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you.’
    â€˜No you don’t.’
    She hung up. The flight was leaving in five minutes, but he was at a red light half a mile from the airport. He could never catch the plane.

2
The Gate
    Frank was twelve minutes late when he ran to the ticket counter. There was a long line, but he pushed ahead to the closest ticket agent and told her who he was and what had happened. I was supposed to be on flight two-twenty-one. My wife and daughter made the flight and she said she was going to leave the ticket and passport here for me.’
    A couple in the line behind him complained loudly that he had run ahead of everyone.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ he said to them, ‘but I think I just missed my flight.’
    The woman at the counter was black. Her name-tag had ‘ DONNA ’ on it, in quotes. Did the quotes mean that Donna was her nickname?
    â€˜Two-twenty-one just left the gate.’
    â€˜My wife said there was a flight at six.’
    He leaned against the counter, and he thought that he might be fainting. The agent asked him if he was all right.
    â€˜To Acapulco? Let me check.’
    â€˜And my ticket and passport. She probably left them at the gate.’
    â€˜Let me check,’ she said.
    Donna made a call and told the story, and then said, ‘Someone will be right down with them.’
    â€˜And is there room on the six o’clock flight?’
    â€˜Let me check.’
    Frank watched the agent type something on a keyboard and then wait for an answer on the computer screen. The agent smiled, as though she had actually done something to be proud of. ‘Yes, we have seats available.’
    â€˜And can I exchange my ticket?’
    â€˜Let me check.’
    Some more typing.
    â€˜You had a restricted ticket, but let me check.’ The agent made another call, and while she did, another woman in a blue jacketarrived with an envelope. While the ticket agent explained the situation to someone on the phone, she opened the envelope and took out the passport and ticket. She looked at the passport picture and mouthed, ‘It’s you,’ while listening to the person on the other end of the line.
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Frank. The agent held on to his ticket.
    She hung up the phone and told Frank that the surcharge was a hundred dollars. She apologized.
    Frank gave her his credit card, and the new ticket was printed up.
    She asked if he had any luggage.
    â€˜My wife had it.’
    â€˜Have a nice flight.’
    â€˜At least I won’t be late for this one,’ said Frank, trying to make her smile.
    â€˜Flights aren’t announced, you know, so you have to be at gate forty-seven at least a half an hour prior to departure.’
    â€˜I’ll be there,’ said Frank.
    He left the counter and walked up a flight of stairs to the terminal.
    If he had not kissed Mary, or if he had not had the saké, Frank would have been on the plane. But now that Anna knew about Mary Sifka, now that she had read the letter, wasn’t it actually better that he was coming into Mexico three hours later? Given the disaster of Anna’s discovery of the letter, flying separately was a blessing. How could he have had the talk he wanted if they were on the plane? If she was going to find the letter, if that’s what Fate wanted for him, then Fate had also protected them both by clogging the roads with so many cars, slowing him down, making him late. This way, there would be no painful silences, no tug-of-war for Madeleine’s attention.
    But has Fate really made things better for us? he wondered. He had planned the vacation and the timing of the letter to shrink all of the emotional battles into one act, but the strategy had failed. He had a made a mess of things.
    He passed the magazine and gift shop, walked beyond it, and then, without thinking, drifted back into it and studied a few of the magazines, but decided to wait until just before the flight to buy anything, because