Chapter Four
Luke
We’re down. Every cell in my body is still on high fucking alert, but we’re on the ground, where humans belong.
And with the phrase “our windshield has developed a crack” ricocheting around my brain, I sure as fuck won’t be up again any time soon. This exact reason is why I prefer ground travel. My pulse can’t seem to recover, pounding a frantic rhythm.
That pilot’s voice was hauntingly calm, too. Spontaneously cracked aircraft. Mondays, am I right?
I haven’t stopped sweating in the twenty-seven minutes it took to get on the ground. If this had gone the way I feared, I’d be heading to the afterlife knowing the last real communication I had with someone was with a judgmental woman who flouts safety briefings.
I glance at Cassidy, zeroing in on the hair spilling down her arm.
It’s possible she’s not as judgmental as I initially thought. She helped me through my panic attack without missing a beat, and at no point did I feel she was heckling me over it.
It was…nice.
I stand slowly when it’s time to deplane so I don’t accidentally bang my skull on the overhead compartment. We funnel through the plane door, several people pausing at the cockpit to harass the crew with questions they’ve already answered.
The airline will secure another plane, but it’s not going to happen tonight.
This is a small, regional airport without many resources.
We will communicate any updates via text and email.
I pull up Google, and after a dance with the spinning wheel of internet death, I locate Joplin’s Wikipedia page. Fun fact about this place: there are no fun facts. We are nowhere. Its population of fifty thousand looks like a statistical blip compared to Los Angeles’s four million.
Distracted by my phone, I crash into the back of someone who has decided to come to an abrupt stop on the jet bridge.
Cassidy stumbles but catches her balance with smooth ease. She throws a bothered look over her shoulder that morphs into a flat smirk when she clocks that it’s me.
“And here I thought we were getting along,” she quips as she wrestles her phone out of her pocket. “Two steps forward…”
“You stopped walking. That’s zero steps forward.”
Ignoring this, she presses her phone to her ear. “Isabelle? Hello?”
I skirt sideways to bypass her, trying and failing to put a healthy distance between me and her second loud call of the evening, the first being an actual FaceTime on a crowded plane.
The air isn’t exactly fresh when we enter the airport, but I gulp it down anyway as I zip past the crowd forming at baggage claim and proceed straight to the rental car desk. I can easily do a twenty-three-hour drive in a day and a half with a small rest somewhere along the way if it means getting this show on the road.
Initially, I planned to use tomorrow to get started on odd jobs around my sister’s house. Sophie may object, but her limited free time belongs to her daughters, Olive and Ava. She shouldn’t have to worry about renovations or maintenance a house built in 1981—our childhood home, turned into the family compound—needs. I sort of love figuring out how to fix things, and hiring someone to do something I can theoretically do myself while I’m there seems silly. Especially since the one thing my dad left, in addition to family, was an expensive set of tools.
The house may be old, but Bakersfield is home. Mom got the house in the divorce in exchange for Dad gaining the freedom to pretend none of us ever happened.
I rotate my shoulders, stretch out my neck, and approach the empty car rental counter. No line, no clerk. The only sign of life is a Post-it fixed to the back of a computer monitor.
Reopens at nine a.m.
Dammit all.
I tilt my wrist. It’s barely ten p.m. Frustration mounts in my throat as I shuffle back toward the gate. Most people have tethered themselves to the space around the flight attendant’s desk, probably hoping news will reach them first by osmosis.
It takes a few minutes to get the lay of the land. The gate is circular, with only two boarding areas that feed off it. Floor-to-ceiling windows give a view of the night sky and runway. Two designated sitting areas anchor the space, with two rows of chairs each—the kind with armrests that don’t lift so you are forced to sit upright like you’re getting your blood pressure taken. One set of vending machines sits between a set of bathrooms.
Sleeping in an airport is not on my bucket list.
After a frustrating internet search, I refresh the website of the only hotel I can find within twenty minutes of this one-room-schoolhouse of an airport. The Homewood Suites, approximately nineteen minutes away.
Fully booked.
Of course it’s full. Somewhere between zero and one hundred fourteen people tried to book in the minutes since we landed. I’m sure some saw the writing on the wall and had the good sense to book before we even got off the plane.
Maybe an Airbnb?
Several people have already collapsed into chairs, while others pace around, stabbing at their phones with impatient fingers.
“There’s nothing anywhere. This airport is now a giant dorm room.”
I freeze momentarily at the sing-songy voice and then slowly lift my gaze from my phone.
Cassidy.
Spinning her colorful suitcase in a circle on its 360-degree wheels. Between this, our confrontations, and her loud calls, I’m getting the distinct impression she’s compelled to share her thoughts at all times with anyone who will listen.
“I’ve talked to six people already, and no one can find a single place to stay.” She toys with the hem of her shirt, rolling it between her fingers. Glancing over her shoulder at the windowed wall, her voice takes on a resigned edge. “Going to have to camp here tonight, I’m thinking.”
Nightmare fuel.
I wave this off. “Bet they didn’t try Airbnbs or Vrbos.”
She peers at our fellow travelers. “I’m pretty sure the fleet of upper-middle-class dads in Sperrys and khaki shorts know a thing or two about vacation lodging.”
“There’s got to be something.”
A tiny snort-laugh leaves her mouth. She crosses her arms and pops her hip. “Okay. I’m sure you’re correct, then. Go ahead and check.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s like she’s happy about being stranded. “I will, thanks.”
She doesn’t take the cue to walk away, just stares at me with blue eyes that toe the line between innocent and challenging.
No Airbnbs pop up when I type in Joplin’s zip code. Nor do any Vrbo rentals.
Cassidy’s stare is a weighted, tangible thing as I try other neighboring zip codes. The closest big city is Springfield, over an hour away. I don’t even know how I’d get there.
I open Uber on my phone. No cars pop up on screen when I refresh. One of two reasons is likely: they’re with the lucky few hightailing it to the Homewood Suites, or they don’t exist.
I’d pay top dollar for one to drive me to a car rental place if there was one remotely close by that was open.
“Any luck?” The tiny lift of her lips feels like an attack.
I shove my phone in my pocket and hit her with an even bigger grin. “You know what? I think I’d prefer to stay here tonight. That way I’m first in line when the car rental desk opens.”
“See? Told you there were no other options.” She winks, and it burns through me.
“Is this your first time being right? You might consider less gloating next time. You’ll get the hang of it.”
Her mouth opens, and she tilts her head to the side.
I offer a perfunctory nod and drag my suitcase away from her and her infuriating smugness.
The seats are mostly taken. They’ll be fully occupied when people give up on the idea that there’s anywhere to escape to. I locate an open chair and move toward it, but a woman closes in from another direction. Halting in my tracks, I wave her on.
Cassidy would be proud.
The ground is fine. I spot a wall with an open outlet. With ample electricity at my disposal, I’ll work all night. Hell, I’ve done it before. I throw my coat on the ground and use it as ass padding before sliding down the wall. Between this, the chia energy gel I packed, and the vending machine across the gate, I won’t wither away for a night.
…
I’m a few hours into running data for one of my newest clients, legs cramping from sitting cross legged on the ground without a break for so long, when a flicker of white catches my eye.
Cassidy’s shimmery shirt.
Her eyes are closed and she’s held up by the windowed wall. Her cell phone lies on the ground next to her open palm, as if it fell out, and her chin is against her chest. She’s shivering so visibly I can make it out from all the way over here.
I glance at her suitcase. Surely she has something in there to cover up with before she freezes to death in this frigid holding tank?
Returning to my computer, I jab the trackpad a few times as the Star Wars score swells in my ears. Typically, the aural embrace of John Williams soundtracks lulls me into a hypnotic state of productivity.
Except now I’m distracted.
This is decidedly not my problem. But dammit if I don’t wish I had a tennis ball I could chuck at her so she’d wake up and grab a sweater.
My phone lights up. Will’s response to my earlier text informing him I’ll be home for the week.
I’m free Monday through Sunday nights for kicking your ass at basketball, pool, or even foosball if you’d like variety. Day trip to Pismo Beach? And there’s a new comedy club in town we could hit.
Classic Will. He thrives on a win, a crowd, or on his best days, a combination of the two.
Another text follows.
What’s the occasion? Everything good at home?
He knows me all too well.
Everything’s fine, according to Sophie. I just felt like seeing everyone.
It’s the truth. No need to add I’m also on a mission to figure out the real reason Sophie canceled a Disney cruise she was taking the girls on this week. Their tickets were a Christmas present from me, so I know it’s not because of the money. Her daughters let the cancellation slip on a phone call, and Sophie brushed it off saying she was able to get a cruise line credit and that they had something come up.
Suspicious. And all suspicious things in our world trace back to Mom.
I shove the unpleasant thoughts aside and text him back.
Having some travel issues, though. I’ll call you when I’m home to make a plan.
As my message whooshes through cyberspace, I peek upward just in time to catch the still-sleeping Cassidy hugging her chest as she expels a sleep-slowed breath.
A sigh exits my mouth. My limbs are stiff as I gather my coat. I pause, hefting the pile of fabric. Wool isn’t exactly the softest material on earth, and this thing is heavy. Perhaps more to the point, Cassidy knows this coat is mine. Had plenty to say about it on the plane. I’d like to avoid her linking this back to me.
I pivot to my suitcase, grab a rolled-up running hoodie, and cross to her side of the gate. The outside chill seeps through the glass. No wonder she’s shivering.
I drape it over her.
I’m not tucking her in or anything. Just restoring the balance between us. I didn’t hold the shuttle—not that I heard or saw her—and despite that, she still helped me out on the plane in my low moment. Now, I’ve prevented her from getting pneumonia.
Anyone would do the same.
Hours later, after I’ve settled back against the wall and found a working rhythm, I’m almost too busy to notice when she stirs.
Almost.