The Chaos of Standing Still

by Jessica Brody

  I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye and instantly knew she was lying. This wasn’t a hunch. She looked visibly rattled. She knew something. A secret she wasn’t telling me.

  I suddenly thought about twelve-year-old Lottie, lying on the floor of her tree house after my parents’ divorce. Her red hair fanned out around her face.

  “I don’t ever want to get married,” she’d whispered. “It never ends well.”

  I glanced over at seventeen-year-old Lottie sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s Prius. She was staring intently out the windshield, watching the dark sedan in front of us, making sure we didn’t lose him.

  I wondered what had happened today to propel her into action.

  And I also wondered how long Lottie had been keeping this secret buried inside her.

  After the third sign for Portland International Airport, Lottie’s father’s destination was becoming fairly obvious. But, as was so often the case, Lottie refused to see the signs.

  “It’s not a business trip,” she argued after I suggested it for the second time.

  “Then why is he going to the airport?”

  “It’s a ruse.” Her answer was so confident. It left little room for argument.

  “He’s driving all the way to the airport to throw us off his scent?”

  Lottie snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ryn.”

  I’m the one being ridiculous?

  “He doesn’t know that we’re onto him.”

  I scrunched up my face, now totally confused. This was bizarre behavior, even for Lottie.

  “Then why is he going to the airport if he’s not going on a business trip?”

  “Don’t you see?” Lottie asked with annoyance.

  “Clearly, I don’t.”

  “He’s leaving a trail!”

  I shook my head. “A trail?”

  “He parks at the airport parking lot. He charges the parking to the credit card so that when my mom sees the statement, she has no reason to suspect him.”

  “And then?” I asked. I didn’t want to lead her any further down this path of delusion she was paving in her mind, but I was actually curious.

  She sighed, rapidly losing patience with me and my naïveté in matters of the unfaithful heart. “And then he gets picked up. By whoever he’s cheating with!”

  I exited the freeway, still three cars behind Mr. Valentine’s black sedan, and stopped at the light. I peered at Lottie. Her eyes were wide and wild and red-rimmed. Her lips dry and chapped. Her beautiful nails were chewed down to the quick, the remaining red polish frayed and jagged. Everything about her was so un-Lottie, it terrified me.

  “Lottie,” I tried again in a gentle voice. “What happened?”

  She was silent for a moment. All I could hear was her strained breathing and the sound of the turn signal click click clicking as we waited to turn left. For a moment, I thought she actually might tell me, just to keep the silence from suffocating us both. But then the light turned green and the moment passed.

  She pointed at the vehicle three cars ahead of us. “He’s turning. Don’t lose him.”

  “I won’t,” I assured her, easing onto the gas pedal. But I was pretty certain I had already lost Lottie.

  Siri spends the next thirty minutes zigzagging across the enormous concourse, recruiting every employee she knows (and some she doesn’t) to what she’s promising to be the most epic New Year’s Eve party this airport has ever seen, making me wonder just how many New Year’s Eve parties this airport has seen.

  Despite the darkness that’s fallen outside, the building is extremely well lit. And so vast and open. I stop along the railing of a balcony and take the whole scene in. If this place wasn’t my evil nemesis keeping me from getting home, I might find the sight beautiful.

  As we pass through a corridor on our way to the baggage claim, I notice a boy standing off to the side, studying one of the large paintings on the wall. I instantly recognize his dark hair and scrawny body.

  “Troy?” I slow, keeping one eye on Siri. I can’t risk losing her in this massive concourse. Not when she still has my phone.

  Troy looks at me with a vacant, almost zombielike expression, as though he doesn’t recognize me.

  “Ryn,” I say, putting a hand to my chest. “Your sister.”

  He blinks twice. “I don’t have a sister.”

  I roll my eyes. “I got you out of the clutches of Simon, the airline employee.”

  “Ah. Right,” he replies woodenly, then turns back to the mural, like I’m not even there.

  I glance over at Siri, who has stopped nearby to talk to a baggage handler. For a moment I consider leaving. The kid is weird. And despite what Simon said, he’s really not my problem. But there’s something about how small and vulnerable he looks in this vast concourse. It makes me do something I haven’t done in a long time.

  Care.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, following his gaze to the massive painting. But as soon as my eyes register what I’m seeing, I nearly jump back in horror. “Holy crap. What is that?”

  The canvas is disturbing, to say the least. It stands at least six feet tall and nine feet wide and it depicts what appears to be a Nazi wearing a gas mask, stabbing a white dove with a giant sword with a demolished city in the foreground.

  I gape at it in astonishment. “What is this doing in an airport?”

  Troy taps his finger against his teeth, keeping his gaze trained on the troubling mural. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “Does this have something to do with the mission you were referring to?”

  He nods, still staring pensively at the art. “One of the guys in my master’s program swears there’s a top secret government conspiracy surrounding this airport. That the Illuminati built it to house an underground lair buried deep within the earth, and that this is where they will go when they bring about their deadly plans for destruction.”

  I snort. “Sounds like a Dan Brown novel.”

  “Mmm,” Troy says, “I don’t read fiction.”

  “So what does this painting have to do with it?”

  “He said there are signs confirming the conspiracy, hidden around the airport.”

  I laugh. “This painting doesn’t exactly look hidden. It’s huge.”

  Troy looks at me. “What an astute observation,” he says in a robotic tone. “Are you sure you’re not an art scholar?”

  “Ha. Ha. Very funny. Just because I’m not as smart as you—”

  “No one is as smart as me.”

  “I’m sure someone is.”

  Troy considers this. “Well, very few.” He focuses back on the painting. “There’s a lot of debate online about what this painting represents.”

  “Death,” I say automatically, without thinking. “It represents death.”

  Troy looks at me again, but this time there’s something different about his gaze. Something inquisitive. As if I’ve suddenly become the more interesting tableau here.

  I keep my eyes trained on the painting, taking in what looks like a river of dead souls emerging from the destroyed city. “And how we’re all helpless in its wake.”

  “Yes, that’s what the conspiracy theorists think. But the artist claims he was trying to convey hopefulness.”

  I snort and point to the middle of the mural, where a young girl and two babies are sleeping on a pile of rubble. “Then he shouldn’t have painted three children who can literally do nothing but lie down while their city is being destroyed.”

  “So you’re a conspiracist,” Troy states.

  “No, I’m a realist.”

  Troy is silent for a long moment, still studying me. I blink, coming out of what feels like a trance, and that’s when I notice Siri is no longer talking to the baggage handler. I desperately glance around until I spot her heading toward the escalators that lead to the upper level of the concourse. I really don’t want to lose track of her as she still has my phone. But I’m also hesitant to let Troy out
of my sight. For some reason, I don’t like the idea of him wandering around this airport by himself, staring at creepy paintings and searching for apocalyptic clues. Even though he has an IQ of about a million, I feel sort of protective of him.

  “Look,” I say, “I know you’re on some important mission or whatever, but I was thinking maybe you could hang out with me tonight instead.”

  He looks incredibly dubious. “Doing what?”

  I peer over at Siri, who’s now stepping onto the escalator. “Well, you see, there’s this party.”

  A look of pure disgust flashes across his face. “A party? I’m trying to unravel a conspiracy that may bring about the end of the world, and you want me to go to a party?”

  I bow my head, feeling foolish and chastised. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  But he doesn’t walk away. He actually takes a step toward me and cocks his head to the side. “What kind of party?”

  Troy and I catch up to Siri on the second floor of the concourse. She’s making her way to a restaurant called Pour la France! which seems to have the best view in the whole terminal and looks like a Parisian café. The chairs have wicker backs and the coffee drinks are served in cute, French-style white cups with saucers.

  Siri walks up to the to-go coffee counter, cutting in front of a huge line of people who all grunt and hiss at her. Obviously, she ignores them. No surprise there. Siri doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl who bothers to care what people think of her. It’s a personality trait that fascinates me and frightens me at the same time.

  The barista is a thin, leggy girl in her late teens or early twenties. She’s beautiful, with long, dark hair that’s been braided up one side. When Siri approaches, she immediately abandons the coffee order she’s working on and gives Siri her undivided attention.

  “Listen up, chica,” Siri says, sounding stern. “Your mourning period ends tonight. I’m throwing a huge New Year’s Eve bash in room 917 of the Westin and you’re going.”

  The girl slouches. “I don’t know.”

  “Nope,” Siri replies. “None of that. You’re going. There’s going to be enough booze there to make you forget about what’s his stupid face.”

  “I don’t want to forget about him,” the barista whines.

  “I don’t care what you want,” Siri snaps.

  “Excuse me!” the customer at the front of the line butts in. “Are you going to finish my drink?”

  “In a minute,” Siri barks at him. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?”

  The customer looks affronted but backs down, grumbling something to his wife.

  “Room 917,” Siri repeats. “You better be there or I’ll come find you. I know where you hide.”

  While Troy is distracted reviewing articles about the airport conspiracy on his phone, I let my gaze wander to the dining area of the restaurant. Every table is taken. I don’t think it really hit me until now just how many people are going to be spending the night under the same roof. This is going to be one epic slumber party.

  Then I spot someone familiar. A tall, beautiful redheaded woman dressed in a flight attendant’s uniform. It’s the same woman I saw whispering giddily into her phone back at gate A44. The one who reminded me of Lottie. Except now she’s not alone.

  Sitting across from her is an attractive, thirtysomething gentleman in slacks and a button-down shirt. His red-and-white-striped tie has been loosened to the point where it looks more like a necklace than a tie.

  The two are leaned as far forward as they can possibly be, foreheads touching, creating their own little private cocoon. He reaches out and places a hand on her cheek, and she closes her eyes, leaning into his palm.

  I wonder if this is the guy she was talking to on the phone when I saw her hours before. If so, how did he get here? Was he already on his way? Did he drive in from somewhere nearby? Through all that snow?

  Or is this a completely different guy?

  A boy in every port.

  I expect Lottie to burst into my head right now and offer her opinion. This is just the kind of romantic interlude that she loves to comment on. A quiet, stolen moment between two people who are clearly crazy about each other.

  But she’s unusually silent.

  Come to think of it, I haven’t heard from her since I tried to run out into the storm.

  “C’mon,” a voice breaks into my thoughts. It’s Siri. She’s nudging me along to our next recruiting destination.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “We’re assembling more troops,” she replies as though it’s terribly obvious and shame on me for not coming to the same conclusion myself.

  “Are you going to war or planning a party?”

  Siri links an arm through mine like we’re best friends (which we are not) and I can’t help but notice that she smells like hamburger mixed with what I deduce is some kind of strawberry body spray. As we walk and Troy follows behind us, his face buried in his phone, I glance down at the poofy red jacket Siri is still wearing over her work uniform. My phone is only inches away. I could easily slide my fingers right into her pocket and grab it.

  I feel my whole body buoy at the thought of getting it back.

  This is when Lottie’s shoplifting skills really would have come in handy.

  I squeeze tighter against Siri and let my hand sink down against my hip. Then, with the slyness of a cat, I slip two fingers into the soft, downy pocket of her jacket, reaching farther and farther until . . .

  “The phone’s in the other pocket,” Siri says without looking at me or trying to move away from my sticky fingers. “But nice try, Danny Ocean.”

  Danny Ocean? There’s that name again.

  My mind immediately flashes to Xander.

  Where on earth did he go? I know he left to take a phone call, but that was over thirty minutes ago. He probably used his ringing phone as an opportunity to escape. I certainly wouldn’t blame him. He’s seen a hint of the crazy that lies beneath. He’s glimpsed Irrational Ryn and she’s not pretty to look in the face. This is why you don’t talk to people. This is why you keep your head down and you don’t make eye contact and you don’t agree to have burgers with strangers and you do whatever it takes to keep those hidden things hidden.

  Because as Lottie always said, “It never ends well.”

  Even so, I can’t help but inconspicuously scan the surrounding area for that familiar Animal Muppet shirt. But instead of finding Xander, I notice something else.

  Back at the flight attendant’s table, her male dining companion has now placed both hands on her face and is leaning in to kiss her. She melts into him, her lips parting seductively. I have to squint to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing, but there’s really no mistaking it.

  On his fourth finger, pressed against her flawlessly creamy skin, is a gold wedding band.

  I parked three rows away from Mr. Valentine’s sedan, and Lottie jumped out before I had even killed the engine. We crept around parked cars like ninjas as we stealthily attempted to follow her father through the long-term parking lot toward the terminal building.

  “Lottie,” I whispered as she ducked behind an SUV and peered around the edge of the bumper. “I think he’s actually going to the airport.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “No, he’s not. She’s probably meeting him at the passenger pickup.”

  “Why would he go through all this trouble just to do that?”

  “Because that’s what cheaters do!” she hissed.

  And so the game went on.

  We followed Mr. Valentine all the way into the terminal building, hid behind a bank of payphones while he checked in at the ticket kiosk, and skulked after him until he reached the security line.

  I grabbed Lottie’s arm and pulled her back. “We can’t go through there without a ticket,” I reminded her.

  She turned toward the counter with determination in her eyes. “Then we’ll just have to buy a ticket. I have my Visa with me.”


  “Lottie,” I said, running to step in front of her. “I think you need to accept the fact that your father is going on a business trip. Just as he said he was.”

  She stared at me, but it was as though she was looking right through me. Her eyes couldn’t focus. Her mind couldn’t accept the words coming out of my mouth.

  I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. Her head bounced around like a rag doll. “What happened?”

  But she still didn’t answer me.

  I sighed. “I think we should go home.”

  Lottie turned back briefly, watching her father hand his ticket and ID to the awaiting TSA agent. I could see the confusion creeping across her face. Lottie was never one to admit defeat. At least not easily.

  “Okay,” she finally relented, facing me. “Let’s go home.”

  But she didn’t move. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tighter than I’d ever remembered squeezing her. She seemed to dissolve into me, but she didn’t hug me back.

  “It’ll be okay,” I promised her.

  She nodded against my shoulder, but I could tell she didn’t believe me.

  I was just about to pull away when something caught my eye. Lottie’s father had bypassed the first security check and was waiting to put his bag through the X-ray scanner. A woman with long dark hair ran up to him and laid a deep, openmouthed kiss on his lips. It was hard to make out clearly through all the other passengers blocking my view, but I was pretty certain she was wearing a black flight attendant’s uniform.

  I let out a small, pained gasp, and Lottie broke free from my hug. Her back was still to the security line.

  “C’mon,” I said, trying to keep my tone light and unaffected. “Let’s go to Salt & Straw.”

  I prayed she wouldn’t turn around. I prayed if she did, they would already be gone.

  “Ryn?” she said, her voice soft, broken.

  I kept mine bright and breezy. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

  I let out a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as forced to her as it felt coming out of my mouth. “Don’t be. That’s what I’m here for.”