Wicked Luck

by Shannon L. Maynard

25. DAY FIVE: LUCKY BREAK

  Dax

  Ava cried herself to sleep in my arms, but the peace I see on her face now is doing little to wipe away the guilt I feel for causing her such anguish—first the reading of her journal, and then the insistence to open the briefcase. Some knight in shining armor I’ve become.

  Her cheek is warm nestled against my chest. One of her arms loops around my back and the other drapes up and over my shoulder where her fingers graze the hair at the back of my neck. I reach up to sweep a strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear with a feather light touch. My fingers refrain from skimming along the skin of her delicate arm because I worry she’ll wake from my racing heart beneath her ear.

  I should be happy that Preston has managed to get himself disqualified from this unspoken competition, but the anger I feel towards him is putting a damper on the celebration. I’ve always thought he must be lying at the bottom of the ocean, but now drowning seems like too easy a death for him. A traitor like that deserves to be ripped limb from limb and fed to the cannibals.

  I need a distraction. If only I hadn’t lost the one thing that has kept me occupied for the last few days, I could slip it out of my pocket now and read the last three entries. Where is the journal? She’d had it when we came in the bedroom, clutched in her hands against her chest, protecting it like it was the last book on earth, but now her hands are both on me. Her hands are on me.

  My heart skips a beat. I can’t think about that.

  The journal.

  I tilt my head up. There it is. Laying on the end table to my right, open and face down where she must have left it when I left to dispose of the case.

  At the nape of my neck, her fingers twitch ever so slightly next to my skin and cause a tickling sensation that ignites every nerve in my being. My slow exhale rustles her hair. I need that damn journal before I lose all self-control.

  I reach out and the tip of my middle finger barely brushes the rim of the spine. A mere inch keeps me from being successful. She’s tucked up under my other arm so I lean just slightly, bringing her with me, and the move is so slow and minimal she doesn’t even flinch. I flip my hand over to tuck my finger under the V of the opening and carefully nudge the book closer to the edge of the table so it becomes within reach.

  My hand slips under the pages, and I silently lift the journal off the table and bring it into view. The book is open to the page where she finds Sergio in her house so, with the use of one hand and my mouth, I turn past the Catalina entry to the one where I left off. I peek down at her and then back to the page.

  August 16

  This morning, Preston drove me to work and dropped me off a few minutes early to talk to George, promising to return to pick me up for lunch before he and Kirk headed to the beach to surf. Ever since I told him about the trust two nights ago, he doesn’t seem to want to let me out of his sight.

  I made my way upstairs to George’s office where he was sitting behind his desk. His office looked the same as I remembered from my interview. The desk was a cluttered, unorganized mess, with stacks of paperwork piled on either side of his workspace.

  He motioned for me to sit down in the same chair I occupied just a few months before for my strange interview. He asked what was on my mind while he sifted through some papers directly in front of him. I told him I was there to give my two weeks’ notice and caught him completely off guard. I already felt bad considering I’ve only been there for two months, but he made me feel worse when he said I was one of the best line hostess’ he’d ever had.

  Then the conversation got really awkward when he asked if I’d found another job in town and instead of just saying no, I suddenly came down with a case of verbal diarrhea and proceeded to tell him I’ve been dating Preston and that he asked me to go to Europe with him, where I planned to go to school in the fall.

  George’s face was blank for a moment, and then he slowly leaned back in his chair. He removed his reading glasses, set them on the desk, then rested his elbows on the armrests and placed his hands together, finger to finger in front of his chest. The congratulations I expected were nowhere to be found. Instead, his face creased with worry, or disapproval, I couldn’t tell which.

  “Is this about money?” he asked. I held my breath, thinking at first that he was referring to the trust money. But then he offered to re-evaluate my pay and give me a wage increase and some more vacation time. Oh, that money. I resumed breathing and almost laughed out loud. I must have looked like a deer in headlights.

  Anyway, he forced a nod and didn’t wait for me to accept before he told me he’d fill out the forms and send them to personnel. I thanked him but gently reminded him that the best option was for me to go to school. He actually suggested I check out the colleges in San Diego before I make any “rash decisions” I may regret later.

  He went on and on about how he’d work around my schedule and even insisted I take the rest of the day off to go check some local colleges out. Then he said we’d talk again next week after I’d had time to look at all my options. He gave me a short smile, then he put his glasses back on and focused his attention back to the papers in front of him.

  Obviously, he hadn’t heard the part about me dating Preston or he wouldn’t have suggested that I stay here and let him leave me behind. Then again, it’s probably not good for business to have a calendar girl quit before the year even begins.

  I should have argued but the thought of spending the afternoon watching Preston shirtless on top of a gigantic wave overruled my rational thinking so I thanked him and left, figuring I’d just stall for a couple of days and then tell him, but Preston took care of it the minute he found out.

  I told Preston what happened when he picked me up for lunch, and he flipped the car around and parked. He made his way through the lobby with me in tow, past the curious stares of the front-desk girls, and then headed up to George’s office. Preston tapped lightly on the doorframe, and George looked up from his desk and told us to come in.

  I tried to relax as we sat down, but Preston got right to the point. I watched the faint grin disappear from George’s round face when Preston told him a local college wouldn’t be necessary because Mr. Caruso offered me a job as a flight attendant. He then proceeded to tell George I would need Friday off to fly with him to pick up Mr. C in Australia “so he can extend the offer personally” and added that my two weeks’ notice still applied. Preston spoke smoothly and with confidence, but the tongue-lashing I expected to follow his speech was nowhere to be found. George leaned back in his chair, looking very pleased, and glanced between Preston and me.

  “Well, I can’t argue with that, now, can I? Why didn’t you say so, Ava?” he stated in a matter-of-fact manner. Then he rushed on to tell me that Mr. Caruso is a fine employer and he’d certainly miss me, but I made a wise choice considering my other options and he was happy it all worked out and then ended with “That’ll be nice for you kids to get to travel together at Mr. Caruso’s expense.”

  Yeah. Wrong thing to say. I started to get up, content with his assumption, but Preston apparently felt the need to clear up the misunderstanding. He reached over to take my hand and said to George, “I said Mr. Caruso offered the job to Ava, but I didn’t say she was going to take it. It seems her mind is already made up. I’ve offered to help Mr. Caruso start looking for another pilot as well.”

  George shifted uneasily in his chair and paused before he said, “Well, it appears it’s too late then, and there’s nothing I can do to change your mind.” Small beads of sweat formed on his balding forehead. He reached up, tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, and then said, “That’s unfortunate. I’m sure Mr. Caruso will be very sorry to lose such a good pilot as you.”

  He forced a weak smile, stood up, shook Preston’s hand, and then glanced at me to wish me the best of luck. If only he knew the truth about the twisted relationship between luck and me, he wouldn’t have wasted that wish on me.

  August 18

&n
bsp; Today Preston picked me up at five when my shift was over and brought me to my house to pack. We barely walked in the front door when my cell phone rang. It was Mrs. Hansen. Her call surprised me because I’d forgotten I gave her my phone number to call me in case of any emergency.

  I asked her if everything was okay and put the phone on speaker so Preston could hear the conversation. A cold shiver ran down my spine when she told me someone had broken into my parent’s house. She tried to take the blame, worried she hadn’t gone over enough to check things out and it didn’t help that the police told her whoever it was must have noticed no one was living there.

  I assured her she wasn’t to blame and asked what was taken, hanging on to a glimmer of hope that it was a random break-in and nothing related to what’s been happening since I moved here. But that hope died when she said nothing appeared to be missing and that it looked like they just went through my parents’ office. “It’s a disaster in there,” she said. “They ransacked the desk, and there are papers everywhere. The police thought they might be looking for a safe or some paperwork. You know how popular identity theft has become.”

  Preston stared at me with eyes as wide as mine, and “Oh” was all I could manage to say because my mind was spinning wildly out of control. She apologized again and told me she started to pick up but decided to wait until after she talked to me.

  I asked her how they got in and I can’t say I was surprised when she told me there were no signs of forced entry and the doors were locked when she arrived. She wasn’t sure when the break-in took place but knew it had to have been within the last week.

  Before we said our goodbyes, I told her I’m planning to come home in two weeks and that I’d take care of it then. Preston promises me everything will be fine and even offered to come with me to Colorado so, for now, I will only worry about my dreaded meeting with Mr. C.

  The plan is to leave tomorrow at six o’clock after I get off work. Preston says we’ll have to stop in Hawaii for fuel and then continue to Australia. That means we’ll arrive in Australia early Saturday morning, and Preston hopes to have the rest of Saturday to hang out and surf before Mr. C wants to leave—most likely Sunday morning. I keep telling myself if I can survive those sixteen and a half hours with Mr. C, I’ll never have to do it again. I guess it’s a small speck of time considering what I hope will be an eternity spent with Preston. I can definitely live with that.

  “Dax?”

  My blood stops cold in my veins. When I look down, her eyes are still closed. In a panic, I toss the journal on the table and kiss her on the forehead to create a distraction. Her lids flutter open to expose her red, swollen eyes.

  “Yes?” I answer.

  “I’m so thirsty.”

  “Yeah, sure. Let me get you some water.” She sits up. Slipping out from under her, I ignore the stabbing pain in my lower back from acting as her personal pillow for so long. I get a cup and fill it with water and when I return, she’s staring at the journal.

  She’s so transfixed she doesn’t notice the hesitation in my step. I purposely sit facing her and use my body to block the book from her view. Maybe she didn’t notice it wasn’t the way she left it. I hand her the cup.

  “Get rid of it,” she says, and then takes a long sip from the cup.

  “What?”

  “Get rid of the journal. Put it wherever you hid the briefcase or burn it. I don’t care.”

  I must look ridiculous staring at her like she just spoke in a foreign language.

  “But—”

  “I know you were reading it. It doesn’t matter now. Almost the entire thing is based on a lie. Hopes and dreams that will never come true.” A tear falls from her eye, and I wonder how it’s possible for her to have any tears left. “Please. I don’t want it anymore. Just make it go away.”

  I nod and pick up the leather book. When I get to the door of the room, I turn to see if she’ll change her mind, but she’s staring back at me with steady resolve.

  I can’t say I blame her. The fewer reminders of Preston, the better. I crawl through the tunnel to the treasure room and click open the briefcase to toss the journal inside. And I was one entry away from finishing it. My hand rests on the top of the case but refuses to pull it closed. Just one more. She’ll never know any different.

  The book falls open in my hand and I flip quickly to the last page, but I only read the first two sentences before I shove the book in my pocket and hurry back through the tunnel. Ava is on the couch, lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She turns her head when I stumble into the room.

  “What is the last thing you remember before you woke up here?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “You said you don’t remember anything after getting on the plane. So you don’t remember actually flying?”

  “No. The last thing I remember is Sergio flipping me the bird right before we taxied away.” She swings her legs around and sits up to face me. “Why are you asking me this?”

  I swallow and pull her journal from my pocket to hand it to her. “Because you wrote about the flight in your journal.”

  I’m nervous because I’m holding in my hand the one thing she wants destroyed. Gone. Wiped from her mind like fingerprints with a cloth.

  “Just tell me what it says.” Her eyes meet mine. I take another step towards her and sit the book in her lap.

  “I think you should read it yourself. I know you don’t want to, but it might jog your memory and help you figure out what happened. That’s what you want, right?”

  What she probably wants is to snap her fingers and wake up in her old life. The one with her parents and no memories of Preston, but that life wouldn’t include me.

  I’m hoping my enthusiasm will spark what little hope she has left for peace and decide maybe I’m right. Because she’s refusing to pick it up, like it will burn her skin if she tries, and she stares at it so long that I finally sit beside her and pick it up myself. I wrap my arm around her, kiss her on the temple, and then open the journal to the last page.

  “You can do it,” I tell her. “I’m right here. We will read it together and if I’m wrong—you can dispose of me along with the book.”

  A smile tugs at my lips.

  “And how would I go about doing that?” she asks, and now I’m a little worried she might take me up on the offer.

  “I don’t know. I guess you can bury me in the treasure room with all of my treasures. But at least you could read a little first before you start planning my demise.”

  Her lips twitch to fight back a grin. She sighs and nods her head to begin.

  August 19

  Kirk is snoring. Preston’s in the cockpit by himself because Kirk is asleep on the couch and has been there since we landed in Hawaii for a quick turn about three hours ago. Watching him sleep makes me tired, but I want to stay up to wait for Preston. Kirk’s turn to fly is less than an hour away.

  This is so much better than flying commercially. As soon as we took off, I reclined my seat and looked out the window at the deep ocean below. The water became a blue blur in the distance, and all I could see were soft, billowing clouds. One hour into the flight, I pulled out my sketchpad, intent on drawing the view, but gave up and decided to make a list of things I need to accomplish in the next three weeks. I was completely surprised when Preston sat down next to me. Anna was absorbed in her book, and she didn’t seem the least bit concerned that Preston had wandered out of the cockpit.

  “Hey beautiful,” he said, reaching over to tuck my hair behind my ear. He smelled as incredible as he looked. I couldn’t help asking him if he should be in the cockpit with Kirk, but his soft laugh put me at ease. “Relax,” he told me. “Kirk has it under control. Besides, the plane practically flies itself.”

  He glanced down at my list of things to do and for some reason, I decided it would be a great time to ask about his conversation with Sergio. His lips twitched before a guilty grin emerged. He said he simply made it clear that he�
��s to stay away from me or he’ll be wrenching on Hotel Charlie from a wheelchair.

  I love that he stood up for me but asked if that was a good idea considering Sergio might tell Mr. C, but Preston said Sergio won’t tell because he’ll incriminate himself. I’m not sure what he means by that but before I could ask, he distracted me by moving to sit in the seat that faced me. He asked me to draw him and then started striking ridiculous poses to make me laugh. I flipped to a crisp, white page and told him to sit still. “I can do that,” he said. “I’ll gladly sit here all day if it means I get to look at you.”

  Him and his flustering comments. I glanced up to see if Anna was listening, but she appeared to be completely oblivious that we were even there. I felt self-conscious as he sat there, smiling with his gaze fixated on me. I was supposed to be studying him, not the other way around.

  I was so nervous and started making random comments to distract him like, “don’t forget you’re flying a plane,” and “are you sure you shouldn’t go check on Kirk?” and “this drawing won’t do me any good if it’s floating in the middle of the ocean.” That was the only comment that actually got his attention. He cocked an eyebrow and demanded an explanation, so I told him there must be girls willing to pay good money to have a picture of him on their wall. He stifled a laugh before glancing at the paper and then back to me.

  I scolded him for moving and he agreed to hold perfectly still, flaunting his incredible smile and charming me with a seductive wink. I wanted to capture that smolder on paper. The trick was to not let him dazzle me to the point I forgot how to draw.

  He sat like a statue until I finished, then he reached for the sketchpad and studied the drawing. He looked at me again with an astonished look, and my face got hot in response. Preston shut the sketchpad and told me he needed to go back to the cockpit and give Kirk a break. “But I’m taking this with me,” he said, holding up my sketchpad. “Wait until Kirk sees this.” Then he kissed me before returning to the front of the plane.

  After a few minutes, Kirk came bouncing out of the cockpit to hand me my sketchpad and then stood in front of me, with his hands resting on his hips.

  “What gives, Miss April? I don’t recall you or Preston ever mentioning anything about you being an artist, especially when we were hanging out in…let me see, where was it… oh yeah, an ART GALLERY!” Anna looked up at the sound of his raised voice, and I snickered as he gawked at me with his contagious grin. He paused, looking pleased that he’d gotten Anna’s attention, even for a brief moment, before she went back to reading. (Preston told me Kirk’s had a huge crush on Anna since he started flying for Mr. C, and she never pays him any attention.)

  Then Kirk told me, “Don’t you think that’s something you should have made a point of putting in the calendar, kind of more important than—likes rainy days and a good book?” He used his fingers to float quote marks in the air. Putting his hands out, he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just sayin’.”

  I giggled and explained I was limited on the number of words, but he gave me the familiar two fingers to his squinted eyes point to let me know he’d be watching me before he sat down across the table from Anna. Kirk is so funny. I still don’t understand how Anna managed to sit there and completely ignore him. Neither could he.

  She looked up at him briefly before her gaze fell back to the page she was reading, and I pulled my book closer to my face to avoid watching Kirk’s useless attempt to get her to pay attention to him.

  Kirk asked her what her book was about and she told him “a girl”. I could hear a bit of irritation in her voice, which definitely made the situation awkward—at least for me. “Cool. I like girls,” Kirk said, and I cringed.

  He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t, so he invited her to go to the beach with us tomorrow when we get to Australia. He made the offer sound casual and friendly, but I think deep down he was subliminally begging her with his mind. She declined politely without an explanation, so Kirk gave up on asking questions and rambled on about his favorite things to see in Australia.

  I couldn’t help lower my book to get a glimpse of her expression. She placed a bookmark between the pages and laid the book down on the table, then gave him a polite half-smile and got up as he continued talking. She poured Kirk a soda and then busied herself with preparing dinner. Maybe she hoped he would shut up long enough to drink it.

  I think she pretended to be asleep when he came out of the cockpit later to nap, because as soon as he started snoring, she started reading her book again. Poor Kirk. At least those two will keep this tortuously long flight entertaining when Preston’s not around.