Chapter 10 - The Unraveling in Kissimmee
The following Monday was the start of the Columbus area spring break.
Jessica, my parents, and Jessica’s three kids boarded a Southwest flight out of John Glenn International Airport at 6:15 AM.
I knew this because Jessica posted six separate updates before the plane even pushed back from the gate:
*“Wheels up! Disney bound! Making core memories with the best grandparents on earth!”*
*“Sophie is ready for the princesses! Matthew is ready for coasters! Tyler is already asleep!”*
*“Missing our girl Diane, but the Evans crew rolls deep!”*
Noticeably absent from the photos: Diane.
Also noticeably absent: Dad’s smile. In the background of one of the terminal selfies, Dad was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the floor, clutching his carry-on bag like an anchor. He looked exhausted, defeated, and utterly hollow.
Meanwhile, Emma and I woke up at 8:00 AM in our townhouse.
We had pancakes with chocolate chips. We watched cartoons in our pajamas. Then, around 11:00 AM, a black Lincoln Navigator from an executive livery service pulled into my driveway.
Emma looked out the living room window, her mouth forming a perfect 'O'.
"Mommy... who is that?"
"That, my darling," I said, picking up our two matching pink Samsonite bags from the hallway, "is our ride."
"To the airport?"
"To the private terminal," I corrected, tapping her nose. "Where our plane is waiting."
The flight was a twin-engine Pilatus PC-12 chartered through a regional executive club. Emma spent the two-hour flight to Orlando Executive Airport sitting in an oversized leather captain's chair, drinking apple juice out of a real glass, and looking out the window at the clouds beneath our wings.
When we landed, there was no baggage claim carousel. No fighting through the crowds at MCO. No waiting forty-five minutes for a rental car shuttle in the humid Florida heat.
A Four Seasons representative met us on the tarmac, took our bags, and ushered us into a pristine SUV stocked with chilled San Pellegrino and personalized Mickey Mouse ears embroidered with Emma's name in gold thread.
By 3:30 PM, Emma was standing on the fourteenth-floor balcony of our Park View Suite, looking directly at the white spires of Cinderella Castle rising above the pine trees in the distance.
On the table behind her sat an enormous floral arrangement shaped like Minnie Mouse, surrounded by chocolate-dipped strawberries and a handwritten note from the resort general manager: *Welcome, Emma. Your magical week begins now.*
Emma turned around, her eyes shining with an intensity that took my breath away.
"Mommy," she whispered, holding her custom ears against her chest. "Is this real life?"
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"It’s as real as it gets, baby," I said, kneeling down and pulling her into my arms. "And nobody—nobody in this world—is ever going to make you feel like an extra again."
***
