by R. S. Lively
"Hello, everybody. Thank you for your patience as we got through that storm. We are approaching our destination and will be landing soon. I have been advised that the weather has become far more severe, and it is impacting several outgoing flights. If you were not planning on staying in Boston, please consult outgoing flight schedules to determine if your flight has been grounded."
My stomach sinks. Throwing together my travel arrangements didn't include any type of contingency plan. Being stuck in Boston without a place to stay definitely isn't something I prepared for.
"Fuck," I mutter. "They better not have canceled my flight. I have places I need to be."
"Oh, I'm sure if they hear you're on it, they'll make sure to push it right through," Piper says.
When the plane finally touches down, I stand up to grab my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and turn to see Piper already making her way down the aisle. She glances over her shoulder.
"Thanks for the upgrade, Christian," she says. "Have a wonderful time in California."
Despite her frantic scurry off the plane, Piper and I both hit the crowd of passengers waiting at the gate. I shoot her a smug look as I sidle up beside her, but I'm still focused on what's going on around me. By the rapidly increasing volume of the voices around me, I can tell passengers are finding out about additional delayed flights. This doesn't give me a tremendous sense of confidence about my own trip. Piper pushes her way through the crowd toward the relative openness of the terminal. Her grin tells me that how pleased she is to not have to deal with any more flights for the day.
"I'm going to ask everyone to please remain calm, and step back from the gate.” The woman at the gate nearly screams from the loudspeaker. It sounds like she's been pushed to her limit. "This counter is now closed. If you have a connecting flight, please consult the schedule boards for further information."
A crash of thunder overhead sent us scrambling to the boards like frightened insects. Stopping in front of it, I progressively lose hope as the word 'canceled' pops up to replace the departure time of each outbound flight. My eyes are locked on my flight number. I'm watching it intently, willing the departure time to stay in place. Suddenly it flashes. Canceled.
"Damn it."
I push back through the other passengers, very aware that we're all in the same position. And that position is fucked. An airport full of stranded people, which means everyone is now looking for hotel rooms to weather the storm in, or rental cars to continue bravely on their own. There are only so many of each to go around, however, and the wave of people rushing toward the rental desks and whipping out their phones to make reservations doesn’t make my chances seem great.
Normally, this would be when I would use my status to pull some strings. But I left Cambria without telling anyone or making any arrangements. I sincerely doubt that calling a Boston-area hotel and telling them that I’m Prince Christian Hesse of Cambria is going to work in my favor. Still, I grab my phone and start scrolling through listings for nearby hotels, trying to secure a room as I make my way toward the rental car desks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Piper standing at the luggage claim. She grabs two large suitcases, and turns, obviously startled to see me standing there.
"No flight?" she asks. "They didn't miraculously carve a path through the storm to get you to your very important vacation activities?"
She sweeps past me, and I grit my teeth to stop the aggravated sound in my throat from coming out. My own suitcase comes around the carousel, and I snatch it up before continuing my progress toward the rental desk. I've gone a few yards when I hear distinctly indelicate shouting that immediately makes me smile. Ahead of me, I notice people making a large path around something on the floor.
"Ah! Watch where you're stepping!" Piper shouts. "Can't you fucking see where you're going?"
Just as she was the first time I noticed her, Piper is on the floor, scrambling to pick up the contents of her carry-on. I don't stop this time. She's just another source of competition standing between me and not having to sleep on the airport floor tonight. Instead, I look down at her and grin as I make my way past.
Chapter Three
Piper
"What did you run into this time?"
I look up just in time to glare at Christian as he makes his way past me. That man's arrogance makes my skin crawl, but his voice is like velvet. I try to tell myself the flush spreading across my cheeks is a result of anger and frustration, and not that sexy voice of his. Shoving everything into my bag as fast I can, I get up and follow him on his way to the rental car kiosks. This carry-on is never traveling with me again. Christian's much longer legs carry him through the terminal faster than me, but that doesn't do him much good. By the time I make it through the throng of people and arrive at the desks, he is standing in line and looks decidedly pissed. I recognize my own impatient-passenger move as he leans and strains to see over and around the people in front of him. The line of people waiting to try to secure a car from this particular company winds through the open atrium, and around itself, getting twisted and confused with other lines. The people standing in the middle seem to not know what line they’re actually in. To the opposite side of the desk, however, is a much shorter line.
I smile and make my way toward the line, sifting through my bag for my reservation confirmation. Getting behind the woman at the end of the line, I throw Christian a look over my shoulder. His eyes narrow at me, and he ducks under the blue velvet rope put up to control the masses. The line I'm standing in is moving at a nice clip when he comes up behind me.
"You think you're too good to stand in line with everyone else?" he says. "What is this? Some sort of special humanitarian line?"
The woman in front of me steps up to the counter to take her turn. She holds out her phone to the man behind the computer, who promptly hands her a set of keys.
"No," I say, waiting for my turn to approach the counter. "It's the line for people who already have reservations."
"What?"
I slide my reservation form across the counter toward the man, who eyes it carefully before taking a set of keys and offering them to me.
"Thank you," I say with a smile as I take them, ignoring Christian. "It's the line for people who already have rental car reservations," I repeat. "Like me."
"You already have a car?" he asks, falling into step beside me as I start toward the terminal doors.
"Yes," I say. "I always make sure I have things like that arranged before I go on a trip. You should have thought about that."
"I wasn’t supposed to need a rental car," he says, thinly masking the anger in his voice. "I thought I'd be getting on another plane from here."
"Then maybe you should get back in line. It looks like it's getting pretty long. You probably shouldn't have given up your spot like that."
Christian looks back at the line, which has gotten exponentially longer at this point and lets out a growl. The sound sends a shock through my body, and I turn away from him. He storms back toward the line and I walk past, stepping through the doors toward the parking lot where the other ‘lucky’ people who have keys to rentals are scurrying around in the rain, trying to find their cars. I glance down at the keys in my hand, memorizing the letter and number on the bright yellow tag before ducking out from under the awning. Cold droplets of rain immediately run down the back of my neck, and I shudder. Juggling my suitcases and carry-on, I make my way as quickly as I can, and head directly to the parking spot indicated by the tag. I hit the little button on the key fob and hear the cheerful beep of the car unlocking as I approach, inspiring a quick shout-out to the gods of modern technology. Opening the back door, I toss my luggage inside and then dive behind the wheel to escape the rain.
I rest my head back and briefly close my eyes before something crashes on the passenger window. Screaming, I sit up and look at the source of the sound. A dark shape presses against the window, and a flash of lightning illuminates Christian standing there, h
is hands flat on either side of him.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" I shout at him. "You look like something out of a fucking horror movie."
Christian shakes his head, and points to his ear. I see his mouth moving, but can’t hear anything he's saying over the pouring rain. He reaches for the handle to the door, and my habit of locking doors the instant I'm inside pays off. He gestures wildly. It looks like he's playing charades and wants me to guess "old-timey movie director," but I assume he actually wants me to roll down the window. When it is down a few inches, he sticks his face close to it.
"There aren't any rental cars left," he shouts. "All of them were taken. From all the companies. And there are no taxis because of the storm.”
Water streams down his face and has soaked through his shirt. His wet hair, plastered against his forehead, looks almost black.
"I'm sorry," I say. "That tends to happen when an entire airport of people has their flights canceled at the last minute."
"You are a really fucking frustrating person, you know that?"
"I've been told. What are you going to do?"
Christian pushes angrily against the car so he stands straight.
"I don't really have much choice, do I? I'm going to go in there and find myself a section of carpet to spend the night. Hopefully, the weather will clear up and the flights will start again in the morning." There's another bright flash of lightning as he gives a single bitter wave.
"Have a fantastic visit home, Piper," he says flatly.
Hiking his bag up higher on his shoulder, Christian turns away and heads back toward the airport. I pull out of the parking spot and start making my way through the lot. Ahead of me, I see Christian. People are running around him, screaming and spouting profanity like the storm is the first sign of an impending apocalypse. I can't imagine what it's going to be like in that terminal overnight. My mind flashes with thoughts of babies crying, bored children running around, frustrated parents lashing out, and passengers at the end of their ropes coming to blows over the last packet of mayonnaise at the burger stand. Then I remember sitting back in the plush First-Class seat, sipping wine, and being able to imagine crashing as usual – but in luxury.
Damn it.
I blatantly cut off the person in front of me, so I don't lose sight of Christian. The blaring of their horn makes him turn around, and I gesture at him. He pauses in the middle of the parking lot, causing traffic to stop and filling the air with an even louder cacophony of horns. I gesture more aggressively, and he finally comes over. Leaning down beside the driver's side window again, he glares in at me.
"What?"
"Do you want a ride?" I ask.
"What?"
"A ride," I repeat. "I can give you a ride somewhere."
"Why would you do that?"
My feelings of goodwill are already beginning to fade.
"Because I am a fucking humanitarian, and you are in need. I am risking death by road rage here, so either get in the car or go enjoy your slumber party with a few thousand of your new friends."
Christian looks hesitant for a second, but relents and tosses his luggage in with mine before walking around to the passenger side and climbing in. Horns are still going off around us, and I notice a massive SUV trying to sneak past us to one side. I turn my wheel just enough so that the nose of my little compact juts out in front of the eco-unfriendly monstrosity. The driver promptly lays on his horn and starts screaming at me through his heavily tinted windows.
"Oh, blow it out your ass!" I shout back at him.
Christian turns to look at me, and we both laugh.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I should really remember I'm not in the field anymore."
Christian laughs again.
"It's alright," he says. "It's refreshing to hear a woman who actually expresses herself for a change."
It seems like an odd thing for him to say, but I'm concentrating too much on driving to think much about it. I'm sitting up as tall as my five feet and three inches will allow and maneuvering my way out of the congested parking lot, trying not to give Mr. Asshole SUV the opportunity to move around me. It's completely petty and passive-aggressive, but he started it.
"I should probably work on being a little…less expressive. At least while I'm home."
"It's funny, I always think of humanitarians as being really mild-mannered. Courteous, even."
I roll my eyes.
"You're thinking of missionaries," I say. "I am not a missionary."
"Ah."
We finally make it out of the parking lot from hell and onto the road. It's just as congested as the parking lot, but at least moving off airport grounds makes me feel like I'm making progress.
"Where to?" I ask.
"I don't know, actually," Christian says. "I haven't had any luck finding a hotel. Apparently, other travelers are much savvier when it comes to being screwed over by the airlines than I am."
The rain seems to be getting harder, the lightning coming at faster clips, and the traffic in front of us slows to a crawl. Despite the tension of the competing cars around us, and the chaos of the storm, I feel myself relaxing. I might not be the biggest fan of storms when I'm several thousand feet up in the air in the midst of them, but when I'm securely on the ground, I love them. The bright flashes of lightning and booming thunderclaps are somehow both comforting and invigorating.
"Let me guess, you're used to someone else, maybe your assistant, making all of your travel arrangements for you?"
Christian looks at me briefly.
"Why would you say that?"
"You just strike me as someone who is accustomed to getting things your way, and having people jump to make that happen."
I don't mean it as an insult, but Christian doesn't respond. His eyes focus directly in front of us at the few feet we can see past the rain-blurred windshield.
Several minutes later, we've moved approximately three feet and Christian has his phone in his hand, scrolling through hotels in the area. He presses the call button, and I see a hopeful look on his face as it rings rather than immediately going to a voicemail system as the last several have.
"Thank you for calling the Airport Suites, may I help you?"
"I need to book a room for tonight," Christian says.
"I'm sorry, sir. We don't have any vacancies for tonight. I can book you for tomorrow night, if you'd like."
"I don't need a room for tomorrow night," he says. "I need one for tonight."
"I'm sorry," the robotically cheerful woman says again. "We just booked our last room. Apparently, the storm is causing problems with flights today, and all of the passengers are looking for somewhere to stay tonight."
"You don't say," Christian says sarcastically. "How inconvenient for me."
"I'm sorry."
I wonder how many times she's had to say that this afternoon.
"Thanks."
Christian hangs up the phone with an exasperated growl.
"That's the last hotel anywhere around here," he says.
"Then, I guess you need to start looking at other places. I bet if we get off the beaten path a little, we'll find someplace."
"Really?" Christian asks. "You'll keep looking with me?"
"Sure," I say. "You need somewhere to stay until you can get a flight out of here, don't you? And I'm sure as hell not going back to the airport."
"Won't your family be worried about you? By now, they’ve probably noticed you're late."
I shrug.
"I'm always late," I say. "Some say it's part of my charm, some say it's a debilitating character flaw. I guess it's all about perspective. Either way, I'm not late because I didn't tell them I was going to show up until tomorrow. I figured that way I had some margin of error to work with."
"So, it's your fault the planes were delayed."
I smile.
"That's my working theory."
Traffic starts to break
up somewhat and there's finally enough space ahead of me that I can actually drive. The storm still forces me to go more slowly than normal, but at least we’re finally moving. I point toward an exit ahead of us.
"That's our goal," I say. "Once we get off the main road, we should be able to find other hotels."
"Got it," he says.
We creep ahead, finally making our way to the exit. Turning off the main road feels like an escape. Within a few seconds, though, the wind increases, and my visibility is completely obliterated. I reluctantly pull off the side of the road, feeling as though the storm has finally defeated me. The rain pounds down on us and my head drops back against the seat.
"It should pass soon," I say. "Start searching for more hotels."
Christian opens his phone again and looks through the offerings in this area. Five phone calls later, he still hasn't found a vacancy.
"It looks like everything here is also full," he says.
"Everything we can find online," I say.
"What do you mean?"
"There are plenty of places around here that are old and small enough that they don't need a website. It means that most of their customers either know about them, or stumble upon them accidentally. Either way, it means they tend to not fill up like the other big name ones."
"How do you know about these places?"
"Everywhere has them," I say. "It's something I learned when I first started running around the country, then the world, trying to help people when I was eighteen. You feel like you're doing a lot of good, but you're also still pretty dumb, and don't know how to plan ahead. It means a lot of last-minute reservations and running out of money, so sharing tiny cramped rooms in hostels with several other people."
"That's useful."
"For the comfort of those particular trips? Not so much. For the greater scheme of life? Sure."
I unhook my seatbelt and recline the seat slightly, deciding I might as well get comfortable. Christian is staring out the window at the rain, and I notice a faintly sad expression on his face.