Like Slow Sweet Molasses

by Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  She tasted the fried turkey and Chance’s image the night he skulked in the darkness near the store sprang in front of her eyes. It was time for her to admit to a painful and well-learned lesson. It was better to know what went on with Chance than to be in the dark and guessing.

  “I love him no matter the fright I feel.”

  Her overnight bag bounced on the mattress as she hurriedly packed a few necessities and called for a taxi. Another call to change the tickets purchased earlier had her a reserved first-class seat on the red-eye to New Orleans. Angela delivered her uneaten plate of food to the kitchen where she spooned it into a refrigerator dish to eat later. Dashing upstairs, she gathered her coat, purse and bag to hightail it to the airport. All of her belongings set at the side entrance ready for her speedy exit. Telling her parents about her spur-of- the-moment trip had to wait to the last minute.

  “Cookie?” It was Connie toting an ice bucket for a refill. Her look said she missed nothing.

  “Oh, hi, Mama.”

  “Oh, hi, Mama,” she mocked with no humor wrapped around the words. “Do I want to hear what you have up your sleeve?”

  A horn blew outside and Angela chased down the sound to be sure it was for her.

  “Spending a couple of days with a friend. I’ll be back to celebrate Christmas with you and Daddy.” Her hand rested at her back, fingers crossed.

  “What friend?”

  “God, Mama. Why the third degree?”

  “Is it someone we know? Someone you had lunch with today?”

  How could she answer without telling a bald-face lie. “It’s someone you know. I had lunch with Goldie today.” Two unrelated sentences. Not exactly a lie.

  The horn sounded with more persistence this time and Angela opened the door to acknowledge the driver.

  “I’ve got to tell Daddy. Be right back.” She rushed into the midst of the party-goers, excused herself for interrupting his conversation and dragged him to the side. “I’m staying at a friend’s for a couple of days and will be back before Christmas.” She kissed his cheek. The horn blasted again and she entreated, “May I borrow your cell?” He lifted it from the holder without any objections and gave it to her.

  “You’ve told your mother?”

  “Yes. She’s in the kitchen getting ice.”

  “Need any money?” That question rated him another fatherly kiss.

  “I’m good.”

  “Be careful, Cookie.”

  “I will, Daddy. Now, go back to your shindig. Goodnight.” He followed her exchanging knowing glances with Connie.

  Angela sailed from the room to grab her things, kissed her mother and flew down the walk to her waiting taxi, feeling ashamed of the gray-area truths she told all because of her dreaded reluctance to accept Chance’s career choice.

  Meanwhile, Chance drove back into the city after seeing his aunt safely to the coast where cousins invited her to celebrate the holidays, and beat it to the airport for his spontaneous mid-night run to Chicago. He mulled over the way Tina criticized his spontaneity when she was there. This trip would get him off that loser’s list. Angela loved him enough to free him to live his life as he saw fit. He loved her more than enough to woo her and therefore, ease her mind about concerns of his untimely demise.

  His run from long term parking to the departure gate saw unexpected obstacles such as his badge setting off the metal detector. He cleared his armed off-duty status with airport security and should have undergone a hand frisk but forgot about the badge. Once he remedied that oversight, he zoomed down the fairway hunting for his gate number, arriving in time to hear last call for his flight.

  “His cell rang as he handed over the ticket.

  “Crap. Who the—” His reaction changed once the screen identified the caller’s name. Chance started down the concourse, anxious about the call at the witching hour and answered, “Lee, has something happened to Angela?”

  “Chance,” she exclaimed at hearing his voice. “I’ve been so worried about you and Mrs. Thatcher. I called your number all day.”

  “Angel, is everything alright?” He put his body in the curved entry of the concourse that the baggage personnel used when handling wheelchairs and strollers to clear the aisle.

  “No,” she muttered. “I miss you terribly and want to know if you’ll forgive my cowardice?” His silence was crushing. “I love you, Chance. I don’t know how I’ll manage knowing you’ll always be in harm’s way. One thing these last days have taught me…I’d rather be there with you and have you near than be apart and wonder how you’re doing.”

  A slow smile showed his white teeth. “I’m coming get you, Angel.”

  “No need for we’ve pushed back from the gate and are experiencing some sort of a delay at taxiing.”

  “What?”

  “I’m on a plane as we speak,” she boasted proudly, “coming to you.”

  “I love you more than life itself, Angel.” His chest puffed. “You’ll never guess where I am right now.” Chance realized he held up progress as the glassy eyed flight attendant frowned his way.

  “You’re right. But, I know where I want you to be when I touch down in two hours.” He laughed and the rarity of the sound heated her all over. “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m at the airport not five steps from boarding myself.” He retraced his steps back up the concourse. “You just did catch me. Otherwise, star-crossed lovers are what we’d be.”

  Angela felt the jerk and looked out her window at the lights streaming by in the distance. “We’re moving. I have to go.”

  “I love you so much, Angela and can’t wait to hold you close. Hurry home to me.”

  “I’m on my way and love you, too, Chance.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “We’re pitiful if we can’t say bye. It’s not like we’re two teenagers with a schoolyard crush. Okay, here goes. One, two, three.”

  “Bye,” they sang happily and terminated the signal.

  The flight was uneventful and as boring as soup without salad or a hamburger sans the fries. Angela filled her time flipping through the airline magazine and watching every other tick of the second hand on her watch. Fifteen minutes the pilot announced. That’s how long it would take before they were on the ground in New Orleans and Chance smothered her in his arms. A satisfied smile twitched her lips and faded just as fast at the tufts of smoke pouring from the engine on her side of the plane.

  “Oh, God.”

  Her finger wouldn’t stop pushing the call button as she desperately sought the staff’s attention. The flight attendant to answer rebuffed Angela with a stern smirk. Neither woman said a word as Angela directed her attention outside of her window. Her eyes bulged and her jaw dropped as she reached to test Angela’s seatbelt before racing back to the cockpit entrance to sound the alarm. Shortly thereafter, the pilot’s calm voice informed them of a problem in-flight and therefore ordered everyone in crash position complete with life-jacket regalia. The oddity of it all was they were over land not water. Further explanation educated them of extra loops above the Gulf to lighten the fuel load, a routine to, hopefully, minimize the threat of fire and explosion upon landing.

  Angela, resolute that if she was to die on this flight, it wouldn’t happen without her hearing the voices of her loved ones, called her parents and drilled down the fear in her voice. Her mother answered with the spunk of someone deep into a good time, laughing and talking to someone in the background.

  “Mama, I just called to say goodnight.” She rushed the conversation. “Will you get Daddy right quick?”

  “It’s noisy where you are. Are you having fun?”

  “Not yet. Where’s my Daddy?”

  “Lee,” Connie yelled. “Your daughter’s on the line.” To Angela, “he’s on his way.”

  “Hurry, I really have to go.”

  “Cookie? You’re missing a good time.”

  “It was a lot of fun dancing with you tonight. Goodnight, Da
ddy.”

  “Sleep tight. Want to talk back to your mother?”

  “No. Go back to your party. Love you both.” Angela pressed the end call button and called Chance next.

  “My Angel.” His greeting held her in high esteem. “Time is standing still. I want to hold you so badly.”

  “Chance?”

  “I won’t let you out of my sight for a very long time. You’ll wish—”

  “Chance, listen to me,” she interrupted him although she loved what he said.

  “You were a bad girl to leave me…breaking my heart nearly killing me. Your punishment will fit the crime,” he promised.

  “Brock?”

  Chance instantly shut up. Angela, only three times in their entire acquaintance, called him by his given name. She was in distress—he realized that now. “Angela.” He left his seat to stub the toe of his shoe in agitation against an undeserving garbage can. “Talk to me.”

  “I love you so much and I’m sorry for causing us to lose precious time. Always remember that I love you in opposition to the rules I set down to safeguard my heart.” She had to speak up to be heard over the sirens and wails going on in the cabin. “My heart is and will always be yours.”

  “What’s all the noise?”

  “I’m talking to you with my head tucked between my legs—”

  “Naughty girl.” He chuckled. “Wait until I—”

  “Chance, we’re preparing to land…one way or another.”

  “What?” There was an underlying tremble in his voice. “What do you mean?”

  “One of the engines is on fire. We’re set for a crash landing, Chance. I love you. I had to call to tell you that before I-I—”

  His temper flared.

  “Don’t you say that! Don’t even think it!” Looking out the window even from his distance, he saw the complement of emergency vehicles blasting down the tarmac. “I love you, Angela Rose Munso. We’ll be together. Just hold on. Do you hear? Hold on.”

  “I am holding on, Chance…”a fit of coughing choked off her breath “…to the love you’ve shown me.” She cleared her throat tasting diesel vapors in the air. “I took life for granted just like older people condemn the younger generation of doing.” The coughing worsened with every breath.

  A deathly silence occupied space on the line.

  “Angela, talk to me. What’s happening, now?” His rationale was the more information he digested—the clearer his objective became. An opening showed itself and his feet triple-timed him passed an airport worker who nonchalantly keyed in the code to the concourse walkway. Chance jetted down the ramp to take the worker’s exit to the maintenance area, racing right out into the blackness his eyes searching the inky sky.

  “The cabin’s…getting…smoky.”

  “I see the plane, Angela.” He galloped down one runway to get to the barricaded one stacked with rescue teams. “You’ll be okay, Angel.” He pushed his legs faster.

  “It’s unfair to put you through this. I—” She strangled and was gone.

  “Angela,” he screamed into the mouthpiece, unbelievably distraught at the one scenario wholly out of his control. “Don’t hang up, Angel,” he pleaded to a dead line.

  “Hey! Only authorized team members allowed.”

  Chance flashed his badge and credentials and blurted, “The woman I love is on that plane,” hoping for understanding. Protocol was of no consequence for he wasn’t thinking as a tried and trained professional. He was a man in love.

  The hard-helmeted airport policeman, his clean shaven face sculpted into a permanent frown, gave Chance his back, halting all arguments on the subject. Surprisingly, he glowered over his shoulder. “No farther than this point or I’ll have you forcibly removed.”

  Chance exhibited his gratitude in an explosion of handshakes and back pats. They left him alone staring at the blinking lights of the approaching plane as the wings dipped high and low emphasizing the rocky descent. The dime in the sky was the moon—shiny, silvery and bright, its aura glowing in the ebony night. Its illumination gave him hope against hope that the plane’s destiny was a successful landing. A metallic banging assaulted the atmosphere denoting the urgency of the moment, fraying his last nerve. The plane, now so close he could see the mangled engine and read a couple of the bold I.D. letters exposed on the belly of the beast, whooshed over his head.

  The rescuers loaded up to trail it down the runway dangerously close to the scattering debris and leaping sparks. Chance felt wind gusts from the reverse thrusters and heard the groaning brakes trying to stop the behemoth prior to its running out of runway. As soon as it came to rest, half on-half off, he was a missile in sight of its target. There was no stopping him from entering the chaos of the tangled hoses snaking the grounds, spraying foam on the heated skin of the plane and its engine. Billowing smoke teared his eyes and heavy acrid smells burned his nostrils. The excited voices exiting the slides on the other side of the plane was a magnificent boost to his dwindling morale for there was hope Angela was one of them.

  Angela hit the slide for the daring escape glad to be alive to feel the pain along her cheekbones where her knees repetitively hit with every stomp of the brakes. Fresh air had her gasping as she crashed into fleeing bodies log jammed at the bottom of the ramp. A foot pool cued her. Yells of distress echoed gloomily, dicing to bits the smoggy night surrounding the plane. She forced herself to crawl over the side of the inflated tube and chanced a drop of about five feet. As it was not her time to die, it was also not her time to break a bone as she thudded to the ground below. Rescue workers flagged red cone sticks at the able-bodied passengers pointing them to the escape route along perimeter for transport to safety by bus.

  She waited her turn in line, looking back at the red hot smoldering plane as teams worked furiously to get everyone off, coping with the turmoil of the close call. The sparking bulbs on the life jackets were lightning bugs in the night, playing hide and seek with the darkness. People still gagged and choked for oxygen because of evaporating combustibles while scampering to load the transits. Cries and commands battled each other for attention in the terror-ridden blackness. That noise receded into the background as a familiar voice sliced through the din of racket.

  “Angela!” Chance’s throat was raw from screaming her name. People coming out of the darkness, their beacons of hope flashing wildly were one race: sooty. “Angela!” Every call deposited an awful tasting residue in his mouth.

  “Chance!” Her heart beat madly. “Chance, over here.” It was impossible to see very far in the murkiness.

  “Keep talking, Angel.” The lines strung every which way threw him down to his knees where he crawled a good distance. “I’m coming.”

  “Chance!”

  What captured his attention was her light blipping where her heart was as she materialized from the hazy cloud. He was on his feet, running to her, arms wide open. “I’ve got you,” he reassured when she rammed into his chest, her touch sapping the oxygen from his lungs making it hard for him to catch a breath. “I’ve got you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Over here!”

  An EMT coached Chance through the blockaded triage area asking him a myriad of questions when he showed up on foot with Angela cradled to his chest. A near disaster explained the slew of local media out in full force responding so rapidly to feed the public’s hunger for tragedy. Her wrestler’s grip on his neck assisted him in shielding her from the cameras prying eyes on their hike to the emergency vehicle. He freed her arms from his neck first then the black cashmere overcoat for the technician’s ease at checking her vitals, and watched her shiver in the cold while sitting on the ambulance’s ledge in her attractive burgundy-red social dress that slithered up her shapely thighs. Something solid bumped his body as he draped the coat over his arm drawing his interest to investigate: her heels and tiny evening bag. Clumps of hair dangling at her shoulders with stone-studded pins entangled and flinging wildly about her charismatic eyes when she mov
ed enticed Chance to work them from her tresses. The runs in her pantyhose led his eyes down to her bare feet pressed one on top of the other to ward off the cold.

  All of this he took in in a millisecond.

  Her hands were trapped between her knees to quell their nervous trembles, a big mistake for that posture over-exaggerated the shudders wracking her body. An unexpected fit of laughter seized hold of Angela, bursting her artificial euphoric balloon and causing an irrepressible cough that left her gasping for air. Chance stroked her back. His gaze demanded action from the medic who jumped to equip her with an oxygen mask plus instructions she refuted with a headshake.

  “Smoke inhalation is serious. Your inability to breathe properly after that slight exertion requires additional treatments from a hospital facility. The bruises ringing your eyes require immediate attention because pressure in that area could damage your sight.”

  Angela’s heaving chest showcased her struggles even as she plucked the mask from her face to enter her protestations. She never got the chance to utter one word since Chance intervened to replace the mask, set the canister in her lap, scoop her up to enter the emergency bus and situate her on the gurney for the ride. The blatant disrespect he showed for her wishes, ordinarily, would have fueled her fire.

  Now, she just didn’t give a flip. Being together was all that mattered to her.

  After the lengthy wee-hour ER visit, the police debriefing and getting to Chance’s loft only a little over an hour ago, now, they occupied the center of his bed—him propped against a headboard crammed with pillows—her snuggled, absolutely at ease, between his thighs, her back to his hairy chest. His nostrils detected the smoke remaining in her hair.

  “The texture feels like straw,” she said after shampooing with his grooming products and suffering the consequences of massive tangles. Pretty soon she gave up on combing her hair to simply tie one of his bandanas on her head.