He felt the compliment make its way through his body. It was time to mention Michele. “That's what my w—”
“Attention, please.” The voice was loud and made it impossible for Connor to finish his sentence. “Because of a storm system, the airport is closing down until further notice. Repeat, there will be no landings or takeoffs until we've been given the clear from the weather service.”
Connor stopped and let his weight fall back on his heels. “Great.”
“Maybe it'll be gone in an hour or so.” Kiahna moved ahead toward the counter. “Let's ask.”
Trailing a few feet behind her, Connor thought about how long it had been since he'd seen Michele, and how he would've visited her this weekend if it weren't for the storm. But maybe Kiahna was right, maybe it would pass in an hour or so. One thing about that moment stood out even now.
How badly he had hoped she was right.
TWENTY-THREE
Connor drew himself from the memory and focused on his girls. But he couldn't shake off his thoughts.
The affair hadn't been his idea any more than it had been Kiahna's. He'd forgotten how determined he'd been to leave Honolulu, to get home and make contact with Michele. As intriguing as he found Kiahna, as much as she reminded him of a younger Michele, he had no interest in spending another hour with her, let alone a night.
No, what happened next, even at the time, had felt like some sort of orchestrated drama over which he had no control. He blinked and let the images from that hot August evening continue.
A line of passengers swelled around the counter. Connor stayed close behind Kiahna as she approached the gate agent from the side. “What are they saying about the delay?”
The agent checked her computer. “Looks like nothing leaves until tomorrow morning at the soonest.”
“Excuse me.” Connor stepped forward. “I need to get back to Los Angeles tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Are any of the flights cleared for takeoff? Mine's supposed to leave in an hour.”
The woman gave him a blank look. “We made an announcement.”
“Yes.” He gave a quiet huff. “But please … I need to get back.”
“Captain, the airport is shut down.” She pointed at the window. “Those are hurricane-force winds. Phones are out along the coast.” She turned back to the growing crowd of passengers around her counter. “You'll have to wait with everyone else.”
They found a bench not far away and sat down. Kiahna caught his eye and twisted her mouth up some. “I think it could be a few nights, actually.”
She barely had the words out of her mouth when another announcement came on. “Attention, please: The Honolulu Airport is now closed for the night. Officials will review the situation with the weather at noon tomorrow. The weather service has advised us that flights might be grounded for two to three days.”
The traffic in the concourse froze during the message, but the moment it was over, passengers scattered toward the doors and a bank of phones along both walls. Connor watched them, running and fighting for position. He wasn't sure whether to join the rush or sit back and wait for the crowd to pass. “Everyone needs a room.”
Kiahna made a little frown. “It'll be too late for most of them.”
“You think so?”
“The weather warning's been around all day. Tourists planning to leave will have changed their mind and kept their rooms. Twice as many tourists for the existing rooms? At the peak of summer?” She stared at the throng of people moving past them. “Most of them will be sleeping in an airport chair.”
He looked back at the gate counter. “I'll call my supervisor and see what they want me to do.”
Five minutes later he was back with the news. “I'm in the same boat as the rest of them. The pilots' club is full, no rooms anywhere, and no flights until tomorrow at the earliest.” He leaned back and stretched out his legs. “I better get comfortable.”
Kiahna watched him, saying nothing. Now—years later—he could guess what she might've been thinking. Probably that the two of them had known each other for less than an hour, so maybe she shouldn't make the offer. Or possibly that if she invited him, he would get the wrong idea.
Whatever had gone through her mind, she made her decision and broke the quiet between them. “You could stay at my place, Connor. My roommate would be there; you could have the couch.”
Instantly, two thoughts flashed in his head. First, he hadn't yet told her he was married. Without his ring, she may have assumed he had no one waiting at home for him. Second, if the phones were out, he'd have no way to call Michele and tell her what he was doing, where he was going.
After that, a series of thoughts bombarded him, one after another. Thoughts that screamed for him to get up and run the other direction, ones that reminded him he was a married man and spending the night on this single woman's sofa couldn't possibly be a good idea. But she had a roommate. Besides, he wasn't attracted to her; he merely needed a place to sleep. He sat up a bit and met her eyes. “Really?”
“Sure.” She slid to the edge of the bench. “It'd be safer than any place near the water.”
Safer … The word played in his mind for a moment. He was quiet. What would Michele think? Maybe he should stay at the airport, wait for an opening at the pilots' lounge, even find a few seats where he could stretch out at one of the gates.
“It's okay, Connor.” She gave a light laugh at his obvious struggle. “You're a pilot for one of the largest airlines in the industry; I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't have a roommate. We won't be alone.” She lifted her chin, and her tone held not a trace of teasing or flirtation. “A good night's sleep is important.”
He made a deal with himself. He would stay, so long as he told her about Michele. Between that truth and Kiahna's roommate, there would be no room for danger.
“Okay.” He stood, and she did the same. “I should probably call home and—”
Before he could finish his sentence, a teenage boy walking past and slurping something from an oversized cup, tripped, and fell flat out onto the concourse floor. As he did, his drink lid popped off and what felt like a quart of root beer shot from the cup and doused the front of Connor's uniform.
“Hey!” Connor stepped back, arms out, shocked by the sudden cold against his chest.
Kiahna helped the boy to his feet and in a flurry of red-faced apologies, the teenager was gone. Kiahna turned to him and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “You're a mess.”
“Thank you.” Connor made a slow exhale. With a polite smile, he nodded at Kiahna and pointed toward the rest room. “Watch my bag, will you? I'll be back.”
By the time he returned, Kiahna was laughing out loud. “Come on.” She set off toward the airport's front door. “Let's get you to my place so you can clean up.”
They were just out of the airport parking lot in her beat-up Honda Civic when Connor remembered about Michele. “Listen, I'll need to use your phone. My w—”
Kiahna's scream stopped him short.
In a heartbeat, a trash can blew into the road and an oncoming car swerved into her lane to miss it. Almost as quickly the other driver yanked his car back onto the right side of the road. Kiahna straightened out the car, breathless from the near disaster.
“Nice work.” Connor's voice shook, the adrenaline rush as swift for him as it must have been for her.
“I thought we were dead.” Kiahna drew a slow breath and pulled back onto the road. “Let's see if we can do this.”
When they arrived at her apartment, they hurried inside as soon as Kiahna had the door unlocked. “Whew!” She fell back into an oversized chair and used her fingers to brush her hair from her face. “The wind hasn't been like this since I was a little girl.”
He stood, awkward, beside his suitcase and gave her an uncertain smile. “Where's your roommate?”
“I don't know.” Kiahna glanced at the kitchen and toward the hallway. “Lara?” Her voice hung in the air, but no one responded.
Kiahna took a few steps into the apartment. “Lara, I'm home.”
“Maybe she's sleeping.” Connor hoped so. He couldn't ask Kiahna to go back out in this weather. But he'd call a cab before he'd stay the night with just the two of them.
“She should've been home hours ago.” Kiahna went to a narrow table that lined the hallway a few steps away. Her answering machine was blinking, and she pushed a button. A voice came through the speaker.
“Hey, this is Lara, I'm stuck at work.” Fear colored the caller's voice. “The road's blocked by trees. It could be a few days before they clear it away, so a bunch of us are staying at the house of one of the clerks here.”
Kiahna clicked a button and turned off the machine. Then she lifted her shoulders twice and looked at him. “Now what?”
Connor fell against the door. “Look, Kiahna, if she's gone for the night I should call a cab.”
She dropped in the nearest chair and frowned. “Sorry about this. I had no idea …”
“I know.” Connor opened a phone book beside the phone and flipped to the taxi section. “I'll have them take me back to the airport. The floor of the pilots' lounge will work.”
He lifted the receiver and hit the on button. But instead of a dial tone, it was dead. “Hmmm.” He tapped on the button four times and tried again. Still dead. “Are the phones out?”
“They were out near the coast.” She stood, made her way toward him, and held the receiver to her ear. She repeated the same moves Connor had made, tapping the button several times. But each time she held the receiver up she only shook her head. “Not a spark of life.”
Connor took a step backwards and considered his options. He was stuck there, like it or not, about to spend the night alone with a flight attendant he'd only just met. Suddenly he couldn't draw another breath without telling her the truth. “Listen, Kiahna, I tried to tell you before. I'm married.”
There. He'd said it.
Her smile was quick and uncomplicated. “That's fine. You're safe; I told you that. Besides, I figured you must be married; most pilots are.” She gave him a curious look. “I could go stay with my neighbor if it'd make you more comfortable.”
Suddenly he felt foolish for worrying. “No, that's okay.” Neither of them had ulterior motives. She was still grieving the loss of her mother, alone in the worst storm to hit the islands in decades. Of course he could stay. He'd take the couch and make sure she was safe for the night. Then in the morning the phones would be back up, and he'd call for a cab.
The ominous clouds outside brought an early nightfall, and Kiahna put together a chicken salad and warm bread for dinner. They talked about their faith and the dreams they'd had as kids. Halfway through the meal, she narrowed her eyes and said something that made his heart skip a beat.
“How long have you and your wife lived in LA?”
“Actually …” He let his eyes fall to his plate. “She lives in Orlando. It works out better that way. At least for now.”
“Oh …” Her expression changed, but not enough for Connor to comment on it. Again her mannerisms, the shine in her eyes reminded him of Michele. But the realization only made him miss his wife, the way she'd been before her depression. Either way, he felt nothing but kindness for the stranger across from him. And the certainty of that convinced him that Michele would understand his predicament. What else could he do?
They finished dinner and moved into her tiny living room for a movie. Connor took the seat farthest from her and outside the storm intensified. Halfway through the show, the electricity went out.
“Okay.” Kiahna didn't sound frightened. “Now if I can remember where I put the flashlight.”
“We should have thought of that earlier.” He wondered if she could hear his pounding heart from across the room. “Want help?”
“No, stay there. I think it's in the cupboard by the refrigerator.”
He heard her grope her way from the living room into the kitchen, and after a few seconds of shuffling sounds, there was a click, and light sprayed from the place where she was. “Found it.”
He gripped the arms of his chair. “What time is it?”
She appeared in the doorway and returned to the spot where she'd been sitting. As she did, she shone the light at her wrist. “Nine-fifteen.”
“No wonder I'm not tired.” His words felt awkward on his tongue. Why not turn in early? Send Kiahna off to her room and crash on the couch? Before he had time to process that, she interrupted his thoughts.
“I know.” She shone the light toward a cabinet at the other end of the room. “Want to play poker?”
“Poker?” He couldn't contain a chuckle. “What would your God-fearing parents say about that?”
“Dad loved a good game of poker.” She headed toward a small lamp stand with a set of drawers at the base. “He used to say cards were good for the mind. But no gambling, never that.” She cast him a shadowy smile over her shoulder. “He taught me to play when I was six.”
“All right, then.” Connor chuckled again. “Where should we play?”
She grabbed a deck of cards and a box of poker chips from the cabinet, and tossed them on the small coffee table in front of her sofa. “This works for me.” She dropped to the floor cross-legged. “You can have the sofa.”
After a while, she owned all the chips, and he tossed his cards on the table. “Okay, you got me. Your daddy taught you good.” He grinned at her, struck by the picture she made sitting across from him, her hair still windblown, innocence shining in her eyes.
What he wouldn't give to have Michele there, looking at him like that right now.
Her smile faded. “Yes. He was a good teacher and … and a good friend.” She met his eyes and the sadness in her face lifted. “Tired yet?”
“Not really.”
She bit her lip and looked around the room. A gust of wind howled outside and they heard a crash of something blowing across the road. “Wicked storm.”
“I know.” Connor stared at the window. Mature trees lined the apartment perimeter; he hoped the winds didn't get strong enough to topple them.
“Hey. Wanna see my scrapbook? I put it together after my parents died … sort of a walk through my childhood.”
“Think that'll put me to sleep, huh?” It was fun to tease her.
“Well”—she grinned at him—“if it does, then I guess that's a good thing. Should I get it?”
Don't do it, Evans … tell her good night. Flee … flee as fast as you can.
Connor immediately recognized the voice echoing on the inside of his heart. I hear you, God … I've got it under control. Besides, I'm not interested in her.
She was waiting for an answer. “Sure. I'd love to see it.”
They sat side by side looking at the book. Toward the end, she turned to him and tapped the open page. “That's it.”
He glanced down and saw that a few pages remained. “What's on those last ones?”
She hesitated, and for the first time since he'd run into her at the restaurant, a vulnerable look flashed in her eyes. “A few poems I wrote.”
He held her eyes and felt something begin to stir in his gut. “Show me.”
Her eyes fell to the book, and after a few seconds she looked at him again. “Okay.” She slid the book from her lap to his, and her hand grazed his leg with the slightest sensation. “No one else has ever seen them.”
The poems were beautiful, deep and heartfelt, and Connor felt privileged that she was trusting him with a glimpse of her soul. As he read them, he ached for how much she still missed these two people who had been her parents. When he finished, he looked up and saw tears in her eyes.
Slowly, he shut the book and placed it on the coffee table. “Kiahna, you're a gifted writer. Those poems … they're beautiful.” He yawned then. “Well, I think we both need some sleep.”
“You're right.”
They said good night, and she left for her bedroom. He was almost asleep on the couch a half hour later when he heard
her scream. Even in the darkness, he was at her side in an instant. Glass glinted in the moonlight, covering the floor on the window side of the bed. He walked around it, grabbed the flashlight from her nightstand, and clicked it on.
“Something hit me.” Kiahna was huddled on her bed in a nightshirt, her hand pressed to her head.
“Let me see.” Connor held the light near her forehead and caught his breath. A gash ran from the end of her eyebrow toward her temple. Already a knot was swelling near the wound. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“Yes.” She made a soft moaning sound. “I feel sick, Connor.”
He shone the flashlight on the floor and saw what had happened. A tree branch had crashed through the window near her bed and hit her head. If she was nauseous she might have a concussion, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Let's get out of here.”
She struggled to her feet, and he helped her into the living room and onto the couch. Once she was seated, he put a pillow beside her and covered her bare legs with a blanket. “Don't lie down yet. Where's the kit?”
“In the bathroom.” Her words were slow and deliberate. “Under the sink.”
Once more he aimed the light at her head. Blood was running down the side of her face. “Keep your hand against your head until I come back.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She swayed some.
“Let's see if the phones are back up.” He grabbed a phone from a nearby nightstand and checked for a dial tone. None. He whisked his cell phone from his pocket, but the message in the window still read No service.
A sense of urgency filled him. He had to work fast. If she was in trouble, he'd take her in the Honda and they'd drive until he found help. He found his way to the bathroom, grabbed the kit, and soaked a washcloth. “Don't fall asleep, Kiahna,” he called to her as he headed back to her side.
“Mmmm.”
He cleaned the blood, dried the area around the gash, and used seven small bandages to pull the edges together. One larger bandage went over the smaller ones, and in fifteen minutes the bleeding had stopped.
Oceans Apart (Kingsbury, Karen) Page 20