Take Flight

by T. E. Price

  “Hi Georgina,” I greet with a slapped smile across my face as I join her in the short, L-shaped hall that turns left toward my locker. Checking the clock on the wall opposite the showers, I add, “You’re here early, I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”

  Georgina props one leg up on the wooden bench that sits between the walls lined with lockers and re-ties her shoelace. “I thought I’d ask you about some stretches before we get started today,” she adds, then leans back to glance at the barely visible edge of the locker room door, like a lurker curious at what prompted my eavesdropping only moments earlier.

  I burst out laughing in an obvious attempt to draw the old woman’s attention back in my direction. “Our work out from the other day must have been intense, huh?” I tease, shoving my gym bag in the locker with fidgety hands. I slam the locker shut. Oh great. I forgot to clock-in. There’s no way I’m going back out to Danny and Rita to fix my time card now. “You’re my first client today, so I haven’t even clocked-in yet. But no worries, we can stretch now, and I’ll manually fill in my time card later if you’ll vouch for me.”

  Despite the prickling of my scalp, I grin as she drops her foot from the bench, rubs her leathery arms, and follows me out of the locker room with her overly agreeable reply, “Of course. I’ll gladly talk to Jim anytime.” I wince as we leave the locker room. Is every woman at this gym dying for male attention?

  An hour later, I find myself counting down the last ten reps of Georgina’s upper body workout. With a motion for a high-five, I exclaim, “Great work—you’re done.” She lightly taps my hand while I use the other to grab a towel. I hand it to Georgina as she places her five-pound weight on the floor.

  The old lady takes the towel from me and wipes her brow as she stands up from the bench. “Thanks, Hallie. You always push me,” she says as she makes her way to the locker room like she’s wading in knee-high water.

  “No problem,” I announce in her wake. Without turning her body, Georgina waves farewell above her head. Bending to pick up her weights, my face crumbles, the five-pound dumbbells offering a gut-wrenching visual of my doleful reality. I want to be transforming bodies in this job, but I seem to be drowning in a sea of old women and meager workouts.

  “What’s-up, beautiful,” I spin around to meet Danny’s greeting as I watch him spray the bench that Georgina was just on, then carelessly wipe at the surface without looking, his eyes never leaving my body.

  “Uh…what happened to my shorty nickname?” I ask, keeping my distance as I move away to pick up some scattered dumbbells. Can’t he just shrug and walk away? Wishful thinking.

  “I just thought you should know how beautiful you are. Isn’t it nice to hear every once in a while?” he retorts. “Oh hey, let me grab those for you.” He abandons his spray bottle and cloth and lunges toward the thirty-pound dumbbells I’m currently reaching for. I move back and frown. This guy’s never this helpful. My fists tighten. Does he think I can’t handle that weight? I contemplate moving around some heavier dumbbells in an obvious effort to make my point, but I slouch my shoulders and turn away instead. How come I can’t tell him how frustrated this makes me? I’m a qualified trainer—I can put away the big weights by myself. Although I’m punished by my missed opportunity to speak my mind, Danny doesn’t let me dwell on it for long as he adds. “Uh, I noticed you weren’t wearing your wedding ring,” he points at my hand.

  Cringing, I quickly unhitch my furrowed brow before swiveling in his direction. “I never wear my ring to the gym,” I reply. Phew! The truth saved me from having to devise an excuse on the spot.

  “Oh, yeah…yeah I know,” he sputters. “I guess I forgot.” His distant gaze is evident for only a split second before he adds, “That’s probably best, cuz of all the equipment.” He struts off in the other direction while muttering something to himself.

  My head rears as I turn toward the locker room. What was that all about? I pause and look back at Danny for a second. Who cares. Grrll! My stomach growls as I lay a hand over it. When was the last time I ate? There’s got to be a protein bar in the front of my gym bag. But as I make my way to the front half of the building, I can’t seem to shake that conversation with Danny. What should I do with my wedding ring? I’ll never wear it again—so what’s the point of keeping it? I slide into the locker room, find the protein bar, and grab for my phone in the side pocket of my gym bag. It wouldn’t hurt to do some quick research. There’s got to be some private jewelry sales online. But I don’t make it to the internet browser as I see Andrew’s number in a message icon on my lock screen. I open my messages and my body tenses as I read:

  Hey Hallie—it’s Andrew. I have been thinking about you a lot lately and all the parties we went to in college. If you’re free sometime, we should catch up over a cup of coffee.

  My mind races as I read the text over and over. Why is Andrew texting me after all these years? Did seeing Ainsley at the Christmas party last night spark some memories? Ugh! He knows I’m married. That’s not okay—he shouldn’t be texting a married woman to meet up for coffee, even if we used to be friends.

  Suddenly, the pieces snap together. Word has gotten out about Jonathan and me. That’s why Rita was whispering at the front desk. It’s why Danny has all of a sudden taken his flirting to a whole new level, mentioning my ring and all. It must be why Andrew has texted me.

  I throw my phone down on top of my gym bag and pace the empty locker room. Grasping the sides of my head, I filter through the strange events that have taken place since I stepped into work this morning. My mind is spinning faster than I can keep up, so I plop down on the wooden bench and steady my breathing. I have to get away from all this.

  I grab for my phone again, bringing up Harrison’s name in my messages. My thumbs tap with furious speed, offering a quick greeting then requesting a trip to Michigan for the Christmas holiday. I don’t want to stay here and try to explain my failed marriage. To anyone. I open a new window to search for flights. Ahh! I can’t afford these prices. Why is it always so ridiculously expensive to travel around Christmas? My chin trembles. I drop my head into my left hand as my right hand grips my phone, new prices popping up, one by one, none of them in an affordable price range. My eyes burn as I squeeze them closed. I drag my hand down my face. Wait a minute … ahah! My empty ring finger offers an instant solution. That’s exactly what I’ll do—I’ll sell my ring to help pay for my flight. In perfect timing, Harrison’s text lights up the top of my screen saying, “Come on! I can’t wait!” Taking a deep breath, my shoulders lift as I open the text message window. I’ll be booking my flight today.

  CHAPTER 7

  The dual engines of the plane rumble to life as I buckle my seatbelt and prepare for take-off. The flight-attendant has just finished the instructions at the front of the aircraft. During her presentation, I watched a man in a business suit, seated in the front row, wipe the sweat off his brow at the mention of oxygen masks dropping. Passengers’ nervous habits always leave me trying to mask my giggles. He and I are exact opposites. The movement of the plane and the feeling of lifting off the ground brings me nothing but peace and excitement. Here I am again, reveling in my chance to escape. As we race down the runway for Michigan, the comfort of freedom floods my mind, and I settle into my aisle seat, smirking as I witness the same sweaty man grip the armrest, his knuckles turning whiter as the aircraft picks up speed.

  The ring sold quickly online, providing the funds for my spontaneous trip to Michigan over the Christmas holiday. The memory of Jonathan’s cruelty and lack of affection sends a chill up my spine—he made sure my ring finger screamed his ownership while using the façade of love and generosity to aggressively mark his territory. The single, three carat stone set on a white-gold band did not sell online for the same price it was sold to him. But when it came time to sell, I chose to sacrifice the money in order to make this trip happen. Besides, I purchased this flight on my credit card. I’ve got to boost my non-existent credit line
, and what better way to pay for this escape than with a symbol that kept me prisoner. Good-bye wedding ring, hello family time. As I fly higher and higher in the sky, leaving behind the Oklahoma gossip and date requests far below, a smile spreads from ear-to-ear.

  The two-and-a-half-hour flight direct to Detroit goes by quickly, and I exit the gate to find a welcoming group of short, strawberry-blondes waiting for my arrival. Branson and Bailey have taken on most of their mother’s features. With their curly hair and blue eyes, it would be hard to tell that Harrison was their father if it wasn’t for their long, lean build. Wheeling my carry-on luggage up to my sister-in-law and the twins, Branson jumps at the sight of my familiar face and bounds toward me.

  “Aunt Hallie,” he screams, leaping into my open arms.

  “Buddy! I’m so happy to see you,” I greet, kissing his soft cheek before placing him down. He runs back to his mother and sister, his arms pumping faster than his legs can carry him.

  Her son’s excitement sparks a twinkle in Isabel’s big, blue eyes as she pulls me into an embrace, holding on as I gladly accept the warm welcome. “We’re so happy you’re here, Hallie. I wanted to fly there with Harrison when I heard what was happening, but I just couldn’t with the kids,” she muffles through our hug.

  Pulling back, I offer an understanding smile and nod. Eager to avoid conversation about Jonathan, I bend down to greet my niece who is clinging to Isabel’s leg. Running a hand down Bailey’s soft curls, I coo, “Well hello, beautiful. You act like I’m a stranger.” Bailey turns shyly into Isabel’s arm, hiding her face with a hint of a grin.

  “Don’t worry about her, she’ll warm up like she always does,” Isabel reassures me as I reach for my suitcase. We all turn and walk toward the exit where the long line of vehicles moves slowly through the curbside pick-up of this busy airport. “Branson, wait for us,” Isabel yells as her son runs ahead, dodging travelers and their luggage, surging toward the door with dauntless independence. “I swear, these two couldn’t be more opposite,” she laughs, nodding at her son who has acknowledged her call, but waits impatiently, tapping his foot with his arms folded across his small chest. “They may have shared my womb, but as they get older, they become more and more like Jekyll and Hyde.”

  “Mooommm,” Branson whines from just inside the automatic sliding doors, “We gotta hurry cuz Dad’s waiting in the car.”

  Isabel nods, “Okay, Mr. Hyde,” she says, throwing a quick wink in my direction. We pick up our pace, and Isabel’s curls threaten to escape from her loose clip as Bailey drags behind us, a shy grin warming her porcelain complexion. “Harrison thought it would be best to use the curb-side pick-up. The airport is so busy this time of day, so I figured I would meet you at the exit while he inched his way up the line. As it turns out, neither one of these munchkins wanted to wait for you in the car,” she snickers. “But it isn’t easy getting four-year-olds in and out of their car seats, let alone keeping both of them safely by my side.” Isabel flashes a beautiful smile as we approach Branson, who lunges for my hand.

  “Well, I’ve got him, so maybe that’ll make it easier,” I joke.

  “What would make it easier is if I was born with lovely, long limbs, just like these two and their daddy. Then I would be able to keep up.” We laugh as Bailey does a little skip to show-off. Branson and I fall behind, treading down the long line until we locate the tan, Hyundai Santa Fe idling at the far end. Harrison jumps out of the SUV at the sight of us, and the back hatch opens automatically as he closes his driver-side door.

  Isabel takes over with the twins as I move around back to greet my brother who is shuffling around a few items in the hatch, trying to make room for my bag. “Well, if it isn’t my awesome, little sister,” he says while pulling me in for a hug.

  “I hope you’ll still be saying that at the end of this long stay,” I retort with a laugh as Harrison reaches for my suitcase and hauls it into the small space behind the third row.

  Harrison playfully narrows his eyes at me, then adds, “The length of your stay isn’t the issue—trying to find space for your suitcase is. We usually don’t use the third bench, so it’s gunna be a tight fit.” He wrestles with the suitcase, his muscles flexing as he tries to determine the best way for it to fit. “I think I got it, though,” he says, backing up and lowering the hatch. Clapping his hands together in an accomplished task-complete fashion, he says, “That’s the hardest work I’ve done all week. Now let’s get a move-on; it’s almost five o’clock, and Friday evening traffic is the worst.”

  As I squeeze into the back seat, Harrison shuts my door then slips behind the wheel. Searching around for my seatbelt, I buckle in and remove a half-eaten cracker from a crevice, dropping it in the nearby cup-holder with just my forefinger and thumb. How long has that been there? I shake my head. “So, you were able to take off work to come pick me up, then?” I target Harrison as he checks over his shoulder trying to nose his way out of the line and into the far lanes of slowly moving traffic.

  “Yeah, university students really don’t want a whole lot to do with a college pastor any time after lunch on a Friday,” Harrison says with a chuckle. “Today was especially slow, what with the Christmas holiday and all, so I was home before lunch.” He flashes a smile at his wife and reaches over the center console to hold her hand.

  “December will be a slow month, so we all should have plenty of time to spend with you,” Isabel chimes. “Harrison has booked a skiing trip with a group of college students who stay around here for the Christmas break, so I figured we would all tag along.”

  “Oh—yessss,” Branson adds to the conversation at the mention of skiing. “Only this time, I wanna snowboard like Daddy!”

  “We’ll see,” Isabel says as she shifts in her seat to catch sight of her babies. “What about you, Bailey? Are you excited to ski?”

  Bailey places the Barbie she has been silently playing with on her lap as she looks up at her mom with exceptionally wide eyes, “Uh-huh—and I want Aunt Hallie to come, too.” Aww—melt my heart, why don’t ya? Isabel seems to have read my mind, and she meets my eyes, smiling, as if to say, I told you she would warm up.

  “I’ll be there,” I reassure my niece, her round eyes swiveling in my direction, although she still avoids making full eye contact. “It’s been a while since I’ve skied though,” I add as I start to pick at my fingernail. “I don’t know if it will come back to me that easily.”

  Harrison laughs, “You’ll be fine. It’s just like riding a bike. Once you get the hang of it again, you’ll be hitting moguls at top speed.” The blinker ticks, indicating Harrison’s merge onto the highway as we follow the flow of cars leading us into Ann Arbor.

  “You guys still liking the apartment?”

  Isabel groans, steals a quick glance at Harrison, then says, “It works for now, but we will be outgrowing the space soon, I imagine. The kids can only share a room for so long, and we always like to keep a guest room available for visits like these.” She gestures at me before adding, “All that to say, it would be better if we could move into a house with four bedrooms instead of the three we have now in the apartment.”

  “But that won’t happen for a while,” Harrison interjects. He nudges his wife who likes to push her opinion, then offers her a grin in an effort to bring her back to reality.

  “Yeah,” she sighs after a moment of silence, “Ann Arbor is just so expensive, and Harrison needs to stay in the area for his work with the U of M students, so we are trying to save up. Since Harrison is raising funds for his work, it’s hard to ask people to give more when all our immediate needs are being met.” The struggle that Isabel has with Harrison’s fund-raising for his job is evidenced in her tone, but she keeps a reassuring smile etched on her face as if to acknowledge that parachurch ministry jobs don’t tend to fund a luxurious lifestyle.

  “Mom, I could get a job,” Branson suggests, his youthful voice tinged with all the enthusiasm a four-year-old can muster. I love how my nephew is eager t
o follow adult conversations while my niece remains content to quietly play with her dolls.

  “You could?” Isabel responds over Harrison’s laughter.

  “That’s my little man,” Harrison cheers. “The men can work while Princess Bailey and Queen Mama relax at home.”

  “Actually,” Isabel retorts as she stares daggers toward the driver’s side, “Queen Mama is planning to go back to teaching once the kiddos get enrolled in school.”

  “Really?” Surprise marks my tone. But in all honesty, this news shouldn’t shock me. Isabel has always been head-strong, unwilling to let gender stereotypes or traditional beliefs interfere with her life goals. She was an extraordinary elementary school teacher before she got pregnant with the twins, but she felt like transitioning out of the school system was a good idea during their move to Michigan. When the twins were born, she was able to pour her passion into the education and development of her own children, which has certainly paid off.

  Isabel smiles back at me huddled in the rear of the car, “Yeah, I’ve been missing teaching a lot lately, and we could really use the extra money. I just have such fond memories of my teaching days …” and we get lost in a conversation about her success stories and funny episodes for the remainder of the car ride.

  * * *

  “Home sweet home,” Harrison declares as he shifts the vehicle into park under the protective aluminum carport that covers the assigned parking spaces of their apartment complex. We all clamber out of the vehicle, thankful that the neighbors have yet to return home from work where they park dangerously close to the already confining lines of each space. Harrison moves to the back of the vehicle to grab my bag, I help Bailey out of her car seat and Isabel wrestles Branson out the other side. We finally meet at the bottom of the apartment complex stairs, all of us slightly out of breath.