by Claire Cook
“Because you’re the one leaving for Hollywood in the morning?”
GERI HAD PICKED ME UP at my apartment and brought me to her house, so she could go over things with me one more time. It was the Monday of Memorial Day weekend, and Seth was going to drop us off at the Harbor Express, because he was heading into work for a few hours. The Harbor Express was a water ferry and the most civilized way to get from Marshbury to Logan Airport these days, because the Big Dig had turned Boston into a big tunnel repair nightmare.
Of course, talking to Seth on the way to the ferry wasn’t going to be a picnic either. My sister seemed to be perfectly content in her marriage, but he bored me to tears. I didn’t even like the way he parted his hair. One straight line, just like the rest of him.
Geri was planning to do something special with the girls today, who were still not happy about Riley going to Hollywood without them. And we all agreed that the last thing Riley needed was a high-drama family send-off at the airport. “So, well, thanks a lot, Seth,” I said as Seth finally pulled into the Harbor Express parking lot.
He flipped the trunk switch and jumped out to get our suitcases. “Not a problem,” he said. “Take good care of Riley for us.”
“Will do,” I said. We both leaned forward and gave each other a fake little hug.
Seth and Riley gave each other a real hug. “Be careful out there,” Seth said. “Don’t take any wooden five-dollar bills, okay?”
Riley’s eyes were scrunched closed. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, kiddo.”
We sat in the front seat of the ferry so we could check out the Boston Harbor Islands we passed. Riley knew the names of all of them. He pointed. “That’s Bumkin, way over there,” he said. “And that’s Peddock’s. And there’s Sheep.”
I pointed. “And there’s Hippopotamus.”
Riley’s laugh wasn’t up to his usual standards. “You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Riley said, but he didn’t look so sure. He was wearing long pants and a button-down shirt, which somehow made him look smaller. His freckles really stood out today against his paler-than-usual skin, and his hair had separated into stiff sections from an overly generous application of gel.
I was actually feeling just the tiniest bit nervous myself. I opened the big envelope Geri had given me, and pulled out two ticket folders clipped together along with a receipt from the travel agent. I gasped. “Riley, do you have any idea how much these tickets cost? Three thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight dollars. And seventy-one cents. Each.”
“Is that a lot, Aunt Ginger?”
“Put it this way, I didn’t even know tickets could cost that much.”
Good thing we were early, because I had to think this through. It wasn’t that I was cheap, but I was holding almost eight thousand dollars in my hot little hands. I could bank some of it, so I’d have the security deposit and the first month’s rent on a new apartment. I could even trade in my Jetta and put some of the money toward a less used car. Of course, I wasn’t the kind of person who would ever take advantage of my nephew.
“Riley, I’m thinking maybe you and I should buy a car together. I’ll drive it until you’re old enough. You’re eight, right?” It sounded weak even to me. “I’ll drive you and your friends anywhere you want to go,” I added to sweeten the deal.
Riley wrinkled his nose and scrunched his eyes. “Does this mean we’re not going to Hollywood?”
No, even I could see this wasn’t really fair. Riley could bank his half for college and I’d forget about the car. Although maybe I could still get the door fixed on my Jetta. “Don’t worry, we’re going, honey. I’m just going to try to make us each a few bucks on these tickets.”
“YOU WANT TO BE downgraded?” the man behind the check-in counter asked.
I smiled my most encouraging smile. “Well, yes, I think so, but I just want to be sure I can get the difference.” I opened my eyes wide and tried to look pleading but not desperate. “Cash would be great,” I added.
“Excuse me?” he said in kind of a snippy tone. He slid one of the tickets out of its envelope with his thumb and forefinger, as if he didn’t want to smudge any incriminating fingerprints.
I had this horrible feeling he was about to call security, so I backpedaled a little. “But, really, a check would be just fine. Thanks so much for anything you can do. Sir.”
He gave me a look that said he was all-powerful and I was a mere ant in the picnic of life. “Listen, hon, we change these tickets and the best that can happen is the travel agency gets a refund check. I’m not even sure about that.”
He slid the ticket back into its envelope and flicked his wrist to hold it out to me. “Take the first class, hon,” he said. “It might be your only chance.”
Riley and I found our way to the security checkpoint line, which seemed to stretch back for miles. As we waited, people sighed and looked at their watches and talked about how ridiculous this was and how there had to be a more efficient way to do that. We inched forward for maybe ten minutes or so, and I began to notice occasional people walking by us as if the line didn’t apply to them. “Save my place,” I said to Riley the next time one of them went by.
I followed a man in a suit until I saw a sign on a waist-high metal pole that said FIRST CLASS and BUSINESS CLASS. The man strolled past the pole as if he owned the place, and I practically ran back to Riley.
I grabbed my carry-on. “Follow me,” I said to Riley.
Riley and I wheeled our suitcases right past all those poor suckers. “I don’t think you’re allowed to take front cuts,” Riley said.
“You get what you pay for,” I said.
We were through security before we knew it, and we sat in plastic chairs and watched the television sets next to our gate until we heard a voice say, “Boarding flight two-sixty-four. First-class passengers only.”
Riley and I waltzed past the pilot and the smiling flight attendants to seats 3A and 3C. I reached up to put our bags in the roomy overhead bins and noticed the seats next to us were 3D and F. Seats 3B and E apparently did not exist, which meant that two entire people had been done away with to make room for our navy blue leather recliners.
“Score,” Riley said beside me as he reached around in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him. “We don’t have to pay for the headphones.”
“Champagne?” a flight attendant asked.
“I might need some,” I answered, nodding over at Riley, who had his headphones on and was making squeaky sound effects as he played a video game built into his armrest. The flight attendant actually laughed, rather than ignoring me the way they usually did in coach.
I looked at my watch. 12:23. “Hmm. Maybe not. I’ve never had a drink this early. Except in college when I’d been up all night.”
He winked and lifted some champagne off his tray, in an actual glass, no less. “No worries. It’s cocktail hour somewhere. Why, it’s after five PM in London, after six in Amsterdam.”
“What time is it in LA?”
“Nine-twenty-three AM. But who’s counting?”
“Thanks,” I said as I took the glass.
“And how about you, sir?” I tapped Riley’s shoulder, and he pushed a button on the armrest and lifted up one of his earphones. “Can I get you a soda?”
“Coke, please,” Riley said. “Do you have endless refills?”
The flight attendant laughed again. “For you, absolutely.”
While Riley and I sipped our drinks, those poor coach people started getting herded in like cattle. Through a little break in the never-ending line, I noticed that three of the four people in the front row of the plane had their shoes off and their stocking feet up on the carpeted wall in front of them. I elbowed Riley and pointed at them.
“Are they allowed to do that?” Riley asked.
“I think they’re worried about thrombosis. It must be a first-class thing.”
“What’s trombonesis?” Riley asked.
“It’s when a blood clot breaks off from your leg and kills you.” I guess I said it a little too loudly because the man across the aisle gave me a look of terror. “Sorry,” I said. I lowered my voice and whispered to Riley, “I don’t think we have to worry about it. We come from a long line of coach stock.”
I held up my glass. “Anyway, cheers. May the road rise up to meet you.”
Riley conked his glass into mine. “May the wind always be at your back.”
“May the roof above us never fall in,” we said together.
“Owe me a Coke,” Riley and I said, which was exactly what his mother and I both had to try to say first when we were kids and said something at the same time.
“I don’t have to,” I said to Riley. “They have endless refills.”
The champagne was almost to my lips when my cell phone rang. It was probably Geri, calling to tell me to turn it off. Which I supposed wasn’t actually a bad thing, since I’d forgotten all about it.
“Hey, Riley,” I said. “Don’t forget to turn off your cell phone, okay?”
“I already did,” he said.
I put my champagne on Riley’s tray and shuffled through my shoulder bag to find my cell phone. “Hello,” I said eventually.
“Get off the plane right now,” Geri’s voice said.
“Are you crazy?” Just in case she was not only crazy but serious, I reached for my champagne and chugged it. The bubbles tickled my nose and I sneezed.
“Bless you. Listen, I mean it. Is the plane door still open?”
It was, but I wasn’t sure I should admit it. “Why? And we can’t just leave. What about our baggage?”
“They’ll have to get it off. The new FAA rules state that your luggage can’t be on the plane if you’re not.”
Leave it to my sister to do the research before she called. Our flight attendant was pushing his way past the passengers still flocking onto the plane. I handed him my phone.
“Here,” I said. “It’s for you.”
Chapter 16
RILEY KEPT WATCHING ME AS WE ROLLED OUR SUITcases up the ramp toward the terminal. “This better be good,” I said into my cell phone. “You have no idea how comfortable those blue leather recliners were. And, let me tell you, that baggage guy got pretty ugly before he found our suitcases.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Everything’s fine,” I said to Riley. “Just a second, and I’ll fill you in.”
“What?” I said again after Geri finished telling me. Riley and I were back in the terminal now, and I slowed down when we came to a swarm of people milling around outside Legal Sea Foods. I was having a hard time focusing, since I was pretty much occupied by the fantasy that maybe I could scalp our ticket stubs before the plane took off. “LAX?” I imagined myself whispering into the crowd.
“Hello? Earth to Ginger,” my sister said into my ear. “What is your problem? Listen, you’ve got to get over to Cape Air ASAP. It’s in the same terminal—just head over to ticketing. Let me talk to Riley, okay?”
“How about if you tell me one more time first?”
“How about if you try listening for a change? All right. Some production assistant called to say Riley’s call time was eight AM tomorrow and said they’d fax over the location directions. I said we had the directions and a car was picking you up at LAX and taking you to the hotel. He said, ‘Oops.’ Which I eventually found out meant they’d completely forgotten you and Riley were heading out to LA.” Geri took a gulp of air. “You with me so far?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Okay, so apparently the shark resurfaced on the Cape over the weekend, and the producers got some permits pulled fast and they’ve been scrambling around to get everything down there so they can shoot before the shark takes off again.”
“They forgot about us?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Listen, get over yourself, will you? It could have been worse. You could have flown all the way out there, just to turn around and fly all the way back again.”
“But at least then we could have said we’d been to Hollywood.” My carry-on was slipping off the top of my suitcase, so I stopped to push it back up again. “And why don’t we just drive to the Cape?”
“Don’t you think Riley’s been through enough already for one day without having to come back to Marshbury and start all over again?”
“Riley? What about me? I’m right here next to him.” I looked over to make sure he was still there. He was.
“Do you see the ticket counter yet?”
I thought I could make out a single Cape Air sign at the end of the long row of counters. “Yeah, I think so, but—”
“Just give them your names. It’s all set. When you get to the Cape, a car will take you to the hotel, and the hotel will have a rental car waiting for you. I’ll fax you everything else you need. Now let me talk to Riley. The poor kid probably has no idea what’s going on.”
“Okay, here he is,” I said. “Oh, if you happen to go into Harborside Drugs for anything, just don’t tell Penny Cabozzi I didn’t end up going to Hollywood after all, okay?”
I tried to wrap my brain around the fairly jolting change in plans while Riley talked to his mother and we waited in line at the ticket counter. I’d had such a clear picture of me poking around the shops and galleries in Los Angeles, absorbing art like a sponge. Of course, since the Cape was a lot closer, maybe Geri and Seth could take turns coming down after work, and this way, I could actually have more time to absorb. And having a rental car for a week or two would save some wear and tear on my Jetta, so that was a bonus. Although, then again, the Cape was certainly a lot less exotic than Hollywood, plus I’d only been there about a million times. Allison Flagg was probably laughing already.
But, then again, if Noah actually tried to track me down, at least I’d be easier to locate on the Cape. I had a quick image of a frantic Noah trying to find me and not being able to. Of course, this wasn’t the real Noah, but a Noah who actually used the telephone, had never thrown a pebble, understood the concept of advance planning, and had his canine-human issues thoroughly worked out.
“Next,” a woman behind the counter said. A Nantucket basket filled with paper luggage tags sat on the counter in front of her. I thought it was a nice touch, but not nice enough to make up for missing Hollywood.
“Yup,” Riley said into my cell phone as we headed over to her. “I will. Okay. Okay. I won’t. Love you, too, Mom. Bye.”
I had my license out already, and I handed it over to the woman and gave her Riley’s name. She tapped away at the keyboard for a minute, then glanced up. “Looks like you’ll just make the one forty-five. You can check your luggage at the gate.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And I’m sure you already have this, but we’re supposed to be in first class.”
She laughed. “On a nine-passenger Cessna, you can be any class you want to be, hon.”
When I unzipped my shoulder bag to tuck my license back into my wallet, St. Christopher poked his little plastic head out.
“Thanks a lot,” I said before I zipped him back in.
ONCE MEMORIAL DAY HIT, it was slim pickings when it came to last-minute hotels on the Cape. Ours was jammed in between the Dew Drop Inn and the Ahoy Matey Motel. The Fisherman’s Lodge wasn’t exactly the first picture that popped into your head when you thought of Cape Cod. A guy who looked like a lumberjack held open a mammoth rough-hewn wooden door for us. I wondered where he’d have stashed his rifle if we had said yes to his offer of help with our bags.
Riley stopped to check out a pair of fake beavers gliding under a fairly authentic-looking beaver dam in the pond in the middle of the lobby. Behind the dam a craggy waterfall splashed and sparkled under fluorescent lights. “Cool,” Riley said. “I bet this is even better than Hollywood.”
“Mmm,” I said. I was so tired I felt like I’d walked to Hollywood and back on my hands. Plus, my teeth were still rattling from the bumpy little plane ride. Cape Cod was a lot like Marshbury, only with more traffi
c. It had taken us forever to get to the hotel from the airport. We rolled our way up to the desk, passing a fishing-pole rental kiosk, a hair salon, and an Internet work station along the way.
“Hi,” I said. “We’re checking in.”
A bored-looking woman turned back around from putting a note in one of the dark wooden mailboxes that took up the entire wall behind the counter. She had pink hair and a thick silver ring at the base of her nose, and she was wearing a T-shirt that said GONE FISHING. My guess was the T-shirt hadn’t been her idea. I thought about asking her if she’d made the ring herself and then seeing if I could get some tips about the local art scene, but I decided I needed a nap first. Or a swim.
THE PHONE WAS RINGING when Riley and I pushed open the door to our hotel room. “What is your problem?” Geri screamed into my ear when I answered. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
I looked at the clock radio next to the phone. Hours seemed like a bit of an exaggeration. My hotel towel was soaked right through, and water was running down my legs and dripping onto the carpet. We’d cranked up the air-conditioning before we headed down to the pool, and I was starting to shiver already. If I hung up now, I could change fast before Riley came out of the bathroom. “Can I call you right back?” I asked.
“No, you cannot call me right back,” Geri yelled.
I didn’t say anything.
“Why?” she asked in a quieter voice.
“Because I’m soaking wet and I need to put some dry clothes on?” I said. Then I hung up. I kept my towel on and peeled my bathing suit off under it, and pulled on some drawstring pants and a sweatshirt. Just so I didn’t traumatize Riley in case he was a faster changer than I expected, I opened the closet door and hid behind it while I was changing. Apparently, junior suite meant that your living quarters and bedroom were basically different ends of the same open room.
The phone rang again just as Riley was coming out of the bathroom wearing shorts and holding his bathing suit and towel in his hands. His hair stood up in little points all over his head. “Where should I put these?” he asked.
