Her heart raced at the thought and she felt a wave of panic wash over her. They would always be hunting, she had to remember that.
But she calmed herself, forcing deep breaths. She’d successfully made it out of O’Hare, and to the best of her knowledge, no one knew where she was. She wanted to keep it that way.
She glanced sideways as casually as she could and studied the guy sitting next to her. He had messy, jet-black hair that was a little too long, and he was wearing dark blue jeans and a white collared shirt. He had on a sports coat with patches on the elbows—a style that Mae thought was long gone, but was alive and well in the seat next to her.
He was skinny, but not so skinny that he looked like a starving bean pole. From the looks of him, even sitting down, he seemed to be tall. He was broad in the shoulders and his face had a hard, chiseled quality that was very alluring. Yet, his grey eyes, even as they scanned over the magazine, had a coldness that she didn’t like. Or maybe it wasn't coldness, but apathy. Either way, she'd seen too many eyes like that in her life, especially in recent years, and with the coldness always came something bad. He crossed his legs and she saw that he was wearing dark leather boating shoes and white socks.
“You like what you see?” he asked, lowering the magazine to his lap.
“Um.” She looked away, hiding her blush. It had been a long time since she’d talked to a guy that didn't want her dead, much less one who was definitely attractive.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m used to it.”
It took her a moment to register what he’d said, and when it clicked, she turned with an incredulous scowl on her face.
“Excuse me?” She couldn’t help herself. The guy just sat there with a smug smile. She stared at him a moment and then shook her head in disgust, wanting to slug him. "Used to what?"
"To girls checking me out."
He grinned a lopsided smile and she almost melted inside. He was attractive, for sure, but he knew it and that self-assured confidence made her squirm.
“You’re a creep,” she said, almost choking on the words. It was like looking at a beautiful painting and telling the artist that it was a piece of garbage.
The guy just smiled as if he hadn’t heard what she’d said.
“And I wasn’t checking you out.”
“Hey,” he said, spreading his arms in mock sincerity, “I’m just saying that I’m okay with that. I'm okay with being checked out. In other words, and just so you’re comfortable with it, feel free to check me out.”
She made a face and rolled her eyes, looking outside the window at the dark clouds in the night sky. Her face burned.
“You’ve got white socks on, that’s all I was looking at. Your socks don’t go with your shoes, but of course you would know that.”
She tried to make her voice as scathing as possible, but it came out more like a whine. She blushed further and bit her upper lip. White socks? What was she thinking?
“I just happen to like white socks—or, rather, they were the only pair of socks on sale in the hotel marketplace.”
He thought for a moment, but Mae could tell the guy was just making fun of her. He said, “I guess I lost my other socks—the ones you would have approved of and liked. Of course, I may not have packed the socks you would have approved of, or maybe I just took them off somewhere and didn’t remember to put them back on. Bowling alley, maybe, or an ice skating rink. You know, I never like to wear my own socks with those rented shoes, just too grimy and icky—the ick factor is too much for me, so come to think of it, I probably didn’t take them off at the bowling alley or ice skating rink. But hey, at least there I would have had socks that you approve of.”
The guy just went on and on, and Mae was more annoyed with every word that spilled from his mouth.
"Listen, I don't care about your socks, or you, or anything you have to say. Please, just leave me alone."
"Oh. Okay," he said. "Ouch."
The plane dipped through the clouds, and twinkling lights lined the ground below. She was almost home. Mae could almost taste the familiar air and felt a burst of excitement. It’d been nearly ten years since she’d left those twinkling lights behind and she’d thought about them ever since. She’d been just a girl then, when she’d sat at the window and stared at the lights as they climbed higher and higher into the sky and away from everything she’d known.
Everyone she’d known. For a second, she wondered if she’d made the wrong decision in coming back, but it was probably the last place they would look for her. And they would be looking, just as sure as day.
She was born and raised in a small town named Great Barrington in western Massachusetts. It was nestled along the Housatonic River with the Berkshire Mountains rising to the east. Snow would blanket the ground there this time of year, and the thought of walking down Main Street while it snowed and the yellow street lights glowed in the cold sent a tickle of excitement down her back. Mae could almost smell the clean, cool winter, spiced with fireplace smoke, and the tickle grew. It had been so many years and she could hardly wait. She was going home, and the excitement was enough to drive away the feelings of terror that had been so prevalent in her life these last few hours—as well as the onset of irritation that’d come in the last few minutes.
“So if you weren’t checking me out, then what?” he interrupted her thoughts.
“Are you serious?” Mae couldn’t believe the nerve of this guy. She no longer felt even the slightest bit embarrassed.
“Flight attendants, please prepare for landing,” The pilot said over the PA system.
"Listen, I don't want to start a whole thing." He raised his hands as if being eminently reasonable. She rolled her eyes and looked out the window. The wings of the airplane were cutting through clouds in the dark sky, like a knife through cotton batting.
"You need to fasten your seatbelt," he said.
"I wasn't checking you out," she said too quickly, before realizing what he'd said. The guy grinned, showing perfectly straight and stainless teeth.
"You're the one talking about it, and that is just a-okay."
"You just need to get over yourself," Mae shot back, taking the ends of her seatbelt and slamming them together. The buckles didn't click the first time, so she tried it again with no success.
"I think you just slide the two ends together …" He demonstrated with his seatbelt, that stupid grin still plastered on his face.
"Just shut up," Mae said in a harsh whisper, finally snapping the belt into place and shifting her body away from him. She leaned against the window and sighed, her breath misting the window before quickly fading. Her cheeks burned, and she hated sitting next to this guy.
"Leave me alone, please."
He raised his hands again, exasperated, and flipped open his magazine to the article he'd been reading. Mae felt the tug on her insides as the plane descended toward the runway, hitting a few bumps of weather as it dropped from the sky. Outside the window, the snowflakes whipped by as little white streaks. The plane jostled to one side, and Mae gripped the armrest.
“You scared?” the guy asked, and then smiled politely—like a waiter presenting her with a crusty crème brulee after a lobster dinner. He stuck out his hand and she noticed that his nails were almost perfectly trimmed and that his shirt had French cuffs with silver cuff links.
“Listen, I’m sorry that we got off on the wrong foot here—and let’s just admit that the wrong foot was mistakenly clothed in a white sock that didn’t match.” He grinned.
“My name is Ryan Coffee,” he said. “Coffee, like the drink. You know, the lifeblood of America, America runs on Dunkin,’ the drill. To be honest, I hate the stuff, but sometimes you’ve got to just live up to your name, right? I like mine with loads of cream and sweetener, like the peppermint mocha. Tastes like Christmas in a cup.”
She hesitated a moment, and then took his hand. The mention of coffee brought back thoughts of the poor woman in the coffee shop at the airport and the
warm cup of wasted Americano. Not wasted, per se, but she longed for another sip.
Several seconds passed before she realized that he was waiting expectantly for her to respond, their hands still pumping in a handshake that had awkwardly gone on too long.
“I like your name, it reminds me of coffee.” Her voice trailed off as she realized just how stupid it sounded. She laughed, and pulled her hand away, but the movement was somehow just as awkward as the never-ending handshake. He kept his hand in the air for a few seconds, his cuff links glinting in the dim light of the cabin. They seemed to have what looked like tiny rabbits engraved in the side. The closer she looked, the more she saw of the intricate design. Tiny, winged dragons offset the rabbits in a pattern, bursts of flame or smoke coming from their snouts.
He saw her looking, and he rolled his eyes, pulling the cuffs of his jacket over the links.
“Yeah, those,” he said and pulled his hands away. He placed his hands in his lap, and then fidgeted, folding his arms and then unfolding them.
“They’re really nice,” Mae said. "A lot of detail for something so small."
She couldn’t be sure, but his cheeks were slightly flushed. He sighed and shook his head at the same time, as if she was the most exasperating thing on the planet.
“My dad gave them to me,” he said. “We had this big hoop-la in Chicago, him I mean, and he wanted me there.”
Mae touched her old Timex watch without realizing it. Her thoughts drifted back to the day she’d turned twelve, to the red velvet sheet cake that her mom had picked up from the only bakery in town. She’d been very happy to get the watch, and so proud to wear it around school. As a kid, she'd felt very sophisticated with that watch, but now, she felt foolish.
“What does your dad do?” Mae said when she realized that he was waiting for her to say something.
"For work?"
"Yeah."
“Oh …” Ryan exhaled. “I don’t know. He’s an investor, you know, one of those hedge-fund guys who preys on the weak-minded folks of America who like to use their credit cards a little too much. Essentially, he buys and sells debt, leverages other people's mistakes and regrets, and makes a boatload.”
"Is that what you do?"
"No." He laughed. "No, I didn't follow in Pop's footsteps, much to his dismay."
"So what do you do?"
He smiled a little devilishly.
"I like to drive cars."
"Like race cars?"
"Kind of," he said, and smiled that smile again.
“Oh, cool,” Mae said.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Ryan took a sip from a bottle of water he had shoved into the back seat pocket, and pulled out a folded package of peanuts that the flight crew had apparently handed out earlier. He palmed a few honey-roasted nuts and slid them into his mouth. Mae watched his jaw move, admiring his chiseled features with a day's worth of stubble on his cheek.
“And you?” he asked when he’d swallowed the nuts.
“Oh.” She stared at her fingernails, still dirty from her little jaunt in the woods.
“My dad’s dead," she blurted.
Ryan paused, taken back by her quick response.
“I was asking your name,” he said, “but I’m sorry to hear that about your dad.”
“I’m Mae.”
“Mae.” He smiled and nodded approvingly. “Just Mae?”
“Mae Edwards, no middle name or anything,” she said.
“Okay. Like April showers bringing May flowers, eh?”
Mae felt a chill as he said that, remembering Morales. She grinned nervously and tried to appear normal, even though she was screaming underneath the calm.
The plane suddenly leveled out and then started climbing back into the sky. Both Mae and Ryan felt the change in direction and looked toward the front of the plane, where everything seemed normal. Mae felt a twinge of panic returning and prayed that the plane would land safely, and that she could get away from the airport. She knew that they had probably figured out that she’d left on an airplane and were now sending their feelers out to the various planes that had taken off in the last few hours. She didn’t know the full extent of power that they had, but thus far, they’d been quite resourceful in tracking her down.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” a voice said over the plane’s PA system. “This is your captain speaking. We will have a short delay in the air—should last only a few minutes, but the runways are a little overcrowded at the moment. Again, should only be a few minutes, and we’ll have you safely on the ground in no time.”
“You see, you’re not the most annoying thing that has happened to me on this flight,” Ryan said, nodding toward the cockpit. “Apparently we have a bunch of incompetents who can’t fly this plane, or a bunch of dumb nuts that can't organize a landing pattern—so get ready, we might just see this big bird burst into flames when it touches down, rolling end over end, and crushing everyone inside of it.”
“Oh!” an older woman said from across the aisle. She was dressed in an extremely loud purple pant suit with a matching purple and gold giraffe pinned to the lapel of her jacket. Her white hair was styled into loose curls that stuck every which-way out of her scalp. Her makeup was applied in thick gobs, reddish-purple blush and bold crimson lipstick. She glared at Ryan over a set of thick-framed reading glasses with a gaze that would melt ice.
“Ma’am.” Ryan bowed his head ever so slightly, not even close to being phased. The tilt of his head reminded Mae of a how a cowboy would greet an elderly lady sitting on a stool outside the market in an old-west mining town. He was trying to be funny, probably for Mae’s benefit, but she saw that same, self-assured smugness in his eyes.
When he turned back to Mae, he continued, “as I was saying, the plane, well, if they can even get it to the runway without the wings being ripped off the body—“
“I think we got the idea,” Mae said quickly. The old lady across the aisle looked pale, and either frightened or angry—Mae couldn’t tell which. Her body was trembling, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line. The old lady seemed ready to jump up and start throwing punches. The last thing Mae needed right then, was more attention drawn to her. She watched the steward and stewardess at the front of the plane unbuckle their seatbelts and stand. They looked confused, as if they didn’t know how to handle the delay. The steward pulled a telephone handset from a little compartment near a storage bin and spoke into the mouthpiece. Mae watched his lips, but lip-reading was a skill in which she was drastically underdeveloped.
“I wonder what’s going on,” she said, more to herself. Ryan looked up from his magazine and shrugged.
“Probably they tagged some terrorist and want to make sure they ID the freak before they bag ‘em. But then again, the longer we’re in the air, the more time the terrorist freak has to praise his god and ignite his skivvies.”
A man dressed in a blue suit stood up from somewhere behind her and approached the front of the plane. He pulled something Mae couldn’t see from the front pocket of his jacket and showed it to the steward, who hung up the telephone receiver and looked with rapt attention at him.
“And there’s an air marshal,” Ryan whispered, leaning close enough to Mae that she could smell his cologne. “Probably just letting them know he’s around and available if said skivvies terrorist drops his pants."
Sure enough, the marshal spoke to the flight crew for a moment before hitching up his pants like the sheriff who had just rolled into town, and returning to his seat. He glanced at Mae, and she quickly looked away, praying that the glance had been random.
“You really think there is something going on?”
“Yeah, I’m sure they got someone here who is tickling their fancy,” Ryan said, his voice low as he watched the whole exchange and made no effort to hide it.
Mae felt sick to her stomach. “Why wouldn’t they just land it?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan said. “Maybe they’re taking a utilitarian
approach to the whole terrorist thing until they’re sure that whatever … device … got smuggled on the plane isn’t going to blow up the whole freakin’ airport.”
Mae opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. She touched her backpack with her foot, knowing the iPod was there.
The door to the cockpit opened and a man stepped out. Mae couldn’t tell if it was the captain or co-pilot, but she didn’t think it mattered. He had a piece of paper in his hand, which he kept turned away from the passengers. The man called the stewardess and steward over to him, and they stood shoulder to shoulder with him as he pointed at the page.
The crew studied the page and then looked up at the passengers, scanning the faces of those that they could see from the front of the plane. Mae looked around to see if any of the other passengers were watching. Most were either staring dumbly into their laps or out the windows, or they were asleep, their heads leaning back against the grimy headrests. The few people that were awake glanced towards the front casually but didn't notice the flight crew staring back at them.
Mae sank lower in her seat and watched from the space between the two seats in front of her. What could they possibly have? Her name, social security number, maybe a picture. Her hunters would not release much information on her, for fear of inciting a panic. No, they would need to move within their own circles, to keep the information about her as close to the chest as possible.
She sat back up in her seat, pulled the in flight magazine from the seat pocket in front of her and began to flip the pages. Over the top of the magazine, she studied the flight crew. The steward studied the page, then looked up at her. Their eyes met for a moment before she turned away.
Mae looked at the magazine, but listened intently instead of reading. Over the whirr of the engines, she could make out the flight crew talking, but only heard snippets of their conversation.
"Not … draw attention … panic …"
"Passports …" the steward said, and then folded the piece of paper. He nodded at the two women, and both left the front cabin. Mae turned slightly and saw one of the women walk to the rear of the cabin and started talking to the passengers. The other stewardess started with the front rows of the main cabin, and people reached into their bags, producing their passports and boarding passes. The stewardess would look over the ID and ticket, and then smile warmly as if she was sorry to have bothered the passenger.
The Snow Swept Trilogy Page 17