t get dots within seconds.

  “So,” she began, her tone shifting as she took the next turn in the drive, “We have some changes going on in the Chin household.”

  “Oh? What’s up?”

  “Well, Jamie is becoming…” she hesitated.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s James now.”

  “As in…”

  “Yeah. She is becoming…” she paused, correcting herself with a serious nod. “Is. He is James,” she said, presenting the name to Cal on the platter of her open hand.

  For a few seconds, the road was silent as they made their way back toward the coast.

  “And how is that going?” said Cal, adjusting smoothly into supportive listening mode, which Lou-ling had patiently taught him in the first few years of their marriage.

  She sighed. “I mean, it’s not that huge…yet? She…he….was always kind of boyish anyway? Like with his hair and fashion, ya know…like she hated wearing dresses and stuff, which is no big deal, but you know I always…” she stopped, emotion welling up in her voice.

  “What, Liu.”

  “Well, it sounds awful, but…”

  “Liu, come on. It’s just me. You can say whatever you need to say.”

  “Well, you know you have this idea about what it will be like having a little girl. I mean, Liu and I were always into playing dress up and Barbie, and you know…like sneaking into mom’s room to try on her lipstick…stuff like that, but…”

  “But Jamie was never like that,” he said with a supportive sigh.

  “Yeah. Never. But that was ok. Every kid is different, and James is so amazing, Cal. You know that. And you know? On some level, it’s not that big of a surprise. It crossed my mind…her transitioning…a few times. I just never thought it would come so soon. I mean, he’s only fifteen.”

  “Jesus, when I was fifteen, I hadn’t even begun to think about identity; I was just trying not to give anyone any reason to pummel me in dodgeball.”

  Liu tittered. “Is that when you started building your muscles?” She reached over and squeezed his bicep. He casually brushed her hand away. While in conversation, women often touched his arms and chest.

  “Hey, maybe it’s no big deal. I mean, I’m sure it’s a big deal to her—”

  “Him.”

  “Him, of course. But you know, this is such a fluid generation…as they say. I’m getting used to it, but man, when my generation started coming out in college, it was a permanent thing. Like, if you said you were gay, that’s that…you’re gay now. If someone saw you smooching someone from the opposite sex again, it would be even more confusing to people. Still, these up-and-coming generations don’t play it that way. It’s a level of freedom we never knew.”

  She popped her turn signal for the exit that would eventually lead to Turan’s Hollow Road…buzz pop buzz pop buzz pop. She sighed and turned off.

  “I get all that, but when it’s your own kid…your little baby…ugh…I love him no matter what, but I guess I’m grieving the loss of my little girl. He can’t really understand that right now. Something only a parent can understand.”

  “Well, I’m not a parent, but I am a doting uncle. Not the same, but I think I get what you’re saying. That’s tough, Liu.” He brushed the grooves of his corduroys absently searching for the silver hair. “Well, I can’t wait to see him.”

  Their inland journey took them deep into the evergreen foothills of the Cascades, where occasional patches of sunlight emblazoned the autumn hues of red alder, paper birch, and vine maple into a fiery tapestry. The secluded village of Turan’s Hollow lay low—its existence betrayed only by a church steeple rising amidst the foliage visible only as the car reached an apex of the increasingly hilly terrain. While its isolation made daily commutes to Seattle undesirable for many, Cal had often found solace in the distance. The longer drive allowed him to contemplate the details of the performance ahead. They traveled in comfortable silence. Deciding with a mutual nod, they cracked open their windows to take in the intensifying aroma of fir and pine.

  Most people could drive past Turan Road without noticing. Still, Liu had lived there long enough for muscle memory to nudge the break and take the northern turn. They passed the Red Cedar Inn, a historic lodge secluded by cedar trees, popular with winter sports tourists. Then they rolled past the old school house, now the community hall, and the Benville Public School bus stop that carried the village kids west to larger Benville.

  Around the next curve, the road opened abruptly to a breathtaking clearing at the base of a small valley, where the village of Turan’s Hollow was nestled against the backdrop of the towering, snow-capped Cascade Mountains. The village was a small grid of early brick and framed buildings around a town square with a grand, blazing white gazebo at its center. An array of colorful, historic storefronts lined the streets of the square. The highest structure, the steeple of the First Presbyterian Church, stood on the far edge of town. The village was home to six hundred-odd residents in the early summer and fall months. The beginning of the tourist season, a few weeks away, was marked by a rousing founder’s celebration known as Turan’s Day after the founding father, Jeremiah Turan.

  Liu slowed to a crawl as they cruised through the center of the village and climbed the road into a sparse neighborhood sheltered by an ancient grove of pines.

  Her home was a quaint, white frame house built in the 1950s for the workers migrating to the area to work at the long-since closed pinewood furniture factory. It was topped with a gable roof and a brick chimney and was lined with well-kept huckleberry bushes.

  As they pulled in, he became aware that he was continuing his argument with the woman on the plane, trying to find more articulate ways of justifying himself to her. After all, she was the one who was out of line. He was reasonable and polite, needing some back relief and a nap. She was an unreasonable grouch who should learn to handle her drink. But gravel from the driveway popped and rumbled under the tires as they pulled in, a sound that slowed Cal’s thoughts with the comfort that he would be staying with two people he loved more than anyone left on the planet. Cal and Lou-Ling had pulled into this many times over their fifteen years of marriage, for holidays and for his opera gigs. There was comfort in the ambient fall sounds of Turan’s Hollow, crows gathering to discuss the coming winter, slow whooshes of northern wind blowing through the tops of the trees, and the closeness of every sound in a dense valley wood. As he pulled his luggage out of the trunk and lugged it to the front door to join Liu who turned her ring of keys over a couple of times to find the house key and let them in.

  James?” called Liu, her voice breaking the silence of a still house as they entered. “Your Uncle Cal is here! Come say hi!”

  There was no answer. Cal set his bags down in a small den resembling a picture for a five-star Airbnb listing. As he stepped into the living room, the pine floorboards creaked under his tall stature. He smelled decorative clove, cinnamon potpourri, and a previous night’s fire from the rustic, cobbled stone fireplace. The home whispered of cheerful times long-passed and fresher scenes of grief. On the leather couch before him, he and Lui had held each other while they wept and ached over Lou-Ling’s death. All of this swirled through his mind in under a second, hardly a thought yet a strong feeling.

  Liu walked down the hall, calling for James. Cal pictured how he used to wait for him at the end of the drive, even in the winter. Returning, Liu scrunched her nose and whispered, “He’s just gonna need a minute. Why don’t you dump your things in the guest room, and I’ll pour your drink. Bourbon rocks?”

  “Perfect.”

  When he returned, James was standing in the den, the barely protruding tips of his fingers nervously stroking the cuffs of his oversized flannel shirt, eyes averted, a portrait of quiet apprehension.

  Cal paused for a split second, seeing his niece as nephew for the first time, then warmly breaking the silence with an old greeting, “Well, hey! It’s Peanut Butter and Jamie!”

  “James,” he responded, quietly.

  “Peanut Butter and James, then!”

  He looked Cal in the eye now. “Just James.”

  “James, it’s great to see you, buddy,” he said, pushing on. He felt Liu at his side and turned to get a quiet take. She shrugged and offered a bourbon tumbler with a sympathetic head tilt. Together, they sat on the couch. “What’s new?” said Cal, motioning for James to sit beside him.

  Liu jumped in. “James is a sophomore this year. Can you believe that, Cal?”

  He gave her an enthusiastic eyebrow raise. “I gotta say, I really can’t.” He turned to James. “So, what’s tenth grade like around here?”

  James sat down at the far end of the couch and did not respond.

  Liu jumped in again. “Uh, well tomorrow is career day. You know?” she started, “I’m not gonna be able to make it, but I was wondering, if it’s ok with James, would you be willing to stand in for me? I mean, you have a way more interesting career than me,” she said, eyebrows raised and nodding enthusiastically at James and then Cal.

  “Hey, we don’t have to make any decisions right now,” said Cal quickly. “Liu? Why don’t we chat about this later.”

  Then James spoke up, also quickly, “He doesn’t want to go, Mom, so can we just drop it?"

  “No, no. It’s not that, buddy. I just need to check in with the company and see when the call is tomorrow, then we’ll see. Sounds pretty cool, actually!”

  But it didn’t sound cool to Cal. The thought of standing in front of a class of tenth-graders hit him in the gut and quickened his pulse.

  Liu stood up and smoothed out the front of her pants, another beat in the awkward rhythm of keeping it casual. “Hey, I’m starving, lemme get dinner started while Uncle Cal settles in. Sound good?”

  “Yeah, sounds great,” said James. He rose and returned to his room, a cloud of teen angst trailing behind him.

  Cal craned his head to ensure James was in his room, joined Liu in the kitchen, and spoke in a hushed tone as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink. “You know I love James, Liu, but oh my god, teenages.” She dried her hands with an easy turn of a kitchen towel between her hands, then neatly rehung it over the stove handle. “I’ve never been much of a kid person,” Cal anxiously continued. “I don’t even know what I would say. I mean, tenth graders didn’t like me when I was in tenth grade, and they certainly aren’t going to like me any better now. I just can’t. Let’s just tell him I had to drive into Seattle.”

  As she filled a pot with water, she said, “Cal. We are talking about five minutes. I know he doesn’t show it, but it will mean so much to him to have you there. This has been a tough year for him, and with no dad around, he could really use a male figure in his corner.”

  “I dunno. She certainly didn’t seem to want me around just now.”

  “He,” she corrected.

  “He,” he said, then he took a sip of his bourbon rocks and held up a hand in vow. “No, I’ll get it. It will just take a minute. I know, Liu. And you know what kids hate even more than grumpy uncles? Opera.”

  “What? They’re gonna love it! Just tell a little about what your life is like and sing a little. Why is that so scary?”

  “I’m not scared, I just–”

  “Oh my God, yes, you are,” she said, laughing and poking his shoulder affectionately. “You are shaking in your boots, mister!”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Kids are so damn honest, Liu! They’re mean!”

  Liu put her hand on her hip and gave him a hard mom stare.

  “Five minutes. Five minutes, and then I’m out of there.”

  “I’ll never know what my sister saw in you, ya big scaredy cat,” she said with a wink.