THE NARRATIVE ARC
The Empty Passenger Seat and a Father’s White Lie
A story of love, lies, and loyalty
The passenger seat was empty when my father picked me up from the airport. No wet nose pressed against the window, no excited bark greeting me after three weeks away, no wagging tail. This had never happened before — Rocky always came to get me. Always.
The ritual was as predictable as walking out of the airport into the baking heat of an Australian summer — me, balancing overflowing luggage and bottles of duty-free liquor, and Rocky, straining against his leash, tail helicoptering with joy. Since the day we’d brought him home as a six-week-old pugalier pup, half King Charles Cavalier, half pug, the runt of his litter, he’d been my enthusiastic welcome committee.
Through red-eye flights and midnight arrivals, through summer heat and winter rain, Rocky had never missed a homecoming — until now.
I pride myself on being observant — I’ve built a career on noticing details as a travel writer across 109 countries, but a twenty-four trip home dulls even the sharpest senses. I was too busy fumbling with my carry-on, mentally sorting through NASA souvenirs, to notice how my father’s hands gripped the steering wheel instead of coming to assist me with my luggage.
