Deplane is a funny sort of word. Ruth often thought about things like that, the way language worked. If she were travelling by boat, it would not be called 'deboating' or 'deshipping' but rather 'disembarking.' And why that anyway? Embarking on a journey meant going, so why was leaving the journey 'disembarking' and not simply 'disbarking' or something like that? And getting on a plane was called boarding. Why not 'disboarding' when getting off? Or some other word altogether? 'Deplaning' seemed so odd. Yet that's what she was doing. Deplaning. Getting off the plane in Paris at Charles de Gaulle Airport.
She could not help the little fantasy in her mind as she carried her bag in the crowd of people on the jetway from the airplane to the gate. She had dreamed of one day doing exactly this with Harry. He wanted to go to Paris, to take the European Grand Tour, and he had wanted to have her go with him. He wanted to go to Paris with her because of his sense of romance.
What would it have been like, if things had gotten to progress in the way they'd begun? Without Cotterdam ruining any chance they might have had? Harry surely would have still pursued her. At Havensworth, when he'd looked at her in the hallway with his shirt unbuttoned to show some of the skin of his chest and looked at her with dark, haunted, desperate eyes. He had looked so sad and yet so wanting. And she wanted him, too. Oh if only she had been brave! If only she had allowed herself to do what she'd wanted and take a step toward him and bury her face in his neck and let him wrap his arms around her. She had run away from him that night, but only barely. And if he had tried once or twice more, her resolve surely would not have lasted. He would have been able to convince her that her fears were unfounded, or even if they weren't, that they could be together in spite of those fears. What they could have had together, the love they might have shared, that could have been so much more than anything she'd ever experienced. That's what had scared her at the time, and that was what she regretted so bitterly now.
And if he had convinced her, if she had gotten to be held in his arms and kissed by his lips and loved by him in the way she had dreamed about, they would have ended up here. Ruth was sure of that. Harry did have a romantic streak in him, and he would have wanted to make good on that dream of Paris. He would have made sure that, at some point, they could take this trip together. To hold hands in this crowded jetway and take a taxi to a posh hotel—for Harry Pearce would not allow for anything less—and to walk together along the Seine and kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower and spend a whole day wandering the Louvre and having dinner in some little café in Montmartre where the food was unexpectedly incredible. All of that they could have shared. If only…if only.
But then light came at the end of the tunnel, quite literally, and Ruth was released into Gate 27 to a huge crowd of people going every which way. Charles de Gaulle was always crowded, surely. The plane from which she'd just deplaned was going to board another two hundred people, all of whom were lined up and pushing one another to present their passes and find their seats. More people yet were rushing one way and another, towards baggage claim and ground transport and to other terminals to flights somewhere else.
Ruth had no plan of what she was going to do. Get out of the airport, that had to be first. Thankfully she did not need to worry about customs. Not yet, anyway. Yet another reason to be grateful for the EU. But she had very little money, and she would need to find a room and some privacy to plan her next move.
As she stood off to the side, rummaging in her bag to keep herself from looking too suspicious while she was thinking, the crowd parted slightly. And at that exact moment, Ruth happened to look up. Her breath caught in her throat as she got a glimpse of the face that was to her the dearest in all the world.
A tear fell unchecked down her cheek, and she could not help but smile. "Harry," she breathed.