Sierra took a few steps back and nonchalantly looked at her ticket. She was on the same flights.
“I arrive in Portland at 8:24 p.m. Got it? Great! Okay, I’ll see you then. Thanks a lot. ‘Bye!” He pulled the phone away from his ear and held it out to Sierra. “Just enough.” She could hear the dial tone. “I owe you. How much did you give me?”
“I have no idea,” Sierra admitted. As she spoke, she took a good look at “Paul” for the first time. He had thick, dark brown hair that had a natural wave at the top of his broad forehead. He wore a tan leather jacket and attached to his backpack was an Indiana-Jones style hat.
Sierra was surprised to find herself thinking, Fight for this man.
“I’ll pay you back in dollars,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
“Sorry,” said a man next to Sierra with a British accent. “Are you waiting for that phone?”
“Yes, I am.” Sierra stepped forward and took the phone from Paul and began to place a collect call to her parents. Paul stood next to her, still scrounging for the money to pay her back. He acted as if they were together. Sierra held the receiver in place with her shoulder. She could smell a strong, earthy cologne. She guessed it to be Paul’s.
Sierra’s dad answered the phone, and she spoke in low tones, leaning into the phone, fully aware this guy stood only feet away, waiting for her. She assured her dad that everything was fine and on schedule. He promised to be at the gate to meet her when she deplaned. “I love you, too,” Sierra said softly and then hung up.
She turned around and met Paul’s eyes. They were gray. No, they were blue. No, they looked gray. And very clear, like water. “I only have two dollars on me,” he said. “Do you mind following me over to the money exchange booth? I can cash a traveler’s check and pay you back. Is that okay? Are you in a hurry?”
“All right,” Sierra said, shrugging her shoulders. “I’ll follow you.”
“My name’s Paul,” he said. “I apologize for presuming on you. You were very kind to help me out. Thanks.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
They stood in line at the money exchange booth. Sierra felt Paul staring at her. When she couldn’t stand the sensation any longer, she turned and looked at him. He didn’t turn away or act embarrassed.
“You don’t wear any makeup, do you?” Paul noted.
Now Sierra felt really odd. This guy was blunt. That was her usual approach, and it had gotten her in trouble more than once. “No, do you?” she countered playfully.
Paul looked shocked at first and then a delighted smile inched onto his face. “Not that you need to or anything.”
Sierra leaned a bit closer to him, as if scrutinizing his complexion right back. “And neither do you,” she said flatly.
This time Paul laughed.
They were up to the window now, and Sierra stood to the side as he pulled out his passport and wrote out a traveler’s check. The clerk counted the money back to him and slid it on the metal tray under the glass window.
“Here you go,” Paul said, stepping away from the window and handing Sierra a twenty-dollar bill.
“I don’t have change for a twenty.”
“All I have is twenties,” he said. “You’ll have to take it.”
“But then I’ll owe you,” Sierra said.
“Don’t worry about it.” He looked at his watch. “Hey, thanks again. I have a plane to catch.”
“Me too,” Sierra said as he dashed away, his backpack flung over his shoulder.
Sierra began to hike to her flight gate, a few yards behind Paul. She thought about calling out to him and walking with him since she knew they were on the same flight. But something held her back, which was not typical of her. Usually she could approach anyone at any time.
She watched him as she waited to check in at the ticket counter. Paul was ahead of her in line, with three rather large people in between them. Paul never turned around. He left the waiting area as soon as he checked in and returned only when they called the flight. Sierra was standing by the window and watched him get in line to board the plane.
This is ridiculous! What am I doing watching this guy?
Sierra entered the single-file line of passengers with her ticket in hand and backpack over her shoulder. She watched the well-worn hat looped over the top of Paul’s leather backpack as he shuffled through the line. About eight people were between them this time.
A crazy thought danced through her imagination. What if our seats are next to each other?
Sierra smiled at the flight attendant and made her way to the rear of the plane. She could still see Paul’s bobbing hat down the aisle in front of her. It was a good sign; he hadn’t reached his seat yet. Only a few more and he would be at her row. Suddenly Paul stopped. Sierra held her breath.
five
SIERRA WATCHED AS PAUL slung his backpack off his shoulder and ducked his head beneath the overhead compartment. He hadn’t seemed so tall at the phones in the terminal but now he seemed not only tall but also broad-shouldered. Of course, since Sierra was five foot five and a half most guys did seem tall to her. She checked her seat number again.
Rats! I’m three rows behind him. Will he notice me when I walk by?
Sierra slowly shuffled past him. Paul had his head down, stuffing his backpack under the seat in front of him. She lingered just a minute, wondering if she should say something. He straightened up but kept his eyes lowered as he adjusted his seat belt.
Aware of the line of people behind her, Sierra made her way to her row and slid next to the window. An older gentleman sat in the aisle seat.
Why couldn’t this have been Paul’s place? she thought, looking at the vacant middle seat between her and the older man. Then again, he didn’t have anyone next to him yet. Maybe I should think of an excuse to go up and casually sit by him, as if I think that spot is mine. No, too cheesy. Maybe I should slip out and search for a pillow or magazine or something to see if he notices me when I walk past. Let him make the first move. I’ll stand there, chatting nonchalantly with him, then the stewardess will come by and tell me to take my seat. I’ll have to sit down right then and there! What am I thinking? This is ridiculous.
“Good day to you,” said the man in the aisle seat. He was bald with little round glasses. His hands were contentedly folded across his round middle, and his short legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He looked awfully comfortable, and Sierra couldn’t bear to ask him if she could slide past him to parade down the aisle. She returned his greeting and then gazed out the window.
A luggage tram pulled up next to the plane, and two men began to toss bags onto a conveyor belt that inched its way up into the plane’s belly. Sierra thought she would prefer to ride in the cargo with the luggage than spend the next fifteen hours peering over three rows of seats to spy on the back of Paul’s head.
Reaching for a magazine in her seat pocket in front of her, Sierra forced herself to think about something else. She flipped through the pages, pretending to scan the articles. Her mind felt mushy. She had no idea what time it was or how much longer it would be before the plane took off.
The flight attendant made her way down the aisle, checking seat belts and offering pillows and blankets. Sierra accepted both. Suddenly she felt sleepy. A nap before dinner would do her good. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and balanced the pillow behind her neck.
Closing her eyes, she tried to sort out all the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of the past few weeks. This was the first time she had been “alone” for any significant time the entire trip. Maybe it was good she wasn’t trying to carry on a conversation with Paul.
The plane taxied down the runway and took off. Sierra looked out her window. In less than a minute the nose of the plane pierced the thick blanket of fog that hung over Heathrow Airport, and all Sierra could see was a shroud of gray. She tried to catch a glimpse of Paul ahead of her. Was he looking out the window too? Was he reading? Sleeping? She re
clined her seat, closed her eyes, and went back to categorizing and filing the events of her trip.
Sierra felt herself begin to doze off. Then, just for good measure, she moved her pillow over to the window and leaned against it with her face open to the aisle. Actually, she was more comfortable with the pillow behind her head and her chin down. But her hair fell across the side of her face in that position. This way, if Paul did happen to walk by, he would certainly notice her. She only hoped she wouldn’t start drooling while she slept.
When Sierra next opened her eyes, the flight attendant was offering her a dinner tray. She lowered her tray table, adjusted herself in her seat, and tried to shake awake enough to eat. A movie followed that Sierra tried to watch, but she fell asleep again, dozing uncomfortably off and on for many hours.
At one point, she shifted in her seat and noticed the man in the aisle seat was gone. She decided to use the opportunity to go to the restroom at the rear of the plane. Several people stood back there in cramped quarters, waiting for one of the four restroom doors to open. Sierra stood with them, yawning and glancing around.
Paul was standing only six feet away by the small serving area, asking the stewardess for something to drink. Once again, Sierra was paralyzed. Paul wasn’t looking at her. He seemed oblivious to her existence. Why should she be so interested in him? Thanking the stewardess, Paul accepted the beverage and started to return to his seat. Suddenly he turned and looked back over his shoulder in Sierra’s direction.
This was the encounter she had been waiting for. And what did she do? She immediately turned her head away and studied the silver “occupied” sign on the bathroom door in front of her.
What a dork I am! Did he notice me? Did he know I was here, and was he looking back to see if I had recognized him? I guess I’ll never know, will I?
Sierra chanced a peek over her shoulder through a wild mass of her unruly curls. He was gone. Now she had to make those silly cat-and-mouse decisions all over again. Should she return to her seat by walking the long way around the plane so she could saunter past his seat and they might make eye contact?
She entered the tiny restroom and took a look in the mirror. “Night of the Flying Zombies,” she muttered to herself. Her eyes were puffy, and across her right cheek was a deep crease from the pillow. At least she didn’t have to be concerned with mascara smears.
Sierra thought back on Stephen’s comments to her and Katie a few days ago. He had said she was beautiful. Gorgeous. Her dad told her that all the time. But no real guy had ever said anything like that to her. Stephen didn’t count because such a compliment would only matter if it came from an “eligible” guy, a guy whose opinion really mattered to her.
“So why do I think Paul is that kind of guy? Why am I obsessed with him? This is getting out of control.”
Sierra finished in the bathroom and returned to her seat by the most direct route, avoiding Paul. She crawled back under her blanket and silently prayed about her bothersome obsession. She didn’t know if her unbridled thoughts about Paul were wrong or if they were normal. In either case, she knew it would be good to pray and surrender the whole thing to Christ. She remembered the verse she had read in Psalms about trusting Him at all times and pouring out her heart to Him.
It worked. She felt more peace about Paul after praying. Only now all she could think about was arriving in Portland in a few hours and everything being brand new for her. She went right back to praying and pouring out her heart.
The plane landed on time in San Francisco. Sierra knew she had to walk from the international terminal over to another section where a much smaller plane would take her to Portland exactly forty-two minutes after this flight landed. It didn’t leave much time for customs.
Fortunately, Sierra hadn’t bought many souvenirs and had marked on her form that she had nothing to declare. She was directed to a fast-moving line. Paul, she noticed, wasn’t in her line. She was tempted to turn around and scan the crowd behind her but resisted the urge. It was more important that she get her passport cleared and find her way to the other end of the terminal to catch her next flight.
She made it with a few minutes to spare. Breathing hard and feeling the perspiration beads form on her forehead, Sierra settled into her seat and gazed out the plane’s window.
“Pardon me,” a deep voice said. “I think you’re in my seat.”
She turned to look into the surprised blue-gray eyes of Paul. “It’s you! How did you get here?” He said it sincerely enough that Sierra believed he really didn’t know she had been on the flight from London.
“I swam,” Sierra said with a smile, wiping away the perspiration off her forehead and flipping her hair back over her shoulders.
Paul slid into the middle seat next to her, holding his backpack and hat on his lap. “Were we just on the same fight?”
She felt like saying, “Duh!” but instead she said, “As a matter of fact, we were.”
“I wish I’d known,” Paul said. He rose to put his gear in the overhead compartment and asked, “Do you want me to put anything up here for you?”
“No thanks,” Sierra answered. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Nearly sixteen hours ago in England she had hoped to sit next to Paul, then she had given up, and now here she and Paul were, and it all seemed so natural. “I didn’t realize I was in the wrong seat,” she said as he ducked to sit down. “Do you want the window seat?”
“No, that’s fine. You deserve it. I feel as if I still owe you.”
“You don’t,” Sierra said. “If anything, I owe you.” She bent over, unzipped the outside pocket on her backpack, and pulled out a small white sack.
Once again she felt Paul staring at her. She smelled his aftershave, and it made her think of Christmas back in Pineville. This time she didn’t try to catch him staring. Since this had developed into a most interesting turn of events, she decided to play it for all it was worth. Let him stare. What did he see? Was he deciding she was worth pursuing?
Even as she entertained these thoughts, Sierra felt guilty. What a flirting game! She knew nothing about this guy except his name was Paul, he was going to Portland, and he was gutsy enough to beg money from a stranger but honorable enough to pay it back with interest.
Now it was her turn to pay back with interest. “I still don’t have any change,” she said, holding out the sack and smiling at him. “But will you take this? It’s chocolates from Finland.”
Paul raised an eyebrow and peered at the crumpled bag. “Chocolate?”
“Here,” Sierra offered. “Consider it change for your twenty.”
Paul accepted the gift and reached into the sack. He took out one of the small cubes of chocolate and popped it in his mouth. “Oh yeah,” he said, closing his eyes. “Now this is chocolate! Where did you say it was from?”
“Finland.”
“Is that where you’ve been?”
“No, I was in England and then in Ireland. One of the other girls from our group was from Finland, and she gave some to everyone the last day of our missions outreach.”
Paul stopped sucking on the chocolate and looked closer at Sierra. “You weren’t at Carnforth Hall, were you?”
“Yes, I was!”
“I don’t believe it!” He leaned back his head and closed his eyes as if the news distressed him. Sierra peered closer to him, searching for a clue as to why that bothered him.
“Have you been there?” she ventured.
Paul looked at her, a normal expression returning to his face. “More times than I can count. My grandfather bought Carnforth Hall right after World War II. He used to run summer Bible camps until about six years ago when he turned it over to the mission group that now operates it.”
“You’re kidding!”
Paul shook his head. “My grandfather just died. His funeral was in Edinburgh three days ago.”
Sierra remembered that Dr. Benson had gone to Edinburgh for a funeral. “Was Dr. Benson there?”
“Ch
arles? Yeah, he was there along with about eight hundred other people. My grandfather was a well-loved man.” Paul looked contemplative and then switched to a less serious expression. “Did you meet a guy from San Diego named Doug at Carnforth?”
“Doug was my team leader! How do you know him?”
“He’s friends with my older brother. My dad is the pastor at Mission Springs in El Cajon. Have you heard of it?”
Sierra shook her head. “Should I have?”
“It’s a big church. Four thousand members. Doug goes there, and that’s where he met my brother, Jeremy. They have this Sunday night group called God Lovers that meets at Doug’s apartment. I used to go there when I was in high school. It was a big deal, hanging out with all the college kids.”
Sierra knew exactly what Paul meant. She had felt that way this whole trip. “Did you ever meet a friend of Doug’s named Todd?”
“Surfer type? Plays guitar?”
“Yeah. He’s the mission director now in Spain.”
“Figures.”
“Small world, isn’t it?” Sierra replied.
“The circles in life are very small.” Paul said it as if he were quoting someone. “So, what brought you to Carnforth?”
Sierra shrugged her shoulders. “God, I guess. I heard about it from one of my cousins and decided to go.”
Paul looked away. The plane was taking off. It was much smaller and noisier than the wide-body had been from England.
Once they were airborne Sierra pursued their conversation.
“Why are you going to Portland? Don’t you live in San Diego?”
“I’m going to school at L. and C.”
Sierra looked at him as if the initials meant nothing.
“Lewis and Clark College.” Paul reached in the white bag and took out another chunk of chocolate. “Would you like some of your own candy?”
Sierra took a small piece and thanked him. The incredible chocolate melted in her mouth.
“You know what?” he said, lowering his voice and leaning a bit closer. “I don’t even know your name.”
Only You, Sierra: Book 1 in the Sierra Jensen Series (eBook) Page 4