ACCIDENTAL TRYST

by Natasha Boyd

  "I'll need you to put your phone on Airplane Mode too," she said, looking at my phone still clutched in my hand. Oh yeah, I was still holding it, the white cord wrapped around it. I looked closer. I may have scratched the screen somehow. Or was that a crack? My stomach sank as I thought about the cost of having the screen replaced. About as much as this airline ticket had cost. Exactly what I didn't need. Hopefully it was just a crack that wouldn't get worse.

  I stuck the phone between my legs and fumbled for the seat belt, elbowing the large man next to me. "Sorry," I said yet again. He didn't even move. Thank goodness for small mercies.

  Clipping the metal buckle together, I dug out the phone from between my legs. I wouldn't have time to text David to let him know I was on the plane and about to be out of contact. Dammit. He would worry like crazy.

  The plane shuddered, jerked, and began a slow roll away from the gate. Wow, I really did cut it fine. Didn't they normally have ten minutes between closing the doors and leaving the gate? I must have really been late. Late and lucky. The flight attendant was still waiting, staring pointedly at me.

  I depressed the home button and went to swipe up and select Airplane Mode when everything in me simply froze in confusion. I stared down at the foreign picture in front of me.

  A screensaver of a bridge.

  A long, beautiful suspension bridge I'd seen before. The beautiful, graceful, and delicate looking Verrazano Bridge that connected Staten Island to Brooklyn. The sky was red behind it. Gorgeous.

  Had I accidentally saved a random picture as my screensaver? Maybe. I was a little distracted sometimes. And very under pressure at work.

  "Ma'am. Airplane Mode."

  "Got it." I swiped up and hit the small airplane icon and then gave her a tight smile.

  She smiled back thinly. "Thank you."

  My eyes went back to the phone in my hand as she moved off into the galley. The case, plain black, was mine. Right? The cord? The same. Standard. The crack—unfamiliar. With sinking dread, I pressed the home button again and then swiped right across the screen to open phone access.

  A keypad appeared.

  My heart pounded, and my stomach sank.

  I never used a code.

  Stupid, I know. But . . . oh shit.

  This was not my phone.

  * * *

  Thirty Thousand Feet Above Sea Level

  "Is this like a Jedi mind trick or did you forget your passcode?"

  I jerked in surprise at the voice right by my ear. "Shit." I expelled a breath. And looked over to the kid on my left. "What?"

  "You've been staring at the phone lock screen for twenty-five minutes. Are you trying to unlock it with your mind?"

  I looked down at his phone that was in the middle of some game with little villages and people.

  "You were distracting me from my raid," he said when I didn't answer, pulling his large earphones back to hang around his neck. "I kept thinking, if she's going to pull off this Jedi shit I don't want to miss it."

  "Your language."

  He shrugged. "Sorry to offend."

  "Not offended. But don't your parents tell you not to swear?"

  "I'm fifteen. And if they gave a shit they probably would. But they're too busy fighting over me and swearing at each other."

  "I'm sorry," I said, looking around. "Are they on board?"

  "No. My mom lives in Charleston. My dad lives in New York."

  "So you’re heading to your dad's. Where do you go to school?"

  "I homeschool. After social services got on our case about all my missed days, it seemed like a better option, you know? Anyway, school is overrated. So why are you staring at your phone like you've never seen it before."

  I pursed my lips, then blew a small breath out the side of my mouth. "That's coz I haven't," I mumbled.

  "Sorry?"

  "It's not my phone." I winced.

  There was no response. After a few seconds I glanced up to see the kid staring at me, an assessing look on his face. Now that I was looking at him, his eyes did seem a little more mature than a fifteen-year-old’s should. Maybe going through a family breakup would do that to you. I wondered if I'd looked the same.

  "You steal it?" he asked.

  "No. Jeez. No. I took it by accident."

  "Uh huh."

  I tried to explain to him what happened.

  He shook his head. "That's one I haven't heard before. And I've heard a lot."

  "I bet you have."

  The drinks cart was four rows away. Was it too early to have a cocktail? I shook my head. How could I be so stupid? My whole life was on that phone. My calendar, my appointments, every meeting. Call in numbers for conference calls. My photos. Gah! My photos.

  "So you lost your phone. And now you have someone else's. Did you at least back yours up to the cloud?"

  My chest grew tighter and my nose stung. I could not lose control of my emotions right now. My eyes prickled. I blew out a breath. "Shit," I said. "'Scuse my language." It was no use, tears spilled over. "Dammit."

  "So, I'm assuming . . . no?"

  I shook my head vigorously. I'd been meaning to, of course.

  "So you need your phone back. Any chance the person whose phone you have, has yours? Maybe they took yours first, that's why you thought that was yours."

  A spark of hope flared. "Maybe."

  "So just call your number when you land."

  I nodded. "I can't be without a phone." I thought of work and my annoying boss, Steven. I thought of David. My stomach clenched with anxiety again, my breathing became shallow. God, even if I could get into this phone I wouldn’t be able to access our annoying POP server work email. Not that I could remember the password for that anyway. "I just can't."

  "I feel you." He shuddered. "But use this one until you get yours back. At least you can use the GPS and browser and shit and make a phone call if you need to. There, see? Problem solved."

  I held it up where the lock screen still showed number circles. "Duh."

  The kid shrugged. "I can bypass that for you."

  I frowned. "What? Really?"

  "Sure. It'll cost you, but sure."

  "Cost me?"

  The kid winked.

  "If you're going to ask me to flash you, I’d rather be without a phone."

  His shoulders slumped. "Damn. And you're so hot too."

  I snorted an unexpected laugh. "Um, thanks . . .?"

  "Your loss."

  "Yours apparently."

  "It was worth a try." He tilted his head toward the flight attendant and her cart. "You could buy me a screwdriver, and we'll call it even."

  "You're fifteen," I hissed. "I'm not committing a crime just to get into someone's phone."

  "Bitcoin?"

  "Is that a question?"

  "I guess not." Again he shrugged. "As I said, I can do it. But if you don't really need a phone . . . then whatevs." He slipped his massive earphones back over his ears and closed his eyes, chin bopping.

  I squeezed the phone in my hand. "Fine." I sighed.

  3

  Emmy

  Concourse B, La Guardia Airport

  Two hours later

  "This will never be discussed, is that clear?" I scowled.

  "Yes, ma'am. Do you want my number?"

  "No!" I thought of my phone issues and general computer issues. "Yes. Maybe. And don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel ancient."

  The kid grinned. His braces had blue elastics.

  "As long as you know I will never, ever do that again," I reiterated and winced. "But maybe I can call you to ask questions?" God, I sounded pathetic.

  He nodded and handed me a business card.

  "You have a business card?" I looked down.

  "Sure. I'm a YouTuber when I'm not mining bitcoin. Gotta have those for cons and shit."

  "Cons?"

  "Conferences? Conventions?"

  This day was shaping up to be the most surreal of my twenty-eight-year-long life. I read his name
. "Xanderr? What kind of a name is that?"

  "It's my YouTuber name. You can call me Al."

  "As in the Paul Simon song?" What the hell was I going to do? I couldn't call anyone. All my phone numbers were in my contacts. I couldn't remember a single one.

  "As in short for Alex? Alexander? My real name." He raised his eyebrows. "Who's Paul Simon?"

  "Never mind." I shook my head. "Sure, sorry."

  "Well, I don't tell anyone my real name. But I like you, Mad Emmy."

  "Just Emmy." I glanced at the phone in my hand. It was now unlocked with the passcode disabled.

  "Cool. So, I gotta jet, yeah?" He pulled on a cherry red cap with the peak as straight as a ruler and yanked it sideways on his head. "Good luck with the owner of that phone. My spidey senses say you're gonna need it."

  "Thank you, I think."

  Al gave me a peace sign and turned, lumbering away down the concourse with his pants hanging low and his high tops undone.

  I grinned at his retreating figure in spite of my dilemma.

  Al had put the phone back on Airplane Mode after unlocking it so I could think about what to do. As long as it was on Airplane Mode it couldn’t be tracked. Not sure what that accomplished for me except the owner of the phone wouldn't immediately assume it had been stolen and cancel it. He might think it was in his luggage somewhere.

  Who was I kidding?

  I glanced around the busy concourse. I needed a pay phone, but of course those probably didn’t exist anymore.

  A twenty-minute walk turned up nothing, so I ended up using the phone at the information desk. I typed in the digits for my own number. My fingers were sweaty. Why was I so nervous? It was an honest mistake.

  My call connected and began to ring, making my heart pound. Not straight to voicemail. So my phone was on. Maybe no one had taken mine, and it was still sitting there at the charging station.

  No, I would have seen it. The only way I could have taken the wrong one was if it was the only one there. Finally my voicemail clicked on, and I heard my voice asking the caller to leave a message.

  It beeped. "Um . . ." I was leaving myself a message. Seriously? "Um . . . This is my phone."

  I glanced up at the information agent, an older African-American gentleman who was looking at me askance. "I mean . . . I'm calling my own phone to leave a message in case you, whoever you are, took it, or whatever. Um . . . God, this is stupid," I finished on a mumble and thrust the mouthpiece toward the information agent. His name tag read Phillip.

  Phillip took it slowly and hung it up, his eyebrows raised. "Sounds like you got yourself into a bit of a pickle. Why don't you go on into the wireless store over there and get you a new one. They can keep your number these days, you know."

  "I know. But I can't." My shoulders slumped. "I can't afford it right now, and anyway all my contacts and photos and all that stuff is on my phone, not backed up and . . ."

  A thought struck me. Oh shit! I leaned across the counter and grabbed the phone set back and with shaking fingers dialed my number again. It rang, and I drummed my fingers impatiently.

  "Please don't cancel your phone," I blurted as soon as I heard the beep. "Listen . . . I can't be without a phone and . . . I may have yours? I mean if you took mine, then I'm pretty sure I took yours. By accident. Please. I know you don't know me." My mind raced to come up with a solution. "I'm in New York now. I don't know where you live or where you were going, but if there's a chance you were arriving in Charleston, I'll be back there in three days. We could meet and swap phones back?" I blew out a breath. "I . . . please?" Swallowing, my cheeks beating with heat from my predicament, I tried again. "If . . . you don't mind I can make a couple of calls with your phone and you can use mine, I would be forever grateful. It's just . . . if you get a call or a text message from someone called David, can you pretend to be me? I mean on text, not on a call obviously, and say . . . oh jeez. God, I'm babbling. Can you just call me back if you get this? On this number, I'll wait a little while."

  Phillip raised his eyebrows at me again but shrugged.

  "Or on your phone," I continued. "Which I'm pretty sure I have. And I'm sure you want it back. Okay . . . okay, bye."

  I handed the phone back.

  "Well," said Phillip. "That was awkward."

  I leaned down and banged my head with a solid thunk on the counter.

  Mortified. That's what I was. Mortified and hopeless. What the hell was I going to do? I took a few steps and leaned my back against a pillar then slowly sank down to the ground. I needed to sit for a few minutes and think.

  * * *

  "Miss?" I jumped and turned my head to see Phillip. "Phone call for you, I think."

  "You think?"

  "You didn't leave him your name, so I'm assuming the red-haired hippie girl is you?"

  "I'm not a hippy!" I snorted indignantly, getting up. "Wait, how the hell does he know what I look like?"

  Phillip shrugged. "I suggest you ask him. And I suggest you hurry. He doesn't sound like the most patient person."

  I followed Phillip to the counter. He handed me the phone while attending to another customer.

  Taking it, I took a deep breath and held it to my ear. I heard muffled talking, as if his hand was covering the microphone. A man and a woman's voice.

  I cleared my throat. "H-Hello?"

  "Hold on," I heard through the muffled sound. Then, "Thank Christ," a male voice said loudly.

  I jerked the phone away as my eardrum sang.

  "Who is this?" the voice barked.

  What the hell?

  I cautiously brought the phone back to my ear. "If you can refrain from yelling—"

  "Sorry. I'm sorry. Who is this, please?" The male voice had a British flatness to the enunciation and sounded as if the act of apologizing caused him immense pain. A vision of slate gray eyes and strong hands flashed in my mind. Oh, no.

  At least he immediately apologized, which was unexpected. Also his accent was not purely British. He'd been in America for a while by the sound of it.

  "Hello? Hello? Christ," he snapped. "Hello?"

  "Yes. Yes, I'm here."

  "Do you have my phone?"

  "Do you have mine?" I asked, indignance crawling up my throat.

  There was a long sigh, and I realized my error.

  "Of course you do," I mumbled, embarrassed at my stupidity. "That's why . . . you, uh, got my message and called me here, on this phone."

  "Riiiight. So I don't mean to be an arse, but what the hell is going on?"

  I pulled his phone out of my purse. "It's still on Airplane Mode. I'll turn that off if you want to call it and check. But I'm assuming it's yours. And I'm sorry. I was late for my flight, so I only realized once I was on the plane with no time to come back."

  "Uh huh." He sounded anything but understanding. "Turn Airplane Mode off. I'll send myself a text."

  I tapped the airplane symbol and watched service bars come back to life. "So can I ask how on earth you managed to take my phone?" I couldn't help asking.

  "Took your phone? Lady, I picked up the only phone left charging, which I assumed was mine since it was where I plugged it in. So if anyone took the wrong phone first it was you."

  The phone in my hand beeped. I looked down.

  UNKNOWN NUMBER: Who the hell doesn't recognize their own cell phone?

  * * *

  My mouth dropped open.

  * * *

  I angrily typed back: Spoiled, suit-wearing monkeys who think screens magically fix themselves.

  * * *

  A puff of air, suspiciously like a short laugh sounded over the line. "Great point," he said, his voice a purr. "My apologies."

  "Accepted. And . . . I'm sorry too," I said gruffly.

  "Listen, we need to make a plan. I'm . . . I'm late." Feminine laughter sounded in the background again. "And for some lunatic reason you all but begged me not to cancel my phone." Clearly he was late for a date of some kind. An irrational feeling of jealous
y made me frown as I wondered what type of woman this enigmatic, apologetic, temper-filled, silver-eyed, man was attracted to. Then I shook my head.

  "I know, I'm sorry. I can't be left without a phone. I'm in New York City. I can't afford a new phone right now, and I didn't back mine up to the cloud. I'm home in three days, then I can mail your phone to you, and you can do the same?"

  "Three days? You must be out of your mind. I'm in the middle of a deal to sell my business."

  "Where are you?" I pressed on, determined to make this work. "I mean what city?"

  "Charleston, South Carolina."

  "That's where I live!"

  "Yeah, well, you're not here now, are you, and I don't plan on staying here longer than I have to." He followed this statement with an inhalation of breath that sounded as if he'd surprised himself with his admission.

  "What's wrong with Charleston?"

  "It's fine. Nothing. So-"

  "For real. Be specific. Why don't you like Charleston?" Stunning architecture, restaurants to die for, beaches . . . he obviously didn't appreciate the same things I did.

  "That's a question I don't even discuss with my shrink."

  "You have a shrink?"

  "No. But I probably should have one, given that I'm sharing my secrets with a virtual stranger."

  I laughed unexpectedly. "By the way, I am not a hippie." I looked up at Phillip who was regarding me with one eyebrow raised.

  "He told you that?"

  "He did tell me, and I did not appreciate it."

  "So what's your name, Hippie Chick?"

  "Emmy," I answered automatically, surprised he wasn't hurriedly ending the call for his busy schedule as he'd been ready to do moments before. "And yours?"

  "Emmy," he repeated, my name sounding like caramel. "Short for?"

  "Not even my shrink knows that."

  He laughed, deep and smoky, and my blood warmed.

  "You don't have a shrink," he said.