Baggage Check

by M. J. Pullen

  Rebecca threw her napkin into the basket and excused herself to the restroom. She was washing her hands and examining her falling ponytail when the door opened and Tanya Boozer stood next to her.

  “Hi, Becky. You’re still in town?”

  “Hi, Tanya. I’m still here. Probably heading back tomorrow.”

  “I guess you probably won’t be gracing us with your presence again anytime soon then.” Tanya wore a smile so broad Rebecca could almost see her molars, but the tone was less than friendly.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Rebecca said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. Alex sure seems happy to see you.”

  “It’s been good to catch up. With all of you.”

  Tanya looked down and swung a black-booted foot back and forth across the tile. “Well, yeah. But Alex, I think he’ll be better off when everything is back to normal.”

  “Normal?”

  “Yeah, you know, everybody back where they belong. You in the big city with your rich friends, and us here.”

  Years of sparring with Marci had given Rebecca incredible self-control in these situations. She kept her expression neutral, friendly even, and turned to face Tanya. This isn’t the high school locker room anymore. You have no idea who you’re dealing with now, girlie. “What are you trying to say, Tanya?”

  “I’m just saying I consider Alex a friend. He’s been through a lot, and the last thing he needs is to get involved with someone who’s not going to be around for him.”

  Rebecca had no intention of getting involved with Alex, but saying that outright would be admitting defeat. “Don’t you think Alex can decide that for himself?”

  “Of course he can,” Tanya said, her smile wavering just a fraction. “I just wanted to let you know that we all look out for each other here. I don’t know how y’all operate in Atlanta, but that’s who we are.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Rebecca said sweetly. “It’s nice to know things haven’t changed in my hometown.”

  She rested her fingers lightly on the bathroom counter and waited, wearing her best “is there anything else I can do for you?” smile. Compared to some of the catfights she’d mediated in the sorority house, not to mention your average cranky first-class passenger, this was nothing. Tanya hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it again. She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

  “Nice chatting with you,” Rebecca called after the stylist.

  “Yeah, you too,” Tanya said.

  Rebecca let the door swing shut and redid her ponytail before leaving the bathroom, hoping to give her old classmate time to cool down. When she walked past the bar on the way back to the booth, Tanya was absorbed in conversation with a man in a white shirt and tie and did not look at her as she passed.

  “Tell you what,” Alex said, when she slid back into the booth. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  “A deal? I’m intrigued.” She noticed he had ordered another round while she was in the bathroom.

  “Since we don’t know each other anymore, you can ask me three questions the next three times we meet. Anything you want, and I’ll answer truthfully. I figure after nine questions we’ll either be friends or you can decide you don’t want to know anything else.”

  “You’re assuming we’re going to meet again. What if we don’t?”

  He shrugged. “If we don’t, the deal is irrelevant.”

  “And you’ll be asking me questions, too?”

  “It only seems fair.”

  “I don’t know. You have an advantage. I don’t go fishing with your family.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Okay, how about this: for every three questions you ask, I only get one.”

  “Can I decline to answer?”

  “The one question? When I’m giving you three? No way.”

  She laughed. “Fine. But I go first.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Starting now?”

  Alex looked at his watch. “Sure. I don’t have anywhere to be, do you?”

  Rebecca fished for a question. It was harder than she’d thought it would be. “You said you went to UAB. What did you study?”

  “Ah, a softball to start with. Thank you very much. Civil engineering. I wanted to build cities.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “So … why aren’t you doing that now?”

  “That’s number two. Well, I was on a football scholarship my first two years, but then I blew out my knee doing something stupid. I wasn’t even on the field at the time,” he said, shaking his head. “My parents couldn’t afford to pay for my college, and I hadn’t exactly been a model student, so I joined the army to pay for the last two years. I ended up coming back here when I got out—my dad was sick—and I just never went back.”

  “So how did you end up a sheriff’s deputy?” she asked. She wasn’t really thinking about the questions anymore; she was just curious.

  “I knew Grier from football—he’s a couple of years older than I am, but he kind of looked out for me back when I was just a skinny kid who was afraid of the ball. And my background in the military makes me a good fit for law enforcement. It’s not what I ever pictured myself doing, but I really do enjoy it.”

  Rebecca was about to ask if he ever thought about going back to finish college when Alex went on. “Okay, my turn. What’s your least favorite thing about being a flight attendant?”

  “You’re starting with that?” she said. “It’s so negative.”

  “Hey, I only get one question a day. I want to get to the juicy stuff quickly.”

  Rebecca thought about it. There was so much about the airline industry people complained about: the hours, the food, all the off-the-clock duties outside of the flight hours for which she was paid. But those things didn’t really bother her as much. “This is going to sound weird,” she said, “but I miss seeing people say goodbye at the gate. That was always my favorite part of flying when I was young. I always watched people saying goodbye at the gate—parents sending their kids on a first big trip, or off to college, people dropping off family members after a visit, couples saying goodbye.

  “I remember one time this young couple at a gate next to mine held on to each other until the final, final boarding call, when the girl got on the plane, blowing kisses to the guy all the way down the jetway. I could tell the attendants were annoyed with her, rolling their eyes and everything. But I thought it was kind of sweet. And once she was on the plane and they closed the doors, her boyfriend stood there for the longest time and watched out the window. He waited until the plane had taxied away, even though he couldn’t see her anymore and she couldn’t see him and he was probably paying five bucks a minute for parking. I thought it was so sweet. You don’t get moments like that anymore, because after 9/11 people have to say goodbye at the security gate, where it’s all hectic. By the time people get to us, they’re numb already and just want to know when the beverage cart is coming through.”

  “So I take it you have never seen anyone chase someone down to profess their love and tell them to stay like they do in the movies?”

  “Never,” she confirmed. “It’s kind of disappointing. Seriously cuts down on the potential for dramatic romantic moments.”

  Suddenly, a catchy teenybop song rang out between them, and Alex looked embarrassed as he reached for his phone. “Ah, it’s my daughter. She picked the ringtone,” he said, rising from his chair. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  “You have a daughter?” Rebecca said, incredulous.

  “You already used up your three questions,” he said, grinning. As he walked away, she heard him say, “Hey slugger. How was school?”

  Rebecca ate more fries than she intended, waiting for Alex to return to the table. When he slid back into the booth, he grinned at her. “You forgot to mention that you had a daughter,” she said.

  “I did? Sorry. I have a daughter.”

  “How old?”

  “She’s fourteen, going on giving-Daddy-a-heart-att
ack,” he said. “Her name is Honey.”

  “Honey,” she repeated, still unable to process the information fully.

  “Shall we go?” He stood and extended his hand. Then he held the doors for her on the way out of the restaurant, and again getting into the car, whistling “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” as he went. But they said nothing else until Alex pulled up in the parking space directly in front of her hotel room.

  “Can I walk you to the door?” he asked. He did not reach to unbuckle his seat belt, however, and Rebecca was relieved.

  “No, thanks, I’ve got it. Thank you again for dinner, and for … being a friend.” She said it hesitantly, apologetically, but the word felt good in her mouth. There was an absurd impulse to hug him, something she rarely felt for anyone, but she sensed it would not be well received. He would probably feel insulted, since it was fairly clear his intentions went beyond friendship. She knew people sometimes saw her as condescending, and she did not want to make that mistake with Alex. She liked him, despite the awkwardness of their beginning and his overzealousness. He had kind eyes. He listened to her. No one had listened to her like that in a long time.

  She waited with the door half-open and one foot hanging out.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “I’m a good friend. You’ll see.”

  “Okay.” She stepped out.

  “Wait!” he called, before she could swing the door closed again.

  She leaned in. “What?”

  “You keep saying we don’t know each other. I do know you, and not just your driving record. You came to almost every football practice we had for two years, except never on Tuesdays. You had piano or Beta Club or something on Tuesdays. Cory tried to act like he didn’t care if you were there or not, but if you came late, he couldn’t focus until he saw that you were in the bleachers. You always had a dog-eared book on your lap. Little Women was your favorite, I think, because you had that one the most. I tried to read it once. Not my thing, at least not when I was seventeen. On the warm days, you wore ratty jean shorts and those white Keds with scuffs all over them. Those were the best days because I could see your legs. I used to dream about those legs.

  “Then when it got colder you’d wear jeans, or you had this long black skirt you liked. It always got dusty when you came down to the field, which made me like you more for wearing it anyway. You put your hair up a lot our senior year; you were a sophomore then, if I remember correctly. When the defense was on the field, I’d take an extra water break because from the cooler I could see the sun on the nape of your neck. I waved at you a couple of times—you probably don’t remember.”

  “I—”

  “Eleven guys bigger than me were trying to kill me every week, but you were the most terrifying damn thing on that field. I always wanted to come talk to you, but I was scared shitless.”

  He took a sheepish glance at the steering wheel. “I didn’t talk to girls much back then. Believe it or not, I was painfully shy—don’t worry, it went away. Plus, everyone knew you were off-limits. Cory was our quarterback and you were his little sister. I’d be surprised if any guys talked to you the whole time we were in high school, even after…”

  He trailed off.

  Stunned, Rebecca could not eke out a word.

  “He loved you, you know,” he said. “Cory. I’d be willing to bet he didn’t tell you a lot, knowing him, but he was so proud of you. Most guys griped about their families and younger siblings—God, I’m ashamed of some of the things I said about David—but Cory never said a word against you. He called you ‘my little sis,’ even in the locker room, always said you were a genius and you’d be the first person in your family to graduate from college. Maybe that’s part of why I was drawn to you. You were his treasure.”

  “I—I don’t know what to say,” she said, a lump in her throat like a rock.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Becky. I just wanted you to know. You may not know me, but I know you. It’s okay that there’s some guy in Atlanta, and it’s okay if your feelings just aren’t … whatever. I will be here if you, or your family, need anything. Anything. I’m not a romantic, I’ll give you that. But I know something about loyalty. Even if I didn’t like you, which against my better judgment I do, I owe it to your brother.”

  Rebecca was still leaning on the open car door, and could not bring herself to speak. He watched her for a minute, his brown eyes intense. “Go get some sleep,” he said finally. “You have a lot to worry about with your parents and stuff. Call me if you come back in town. Or I guess, with your record, I’ll know you’re back when I pull you over doing fifty-five in a fifteen or something.”

  She laughed, trying not to cry, grateful to him. For giving her Cory back, even for a moment. And then for releasing her to mourn in her hotel room alone.

  * * *

  BY MARCI THOMPSON STILLWELL

  * * *

  BLOG: THE CARE AND FEEDING OF A SUBURBAN HUSBAND

  { Entry #175: Sunshine & Sweet Surprises }

  Monday, June 20, 2016

  Hi, friends! Marci here, back from the beach, refreshed and exhausted. Have you ever noticed how sometimes a vacation is more tiring than normal life? I’ll keep this short for now, since I need to go clean the sand out of my suitcase and snuggle with Munchkin, who I missed more than I imagined possible. The good news is, now I know that I can be away from her for a couple of days and not have a nervous breakdown.

  And vice versa. Uh-oh.

  I guess you could say I am reluctantly thrilled that everything went well, and even more thrilled that I got to combine my girls’ weekend and some time away with SubHub. Yep! That was one of my surprises—he and some friends crashed our girls’ weekend, and it was so much fun. There were a few more sweet surprises this weekend, some of which I’ll be able to share with you in time. For now I’ll just say that you never know what might happen at the beach.

  Someone else surprised me this weekend, both by demonstrating a generous spirit I never knew she had, and by disappearing abruptly before the trip was over. She left a note saying that she needed to leave for work, and I don’t want to call her out on that if she doesn’t want to explain further. She doesn’t owe me (or the rest of her friends) an explanation. And yet, part of me finds something doesn’t quite add up about her departure.

  Do you have a friend like that in your life? Someone you just can’t seem to put your finger on? I wrote last time about “characters” in our stories that we just can’t seem to put in a traditional role—those who seem neither wholly good nor fully evil. I guess maybe some people see me that way, too, maybe even this person who stole away from our beach party in the middle of the night.

  I don’t know about you, dear readers, but when people in my life behave in ways that are … well, let’s just call it unusual, I often immediately assume I did something wrong. What does that say about me?

  Anyway, if that friend of mine happens to be reading this blog, I hope she’ll let me know if I did anything to offend or upset her. No matter what, I’d like her to know that all her friends, myself and SubHub included, are here for her if she decides to reach out and tell us more.

  * * *

  16

  Rebecca stared at the endless line of I-20 stretched out before her, foot numb on the gas pedal, every inch bringing her closer to Atlanta. She had crossed the Georgia-Alabama line fifteen minutes before, and she could already feel things changing around her as she drove. The air was different (or was she imagining that she could already see Atlanta’s smog line on the horizon?), the trees were different, the names of streets. Her own apartment, and the clean shower inside, called to her from forty minutes ahead like a beacon. Even though she had put on her beach flip-flops, held her breath, and showered at the Super 8 before meeting Dad and Sonia that morning, she still felt grimy.

  Tom Petty came on the radio, and Rebecca cranked it. I’m technically on vacation, might as well enjoy it. She glanced at the clock. Her flight crew would be in Columbus,
Ohio, now, doing preboarding. She’d been tracking their schedule all day without really intending to do so. It was simply the automatic thought that came to her each time she looked at the clock. Even though Val had called to say the alternate was taking her shift and not to worry about anything, not worrying was not exactly Rebecca’s specialty.

  Besides, being concerned about an airline that had run without her successfully for sixty-odd years was simpler than thinking about the train wreck that was her life. For one thing, her supposedly closest girlfriends were more comfortable reaching out to her via anonymous blog mention than a phone call. And if Rebecca was honest, that feeling was pretty mutual, at least with Marci. Still, it irked her to be called out publicly like that. What irked her even more was the niggling suspicion that maybe she deserved the betrayal, having called and confided in Marci’s husband instead of any of the girls.

  But Rebecca couldn’t analyze the workings of her messed-up friendships now. Her family life was screwed up enough to occupy her brain all the way down I-20. And back. It shouldn’t have surprised her, she knew, that her father had not been at his tiny rental bungalow when she stopped by midmorning on her way out of town. She had known, hadn’t she, that Sonia had her own huge, rambling house on Grimmer’s Lake. Why would they squeeze into Dad’s plain, single-bedroom bachelor pad when Sonia’s wealthy ex-husband had provided a picturesque home five times as large?

  So it was Sonia who had answered the door at Rebecca’s second stop, wearing a shiny lavender robe and holding some kind of rat-like dog with its little nails painted hot pink. She had invited Rebecca in with a smile, which Rebecca strained to return. Sonia had put on a pot of coffee, pulled some canned biscuits out of the oven, and then—to her credit—politely remembered something urgent she needed to do in another room.

  Rebecca’s father wore sweatpants and an old USPS Tour de France T-shirt, a little too comfortable in this strange house for Rebecca’s taste. Their conversation was short and tense, marked with lowered voices and furtive glances toward the back of the house where Sonia had busied herself with something and could occasionally be heard talking to the little dog. It was as though they were talking about her father’s mistress in his wife’s house, rather than the other way around.