The following story contains mature themes that may not be appropriate for younger readers.
The airplane idled on the tarmac. The heat of its engines made the cold air dance and blur. They parked and rushed to the cargo terminal but there was no one in the cramped office. Frank stood in the doorway while Pamela paced the room, stopping to lean over the counter and peer back into the office. From behind she looked small, even in the puffy down jacket; dull roots were showing through the careful blonde streaks in her hair. Frank looked away. He moved to a plastic seat and stared out the window at the cracked runway and the small-town Northern airport.
Eventually a woman emerged from the back of the office, looking harried. “Can I help you?” she said.
“We’re here for an air freight package – an express package, from the Canaan clinic,” Pamela said.
“You’ll have to wait.” The woman gestured to the plane. “It’s behind schedule, so they’ll be loading passengers and cargo for takeoff before they bring us the packages.”