by A.L. Crouch
Chapter 2
“We’re just descending. Nothing to worry about,” a voice behind me said, startling me awake.
I rubbed my eyes as the past dissolved into a forgotten dream. The middle aged man leaning over me gave my shoulder a pat and took his seat behind me.
“Sorry, I guess I dozed off. I’m not a huge fan of flying. I try to remain unconscious for as much of it as possible.” I straightened my blouse and wiped the sweat from my temple with the back of my sleeve and wondered if I called out again in my sleep.
The view from the window showed that the small passenger plane was maneuvering through an expanse of wispy cloud, making it impossible to gauge our distance to the ground.
“Well I’d say your plan paid off. You missed one hell of a storm about 30 minutes ago. Shook me up a bit and I fly all the time,” the man behind me chuckled. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sure,” I said not wanting to be rude.
The man was pleasant looking enough, with the perfect spattering of gray in his sandy-blonde hair to categorize him as distinguished. It was his smile though that stood out. It was brilliant, flashy, practiced.
“Good thing is right, I dislike storms even more,” I understated as he sat in the empty seat beside me.
The captain turned on the fasten seat-belt sign and announced our final descent into the Asheville Regional airport. I fumbled for my purse, yanking a brush through my long, sleep disheveled hair and worked on calming the nerves started to coil around my throat. Within minutes we would be safe on the ground in Asheville, North Carolina. That realization panicked me more than the entire tumultuous flight.
“Well I hope you enjoy Asheville. Are you visiting family? Taking in the Biltmore?” the man asked, persisting in the conversation.
I was too grateful for the distraction at this point to be annoyed. I was never much of a small talk type, but at this moment it made things feel more mundane and less like the cataclysmic event my mind had built this trip up to be.
“Actually, I’m visiting family up in Saluda, about thirty-five miles away.”
It was almost the truth.
“You’re kidding. Believe it or not, that is exactly where I’m headed in the morning. I’m just meeting with a client here in Ashville today. Isn’t that funny,” he chuckled and offered another practiced smile.
I pegged him for a salesman. A bad one.
“Well then, you must have family in Saluda. That’s the only reason anyone ever goes there,” I said and chanced another look out my window.
The plane had descended below the blanket of downy cotton and the mountains, dappled with autumn color, peaked just beneath it. I had forgotten how glorious they were, the enormity and majesty of them stimulating some childlike admiration buried deep within my core.
“Actually, got a couple of buildings up there in need of renovation. I’m contracted out from Raleigh, so I’ll be staying for a week or two. You must have family there then, I’m guessing? Maybe we’ll run into one another.”
“Oh I don’t plan to stay long. Just taking care of some family business and then I’m headed back to Chicago,” I answered, turning to him.
The plane teetered to the right, throwing the view of the ground below and the airport into the windows across the aisle and then straightened out again. We would be on the ground in minutes. I shook off the anxiety that gripped my shoulders and threatened to hold me captive in my seat.
“So you’re a contractor?” I asked shakily, giving the man my own forged smile. Guess I had been wrong about the whole salesman thing. “What buildings are you renovating?”
“Yes ma’am, I am. Though I dabble in real estate from time to time,” he answered. “Let’s see, they want to add on to the gazebo right there on the main street, and the elementary school in Flat Rock is looking to expand their auditorium.”
“Upward Elementary?” I asked, my pulse quickening.
“That’s the one.”
I could only offer a weak grin in response. Of all the elementary schools in the area, he was going to the one I had attended. I wondered if I would have the courage to visit it myself. Probably not, which was fine. It wasn’t part of the itinerary that would get me back to Chicago in a hurry.
When the plane touched down, the man offered me a rough hand and another flawless smile. “The name’s Rick Brightman. Hope to see you around, even if your stay is brief.”
“Alex Nolan,” I said and shook his hand. “It’s a small town, the odds are in our favor.”