Waiting in the nave of the concourse, Hector Reyes barked, "Tomas!"
Tomas snapped out of it and ran to rejoin his parents. They by-passed luggage-claim and went straight to the nearest cabstand. Once they had loaded their gear into the cab, Reyes handed a Par Avion envelope to the the driver. He pointed to the address and said, "Take my family to this place. Por favor."
"You're not coming?" Tomas asked.
Reyes shook his head sadly. He raked fingers through his son's pompadour. "Don't muss my hair, Papi!" would have been the retort, but the moment hung heavily. No one spoke. Reyes kissed his wife. Teresa nodded somberly.
Finally the seperation. A quiet airless tearing away.
Reyes watched the big yellow sedan drone toward Le Jeune Road until he could no longer see it. Then he walked back to his airplane, baking on the tarmac, being refueled for his return to Jose Marti Airport in Havana.
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