Lila Hawthorne was raised like any other good New England Irish Catholic. She went to church on Sundays, got her ashes at the beginning of Lent, said an extra Hail Mary before a test, and reflected a little more on St. Patrick's Day.

But when she and Fayez exited the jet bridge and stepped onto the grounds of Boston Logan Airport, she considered dropping to her knees and shouting ten prayers to the heavens. In the most bittersweet way, she was home, the proverbial land of her dreams the whole convoluted way there.

"Call me if anything happens, okay?" she told Fayez, taking back her phone. Their hands brushed, his touch lingering for a couple seconds longer than pure happenstance. "We can even meet up tomorrow or the day after or-or whenever, if you need...if you need a friend."

"It's okay," he told her, smiling distantly. "You have your family to worry about, Lila."

"I know, Fayez, but I'm not going through wha—"

He cut her rambling short with a small hug, folding her body into his. Before he let her go, he murmured something sincere in Arabic in her ear, but she was too caught off guard to ask him to translate what he'd said. Or maybe she just didn't want the moment to end, never having felt so warm and protected in a perfect stranger's arms.

"Goodbye, Lila," he said, before disappearing into the throng of travelers.

Was he even real? She blinked twice, feeling like the soles of her platform Converse were stuck to the title. Advancing toward the baggage claim felt like the end of the oddest reprieve of her life and the beginning to her own window of hell, albeit one that was close to an end.

She called up Wyatt, and in half an hour, she was standing outside her father's hospital room. Before she could burst inside, a cold hand clamped down on her shoulder.

"He's taking a nap right now," Clara said softly. "I don't want to wake him."

Lila nodded and propped herself up against the wall by his door, refusing to sit down after her mother had offered. Clara sighed and stood next to her.

"You know what I found organizing our kitchen cabinets yesterday?" Lila shook her head that she didn't want to hear, but the small movement wasn't enough. "That poem you wrote me eight years ago. It was the best laugh after such a horrible week."

Lila pulled back. "You...laughed?"

"Truest thing I ever read," she joked, her hazel eyes dimming. "All I could think of were all the lines you missed. You went too easy on me, Liles."

Before she could think of what to respond, Wyatt approached them with two iced coffees in hand. He offered one to Lila, but she held up a dismissive palm, having already had enough caffeine on the way to Boston.

The three sat on a bench, exchanging the civil conversation that was only possible when Wyatt sat between the two warring women. When a nurse left Tom's room and gave them the go-ahead, Lila sprung up from her seat and practically twirled back down the hall like a ballerina at the thought of seeing her father again.

A buzzing in her jeans pocket halted her a foot from the door.

Incoming call: Fayez H.

She picked up and held the phone to her ear, haunted by one continuous beep.

FIN