by Ginger Scott
“Maybe,” I say.
“Chicken shit,” he says, coughing with his laugh as he hangs up the phone.
As if she knew we were talking about her, Maddy slides into the seat next to me the second I put my phone back in my pocket, a smirk on her face and a slant to her eyes that she only gets when she’s planning on pranking someone or leaving them in the dust in a race.
“What’s that look for?” I lean away and twist in my chair, my guard up, but my pulse slowing a little more.
She turns to face me, bringing one knee up, then plops a plastic bag in her lap from the gift shop she just ducked into, her hands diving into the plastic and concealing whatever’s inside. Her grin grows, and she raises her eyebrows once before unveiling her big surprise.
“Pop Rocks!” she says emphatically. I’m not sure how to react, so I end up bunching my shoulders to my ears and raising my eyebrows to match hers. Her smile deflates a little.
“Sorry,” I say, taking the grape packet from her hands and tearing the edge open. “You’re trying. I’m grateful.”
“No, it’s okay. I just saw them at the counter, and it reminded me of that time when we were working the snack bar at the club.”
I stop with the packet at my lips and laugh at the memory she triggers.
“They came out through Evan’s nose,” I chuckle.
“He was so upset,” she says, pouring a handful into her palm. Her eyes connect with mine, and we both begin to count down from three.
I tilt my head and fill my mouth with the purple candies while Maddy pushes her palm to her lips and eats the red ones. Seconds later, we both stare at one another with open mouths, listening to the crackle, smiling as if I weren’t about to climb aboard my literal death trap and she weren’t about to see me at my worst. Our lips twitch while be both stifle our laughter, and eventually Maddy gives in, closing her mouth and shaking her head.
“These are truly awful,” she says, her mouth bending with bitterness as she swallows them and reaches into the plastic bag for a bottle of water, twisting the lid and gulping down nearly half to wash the taste away.
“I think they’re one of those things where the memory is better than the reality,” I say, swallowing mine. My words bring her eyes to mine, and her smile softens.
My gaze falls to her arm, and without pause, I reach out for her hand. She gives hers back willingly, and I thread our fingers together, reminding myself repeatedly not to grip so hard that I break her.
“We should get to the gate. We’ll board first,” I say.
Her hand squeezes mine, and when I look up, she’s waiting for me. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and I can feel my pulse picking up speed again. Maddy’s hand squeezes again.
“Okay,” she says.
I wish I felt okay.
Maddy
We’re twenty minutes into the flight and I think we might get kicked out—midair.
The attendant keeps checking in. That’s the word choice she keeps using. Just “checking in on you.” I watch her have panicked conversations with the male flight attendant on the other side of the partition, then plaster that fake smile on her face and kneel next to me, as if Will can’t hear every word she says about “my friend who seems to be in distress.”
He’s convulsing in sweats, and when he’s not looking down at the focus point—aka the stain I found on the floor between his feet—he’s wringing his hands, darting his eyes side to side, and reaching for the in-flight magazine so he can roll it repeatedly. The last time our “friend” came to check on us, she tried to take the magazine away. I think she thought he was making a weapon.
That conversation is happening again, and I see her eyes on the magazine in Will’s hands. He’s twisting so hard that the spine is starting to split open, so I reach under my seat for my purse, ready to fish out five dollars from my wallet so I can tell air bitch that I am buying the damn thing so if my friend wants to turn it into papier mâché, he can if he wants to.
Her fake smile is waiting for me when I tilt my head back up, but I’m done playing this game with her.
“Hi again,” she says—in an accent that I swear to God is fake. She isn’t from the South. I bet she went to some workshop once where they told her that if you say something in a Southern accent it doesn’t sound as mean. It’s actually true, only I’ve grown numb to her Southern charm and see right through it—right to the core of her cruel intentions.
“Our lead attendant,” she stops to gesture over her shoulder to the male attendant cowering behind the partition a few feet away. He raises a hand. Weakling. “He has informed me that we are supposed to place severely ill or distressed passengers near the rear of the plane, or, if no seats are available, in the back jump seats with one of us. For safety reasons, I’m sure you understand…”
“No, I don’t,” I interrupt. I make sure to close my lips and smile. For once, I wish I wore a bright red lip gloss just like she does.
“Your friend here…”
“His name is Will,” I interrupt again. I smile…again.
“Right, well, Will…”
I can feel Will staring at me, so I turn to him. He looks like he wants to vomit, and I think he’s pleading for me not to make a scene, but I know that if I roll over now, they’ll take him away from me and put him in the back, or they’ll make us both move. And while Dylan is happy now, I know that, too, might not last. I turn the other way, my eyes catching Tanya’s before moving a tick to the right, to the ones growing more impatient with me.
“Sandra,” I say, taking a cue from her name badge. She glowers when I say her name. Careful to keep my voice low and calm, I smile again, though I’m sure she can tell it’s disingenuous. “Have you ever survived a plane crash?”
Her eyebrows lift, and I think fast. Probably not the best lead in on an airplane where you’ve already triggered more than a half-dozen security flags.
“No, I mean…I ask because Will? He has. A bad one. Like…the kind that make you swear to yourself you will never set foot on an airplane ever again. Not. Ever.”
I wait for her to register my words. She swallows and leans back on her heels, her hand gripping my armrest for balance. I move close and bring my voice just over a whisper.
“We’re traveling with his nephew,” I nod over her shoulder. Sandra glances and meets Tanya’s gaze, and they both nod. “It’s an incredibly important trip that Will didn’t want to miss. He isn’t in distress. He’s terrified. His heart is beating so fast that he may pass out from it. I can feel it…every time I hold his hand. But you know what keeps him from falling apart completely? Tearing up your shitty magazine. So rather than make us move and add fire to the flame sitting next to me, how about you take my five dollars, bring me a drink, and let my friend here have his way with your high-gloss propaganda.”
Her eyes shift from mine to Will’s hands, and I move my five-dollar bill into her line of sight. She takes it from my hand and stands, holding it at her hip, her mouth a straight line, and her lips puckered enough that I see the small lines along them that lead me to believe she smokes like a chimney.
“Wine is six dollars, ma’am,” she says.
Funny, her accent seems to have vanished.
I tilt my head to one side and let my top lip lift on the right.
“I think you’ll spot me that buck,” I say.
We face off for a few silent seconds, but eventually she runs my five between her fingers, folding it in half and rolling her eyes in the opposite direction her hips sway before she leaves.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning into Will. His hands continue to work the magazine, rolling and twisting it while pages tear. I settle into my seat and turn my wrist, checking the time on my watch. Seven more minutes have passed, so we’re almost to the hump.
“She’s totally going to spit in your wine.” I don’t look up, but I feel Will’s arm leaning into mine, and I smile.
“I would,” I shrug, and when I feel his arm twitch lightly wi
th his laugh, I smile.
I never look him in the eye, but I keep the pressure of his arm next to mine for the rest of the flight. I drink my wine fast, too. It makes me a little buzzed, but it was also the best way to blow the last five dollars I had to my name.
Will
It’s like a switch flips the moment the plane tires skid across the runway. I know it isn’t possible, but I feel as though I’ve held my breath for an hour in the air. My uncle told me that each time I flew it would get better. I didn’t get threatened with a Taser this time, so I suppose, yeah…it was better…ish.
We hit the ground with little time to spare. Tanya manages Dylan, Maddy finds our luggage, and I do my best not to punch the obnoxious vehicle-registration man between the eyes. I’m starting to think we’re having two conversations—the one he’s in, where a midsize will work fine for our needs, especially since he just gave away our van—which I reserved—to a family of five who arrived right before us. And then there’s the conversation I’m in, where I’m trying not to punch him between his bloodshot, it’s not allergies, douchebag eyes.
“David,” I say, reading the name on his tag and running my hands along the smooth counter. It’s void of fingerprints. I bet that’s all David does is wipe down this counter all day. He clearly doesn’t check paperwork and registrations, otherwise the fuckin’ asshole would not have given away our van. I breathe through my nose and flip my head up to face him, mouth tight, tongue held, jaw locked while I resolve myself to be civil. “I appreciate that you’re offering a discount. Really, I do. Or actually, no…fuck your discount.”
So much for civil.
“I mean, we’ll take it, but it should really be bigger since you have just massively inconvenienced a family traveling with a disabled child who—I don’t care what you seem to believe, will not fit comfortably in a Jetta. Nobody fits comfortably in a Jetta, David. Have you actually ever seen a Jetta? It’s small. The seats are miserable. I’m six-four. Me, traveling alone, would not fit in your fucking Jetta…”
“Hey, oh…okay…so, what’s going on here?” Maddy glides up next to me and weaves her arm through mine, placing her other hand on my bicep in an effort to calm me down. I jerk from her hold and twist to face her, drumming my fingers on the counter.
“David gave away our fucking van.”
Mouth tight, I stare at her. While I grit my teeth she does her best to be my opposite. Moving her hands to mine slowly, running her fingers down my arms to my wrists and exhaling deliberately.
“Okay, well…let me handle this, okay?” she says.
“Have at it,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Maddy chuckles then turns to the counter, and the dumbass, leaning forward and resting her elbows on top of the paperwork for the Jetta, clasping her hands in front of her and bringing her knuckles to her lips.
“I’m not gonna lie here, David. This isn’t good,” she says.
David starts to explain, just as he did with me, but a few words in and Maddy cuts him off again.
“Here’s what needs to happen. You need to consult with your manager, quickly, and then you need to either find us the van we reserved, or you will give us two cars for the same price we agreed on for the van.”
“Ma’am, it doesn’t work that way…”
“Ah…thing is, David, we tried to do things your way. And your way kinda sucked and left us in this situation we’re in now. So now, we’re going to try our way…unless you would like me to go the way of explaining all of the ways you are breaking ADA compliance. I’m sure your local news would love to hear about that. Oh, and I could start talking about it real loud right here, too. You know, to make sure that all of the people in line to get their rental vehicles know about how you don’t accommodate for disabilities, and in fact go out of your way to make life harder…”
“I’ll override the charge,” David spits out quickly, swiping his employee card along his computer screen and typing manically, his eyes shifting side-to-side, his mouth twitching in a frown when he sees that the people standing next to us have heard Maddy’s speech.
Within minutes, we have two sets of keys, neither for a Jetta, and we’re making our way out to the lot toward two matching Buicks. I unlock mine and jog to the curb where Tanya and Dylan are waiting and I help them to the car. It takes a few tries to figure out the best way to fit Dylan’s chair along with his and Tanya’s bags, but the fit is easier than it would have been in Maddy’s car.
I close the trunk and get the address for the Cleveland Clinic from Tanya, then dash around the front to the car Maddy’s waiting in. She’s already put my small bag in the back and has the engine running.
“We probably could have fit in the Jetta,” I say as I get in and pull my safety belt over my chest.
“Probably,” she says, her eyes moving around to check the positions of the mirrors and her seat. She twists, resting her elbow on the center console, and her eyes settle on me when she’s done. “And you know my car’s a Jetta. You fit fine in it.”
Her eyes narrow and my smirk grows. I did know that. I also recall how cramped it was when I climbed on top of her in that front seat. I can tell she’s thinking about that, too, but I’m not sure I’m supposed to mention things like that with her now—now that Evan’s story is out, and Tanya and Dylan are part of the equation. I’m not sure if that means Maddy and I go back to the way things were before, when I was just her friend and the brother of the guy she used to love.
Her eyes blink once when she looks down, then again as she turns to face the steering wheel, shifting into reverse and pulling us out of the parking lot and onto the roadway behind Tanya. I watch her drive; she’s chewing at her nails while she concentrates, reacting to my directions, and doing her best to stay close to Tanya’s car. I know her dad is pissed that she’s gone on this trip. I know him too well, and no matter what Maddy says about promising him a record and him understanding, he thinks his little girl is losing her way. I’m sure there’s a part of him that’s scared she’s following a path that leads her to me, too. Curtis likes me well enough as a family friend from the past, but I’m not stupid. I know why he let me come here to compete. I’m the gimmick—the comeback story. Maddy is the champion, and I’m the guy getting in her way.
But she is here. She came more than willingly. Hell, she bullied her way right into the center of this mess. And I can’t help but love her a little bit for being so selfless.
“In case I forgot to say it…you know…when I was super manic and crazy on the plane,” I pause, breathing out a laugh. Just the sound makes my chest hurt, and it hits me how exhausted I am from surviving the day. Maddy tilts her head and flashes me a soft smile before glancing back to the road. “Thank you for doing this, for…for helping Tanya and Dylan. For helping me. I’m just…I’m just really glad you’re here.”
She flits her gaze to me briefly, but keeps her eyes mostly on the road. Her lip lifts in a crooked smile as she raises one shoulder.
“I’m happy to help, Will,” she says. “Tanya…she’s…she seems like a pretty great woman.”
She doesn’t say anything more, and I know how hard those words were to get out, so I let them be. I flip through my phone apps, bringing up the map so I can guide Maddy the rest of the way in case we lose Tanya on the road. I never mention that I thought I was the reason she came. I sorta feel selfish.
Chapter Fourteen
Will
It’s almost eight at night, and Tanya and Dylan are finally settled in at the Pediatric Wing. The doctors wanted to be able to monitor Dylan through the night, which is why it was so important for us to get here on time. We have three days—two, really, because I doubt they’ll do little more than check us out and fill our arms with brochures and more questions on Saturday.
Tanya is staying at the hospital, which means Maddy and I need to check in at the hotel down the road…which means—I have no clue what this means.
We park the car and walk in to the hotel’s lobby. I found t
he place online a few days ago and picked it because it had a decent rating for the price. I reserved two rooms because Tanya and I hadn’t planned to room together, and we didn’t know if she would have Dylan with her the whole time or not, but now that it’s just me and Maddy, I wish like hell this place was booked up with only one room to spare.
Given that we were one of six cars I counted out front, I’m guessing that’s not the case. People don’t exactly flock to Cleveland to start of their summers. And people here for the hospital are usually booking at the five-star tower across the street. This place does come with free breakfast though, and I notice the leftover bagels and muffins still out for the taking as we walk to the front desk. Maddy grabs something that looks like a blueberry muffin and bites into it, and I stop in my tracks, flinching.
“Did you seriously just eat, like…half of that?” I ask.
“I was hun…” she pauses to swallow, wiping her arm across her mouth, “gry.”
I twist my lips, but internally, I’m waiting to watch her reaction—to see if she doubles over or spits out the rest. When nothing happens, I shrug and give in to the growl bubbling in my stomach and grab what I think is a bran muffin, and carry it to the desk. I turn to Maddy while the young girl about to check us in is on the phone.
“Look,” I whisper. “I don’t want this to be weird. I booked two rooms when we planned this trip. Let’s just use them. I’m sure we’re near each other.”
Still chewing the other half of her muffin, Maddy looks me in the eyes, eventually nodding with a slight movement. The fact that she isn’t talking, isn’t nodding bigger, or exhaling in relief makes me wish I’d lied, pushed her a little to see how she’d take sharing a room with me. But I don’t lie to Maddy—except for that one, awful, horrible big one. This is a fresh start, and friend or more, there will be no more lies from now on.