Late to the Wedding

by Briggs, Laura

  Unless, of course, Evelyn took a chance for once in her life, and steered both their destinies onto a new path.

  *****

  The airport terminal was crowded with summer vacationers, eager to break away from their daily routines on a Friday morning. Romantic couples and suburban families destined for exotic foreign locations, theme parks, or a lazy weekend at the beach. Among them sat Evelyn, in a white sundress and strappy sandals, her strawberry hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her hands folded protectively over the handbag that contained, among other things, Jared’s letter and a one-way ticket to Alabama.

  The laptop case and single duffel bag next to her feet suggested she was only planning for an overnight stay, but Evelyn liked to seal her travel items in vacuum bags for maximum packing efficiency. Another habit Jared used to tease her about whenever he watched her pack for the travel assignments for the Quarterly. Their playful banter quickly turning to fighting, then reversing for a tender makeup moment.

  She shifted restlessly at the memory, her face flooding with a familiar warmth. Her brother had mentioned that Jared was driving to Kingsley early for wedding preparations. Which meant she would likely find him engrossed in helping select things like wine flavors and trays of hors devours. With the bride-to-be at his side, her hand clasped in his, her head resting on his shoulder.

  A surge of guilt shot through her, with the image of this woman whose world she was planning to turn upside down on a whim. But if Jared meant the words he wrote in that letter, then wasn’t she doing his fiancé a favor? Saving her from being the pawn in a marriage of convenience, a substitute for the one who got away?

  “Attention passengers,” a female airline worker’s smooth voice resonated across the speakers, “flight 216 from New York to Birmingham, Alabama has been cancelled due to severe weather activity. For more information, ticket holders may report now to desk five in the airport terminal.”

  Evelyn’s mind snapped back to the present with these words. That was her flight, the one for the $250 ticket she purchased offline. For an airport that was still four to five hours from her true destination.

  “It’s not storming,” she said, twisting in the direction of the businessman seated next to her. “There’s nothing but sunshine and clear skies.”

  “Yeah, but it’s storming in a lot of places between here and Alabama,” he explained showing her his cell phone screen, which displayed a webpage for a popular newspaper. The lead story for the weather section proclaiming: Severe storm front moves through portions of the Southern US. Unprecedented lightening damage across southern countryside, as a possible twister…

  Her brow furrowed. Forty-five minutes to take-off only to be foiled by a random act of Mother Nature.

  “But what do you mean, ‘no flights’?” she argued with the desk clerk.

  The agent smiled tolerantly. “All flights are grounded to that airport until the storm system passes. One plane already made an emergency landing due to lightening–”

  “Yes, but–but what about other airlines?” said Evelyn. Who was beginning to feel she was wasting precious time that could be spent winging her way to Jared.

  “Again, Miss, all flights are waiting for the storm to pass. In twenty-four hours, the National Weather Services says the storm will move on to the Southern coast…” Evelyn listened, patting her non-refundable ticket against the palm of her hand as she scolded herself inwardly for not purchasing her usual flight insurance package.

  Waiting for the storms to clear up seemed risky with less than a week between herself and losing Jared. How much did the Weather Channel really know about storm time tables? If this system lingered for days over the southern states–but surely there was another option, another means that would let her depart swiftly with a little help from modern technology.

  In the waiting area, she pulled her laptop and cell phone from their protective cases and began a high speed search for alternative transportation.

  “But I don’t see how thunderstorms could affect a train,” she said, switching between the different schedules for Amtrak, as she argued over the phone with booking agents. “I mean, a snowstorm or a hurricane, I can see, but why cancel for rain and lightening?”

  “It’s not the weather,” the clerk explained calmly. “Our passenger line ends over two hundred miles from your destination since we have no stations near Kingsley. You could travel by bus the rest of the way if there’s a service available…”

  “Is it possible to travel by freight the rest of the distance?” she asked. Picturing herself on a wooden crate in a box car before banishing the image.

  “Again, it’s not an option,” repeated the patient clerk. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find alternative transportation when you arrive at the station.”

  Evelyn’s fingers switched her Bing search to bus schedules in Alabama. But no routes ran anywhere near Kingsley, which was apparently far from a travel hot spot despite its Southern mansion.

  One bus line did offer a route that traveled within forty miles of the city. But it was just as adamant as other transportation modes when it came to strong winds with the possibility of funnel clouds.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” the final representative on the list informed her, “but it looks like the closest we can get you is Georgia, since we’re suspending travel in two other states until the storms pass.”

  It was impossible. Where was this freak weather incident coming from? Canceling flights, buses, everything but cars.

  A mental light bulb flickered in Evelyn’s mind. A rental car. Of course. She could drive herself to Kingsley in what, twenty-four hours? Maybe a little more if she kept to speed limits, but less than a day and a half if she went without sleep. Not as fast as traveling by plane, but it would still give her a chance to stop Jared days before his would-be nuptials.

  She rushed to the airport car rental desk, where two young male employees were using a break in the desk traffic to peruse a catalogue of sports equipment. “May I help you?” said the one with the nametag that read Toby.

  “I need a car,” she said, sliding her credit card across the counter. “Any model is fine, just whatever you have for long distance driving.”

  “Let me see what we have available,” Toby said, tearing himself away from the catalogue to open a computer program. After scrolling through the database for a minute, he offered her a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid we don’t have any automobiles eligible for renting at the moment.”

  The words seemed confusing, like the garbled speech from the speaker at a fast food drive-thru. Surely there was an impish grin lurking behind that placid stare. In a moment, the clerk would laugh raucously, slap the desk, and say “Gotcha,” or something equally crazy. Surely.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, gently nudging the credit card back in her direction. “We never turn away a customer unless there’s no other choice.”

  “But there’s half a parking lot full.” She gestured pathetically to the view outside the window, where row after row of cars were gleaming in the morning sun. The desk clerk simply gave her a blank stare, before shifting his gaze back to the computer screen. “I’m sorry, but they’re reserved.”

  “All of them?” Her eyes widened, her voice breaking on a squeaky note. “That–that must be a glitch, a mistake of some kind. Surely they can’t all be reserved.” Although, her tone lacked conviction, possibly wary from the last dozen or so failures.

  He shrugged. “It’s the convention. We always run out of cars when it opens.”

  “What convention?” Evelyn struggled to imagine any so-called convention that could possibly result in such a massive run on rental cars, but could only guess it must be somewhere on par with the Olympics.

  The two employees stared at her with bewilderment. “Um, it’s Megacom,” spoke up the second desk clerk, a pale reedy type, with eye glasses. “You know, Mega Comics–the fourth largest convention in the world?” As she stared blankly, he added, “People come from all over the worl
d to experience the ultimate in heroes and villains, meet artists, get a glimpse into the new projects…”

  Grinning, he elbowed his co-worker and said, “I’m renting a Wasp King costume this year.”

  “Dude, that’s awesome. I wanted that one, but the shops were out of it everywhere I went.”

  Evelyn’s shoulders sagged, her fingers automatically shoving the credit card back in her pocketbook. Clearly, the two clerks had already forgotten her, with their eagerness to swap juicy convention tidbits.

  So if the airport cars were all booked up, what about the other rental places around the city? The busy signal on the other end gave her clue when she dialed one of the numbers on her laptop screen, avoiding the urge to press herself against the glass window and stare at the rows of forbidden cars.

  If she waited long enough, maybe there would be a cancellation, possibly from someone who couldn’t get to New York because of the freak storm system. Or maybe she could just bribe one of the lucky reserve holders into swapping their rental vehicle for a taxi fee to their destination. The thoughts cycled through her mind as she watched a line of yellow vehicles inch forward along the airport sidewalk.

  A taxi. She moved closer to the windows, watching as passengers climbed into one cab after another. Could she persuade a driver to take her even half-way to her destination? At least somewhere out of the convention path, where tourists weren’t wrestling for transportation, and the storm path could be easily navigated? For the right price, she might even snag a driver willing to cross a few state lines and take her all the way to the dot on the map marked Kingsley.

  A few extra hours on the road–it might not beat the swiftness of flight, but it was better than being stuck in New York, thinking of all the possibilities between herself and Jared.

  “You’re crazy lady,” seemed to be the general response to her tentative request. “I could never drive all night like that, especially in a storm.”

  “No way I’m crossing state lines,” said another driver, his accent a thick Pennsylvania brogue. “Besides, with the convention on, I’ll make out better just sitting here all weekend. ‘Course it’d be another matter if you offered to match those potential profits–say, a million bucks?”

  “I think you should sit it out and wait for a plane, lady.” This from the latest driver as he pulled away from the curb with a customer en route to a local hotel.

  Evelyn closed her eyes as despair washed over her. Turning away from the taxi lane, she walked forlornly towards the automatic doors. Her glance fell on a vehicle parked nearby, a 1970s notchback Sedan she had noticed circling the lot as she spoke to the constantly moving line of cabs. Most likely a hack, or gypsy cab driver as some referred to them. Guys willing to take legal risks for a little extra cash on a busy weekend.

  The driver lowered his newspaper to glance up at her passing figure, revealing a faded button down shirt with an open collar. Dark, tousled hair and a jaw that sported days old stubble; coal black eyes that flicked in her direction with a hint of challenge. As if daring her to approach, knowing all the while she was too timid and guarded to risk it.

  Perhaps that’s what made her shoulder her carry-on more firmly and march directly to his driver’s side window.

  “Excuse me…” she faltered a little, her gaze taking in the car’s shabby interior, with its dusty dashboard and peeling leather upholstery. “By any chance…that is, are you…”

  “Operating an illegal cab service?” supplied the sardonic voice, the dark eyes studying her beneath raised brows. “Sure.” He tossed the paper into the passenger seat and offered a smile that struck her as arrogant for someone who clearly did most of their grooming with the aid of a rear view mirror.

  “I–I need a ride,” she stammered, realizing a second later how obvious that must be. “That is, can you take me to Binghamton?” she asked, selecting a city that was relatively near the Pennsylvania state line and roughly two hours into her journey. If he took her there and not a mile further, it would be at least be a start.

  He seemed to hesitate, no doubt weighing the loss of convention traffic. His gaze taking in her trim figure, expensive attire, and scant luggage with a scrutiny that made her blush. “I usually settle my fee before driving in circumstances like this,” he said, after a moment. “But I guess I can make an exception for you. Although this seems a little far for a cab ride if you ask me.”

  Evelyn shrugged, pretending to miss the insult behind the provision. “Well, I’m sort of playing this trip by ear, so I can’t really guarantee… ” She let her voice trail off, turning her head nonchalantly in the direction of the moving cab line. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she prayed that this maneuver would call his bluff. Show him she wasn’t the usual sucker tourist in need of a cheap ride.

  “We’ll work something out,” he said, taking the bait.

  Chapter Three

  “Does this thing have working A/C?” Evelyn scooted closer to the car door in an effort to avoid the giant upholstery tear that ran down the middle of the backseat. Recoiling from the ratty, stained bits of stuffing that peeked above the split. Who was this guy’s normal customer base anyway–wild dogs?

  “Of course the air works,” he said, glancing at her in the rear view mirror. “But–as I’m sure you’ve noticed–this isn’t exactly the newest model on the block. You have to give it some time, let it ease into things.”

  “We’ve been driving for almost twenty minutes,” she argued, checking the time on her cell phone. “And I don’t mean to nitpick, but this is hardly great customer service. The windows are dirty, the seats are deteriorating, and I keep getting a whiff of something that smells like old fast food wrappers.”

  He shrugged, keeping his gaze trained on the scores of cars moving in the lanes ahead. “Better than hitchhiking, which is pretty much what you were down to back at the airport. I figure any kind of transportation is worth the wait for a luxury like cool air.”

  “So meanwhile, my makeup melts and my hair gets plastered to my head.” She sighed and adjusted her sunglasses against the morning glare, which poured through an incredibly streaky windshield. “This isn’t very safe, you know,” she added, “and I mean for either of us. If I had a heatstroke, I could sue you.”

  “Roll down a window,” he suggested. “It’s not my problem you couldn’t schedule a simple trip and had to take the last available option.”

  Evelyn’s eyes widened, the already frayed thread of her temper threatening to snap. “Excuse me? This is not just some fun outing, some weekend jaunt. It’s an emergency I learned about yesterday and that was just by chance. So forgive me for not planning to be knocked off my feet.”

  Her voice shook with anger, hot tears building in her eyes from the morning’s pent-up frustrations. And the knowledge that hundreds of miles and dozens of uncertainties still separated her from that heart-stopping moment of confrontation with the love of her life.

  There was silence on the part of her driver, whose shoulders tensed visibly with this sharp reprimand. As they rolled to a stop at another crowded traffic light, he turned and gave her a slightly sheepish look, the first sign of humbleness to cross his features since she laid eyes on them.

  “Look, I…that was kind of harsh on my part,” he said. “But if you knew what I go through in this job sometimes, believe me lady–that is–what’s your name?”

  She stiffened, somewhat put off by this unwanted gesture of friendliness. “I don’t really think it’s necessary to exchange names. Let’s just treat this like any other cab drive, if you don’t mind.”

  “Really?” He turned back to the windshield, shifting into drive as the traffic around them streamed forward. “Because I have to call you something for the next couple hours. Of course, if you want me to find some other term to fill in the blanks then–”

  “It’s Evelyn Chase,” she interrupted, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. A flush invading her cheeks that wasn’t from the heat or the momentary o
utburst of emotion. Why did he insist on making this so difficult, when all she wanted was a simple, albeit somewhat illegal, business transaction?

  “Evelyn,” he repeated, irritating her with the familiar use of her first name. “Not bad. I’m Brian Stoker, by the way,” he added. “And no, before you ask, I’m not related to the famous author of Dracula, Bram Stoker. Shame, because that would definitely be cool.”

  With a faint moan, she slumped in her seat, her eyes tracing a water stain pattern on the ceiling. “Listen, Mr. Stoker–because I feel we really should be formal here–I appreciate your doing this for me. Even without the so-called luxuries you mentioned, this is certainly better than being stranded back at the airport. But could we please pretend that we’re in a real cab and there’s a plastic partition between us?”

  He jerked the steering wheel in a sharp turn that sent her sliding to the right, her sunglasses askew. “No problem,” he said, his tone brusque, slightly wounded. Apparently he expected something more than polite distance from his customers.

  Was it the constant contact with humans that made drivers long to chat? Or the long hours behind the wheel? Evelyn sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. Despite the stifling heat and less than ideal atmosphere, her body was beginning to relax from the morning’s adrenaline rush. Catching a quick cat nap would give her a clear head for dealing with the next twist in the journey–persuading her driver to cross state lines, or else finding an alternative mode of transportation. Either way, there was still a good twenty-four hours or so of road ahead of her.

  She found herself dozing to the sounds of horns and passing cars, the hum of the Sedan’s rickety engine. A brief dream invading her rest, a tucked away memory of walking with Jared in the rain. When she woke, the sun had shifted to its noontime position, the scenery changing from the stretch of endless interstate to a distant view of high-rise apartment buildings, with a river as a backdrop.