by Ginger Scott
They call my flight to board, and I feel the strangest sensation wash over me—it’s not panic, but rather exactly the opposite. It’s more than calm. It’s decision. And I feel a sense of pride that I stood up—for once in my life—and did something.
Wanting to get home quickly, I take a seat at the front of the plane so I can exit first. The little girl next to me is flying alone, and she looks nervous about it.
“Hey, I’m Charlie. What’s your name?” I ask. She looks up from her backpack, which she is clutching to her chest. She reaches her hand out hesitantly to grab mine.
“I’m Sophie. Nice to meet you,” she says, her words quiet and the most rehearsed form of polite. She must be going through finishing school. I look down and notice her shiny buckle shoes, which she’s kicking back-and-forth with nerves.
“So, Sophie. Is this your first time on an airplane?” I ask, trying to get her mind off of all the preparation happening around her. The attendant comes by to check on her and nods at me with a smile, thankful that I’ve taken this one on, I think. Sophie finally nods yes to me and gives her bag a tighter squeeze.
“Okay, well, I have good news for you. I’ve been on, like, a hundred flights,” I say. Truth be told, I’ve been on maybe a dozen flights, but in Sophie’s world, that might as well be a thousand. “That’s why I get to sit next to you. I get to be your buddy, just for the flight. How does that sound?”
Sophie nods with a faint smile, and I can see her grip loosen on her bag, just a little. I nod at it and ask her what’s inside. She zips it open a little and pulls out a panda bear and a big coloring book with a box of crayons. I pull them into my lap quickly.
“This is perfect,” I say, trying to stave off the worry I see in her face that I’m going to take her bear away. “Let’s keep these out and tuck your bag right here, under this seat.”
Sophie lets me store her bag and reaches for her bear. I help her make a pretend buckle out of the extra strap leftover from her own, and we tuck her book and crayons in the seat flap in front of us.
I keep talking to Sophie through the entire takeoff process, and when I’m pretty sure she’s become comfortable in the air, I pull out her coloring book and help her set it up to color on the tray.
“So how old are you, anyways?” I say, joining in on her urging to color the grass green on her farm picture.
“I’m seven,” she says, reaching into the box to pull out a purple, which she uses on the sky. I don’t know why, but her gesture makes me smile.
“That’s pretty,” I say. She stops and looks up at me, smiling back.
“Thanks. That’s what color the sky is back home,” she says. I sit back to think about it, and she’s sort of right. When the sun is setting, and there are clouds in the sky, everything is rather purple. It was always purple in Louisville, and for that small moment, I miss home—my real home. I smirk and lean forward to keep coloring, but as I do, the ring falls from my pocket and drops to the floor. I pick it up quickly, and I’m instantly sad that I almost lost it.
“Oooooooh, that’s pretty,” Sophie says, leaning over the armrest, her elbow propped on my knee. I chuckle to myself at how far Sophie’s come from the closed-off, terrified girl that I met less than 30 minutes ago. God, what I wouldn’t give to have half the personal growth she’s shown.
“Thanks,” I say, holding the ring between two fingers for her to take. She looks at me with wide eyes, afraid at first, but her fear wears away quickly, and soon she’s pushing the ring down her tiny finger. It’s big enough for three of her fingers, but she finds the right one and slides it down and holds it up to her face.
“So, who are you married to?” she asks, halting me. That word—married—feels so meaningless. I don’t even know how to answer her. I don’t even know how to answer my own questions.
“I’m not married to anyone, yet,” I say, probably being more honest than I need to be with a second-grader. I’m struck at the irony of the fact that somehow, during this hour-plus flight, a seven-year-old has climbed my social ladder and become my best friend.
“Well, it’s a pretty ring. You should marry the guy that gave it to you. He must want to marry you really badly. It looks expensive!” She’s half whispering now, like we’re little old ladies sharing gossip.
“Okay, well that’s a good point. I’ll be sure to take that into consideration,” I smile, taking the ring from her and putting it back into my pocket.
“How come you don’t wear it?” she asks. Kids—no filter. It’s normally adorable, but right now it feels a bit like therapy.
“Well, I’m sort of still deciding, and it doesn’t feel right to wear it if I’m not sure I want to say yes,” I say. God, what is it about this kid? She has me admitting things out loud that I still haven’t allowed myself to say in my head.
“Right,” she nods. “Well, think real hard. That’s a nice ring, and the next one might not be so nice,” she says. I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. Funny how spot on she is. Trevor’s ring is clearly the nicest thing I’ll ever own—it’s Harry Winston, and it’s at least two karats. I’m pretty sure it out-prices my Honda when it was new.
What’s funnier is the thought of a next one. I’ve sort of banked on my life going one way, down the aisle with Trevor. I’ve never really imagined anyone else standing there waiting for me in a tux.
The attendant slides the drink cart through, and I take a bottle of water. Sophie is busy coloring, so I take advantage of the little time left on the flight and shut my eyes, leaning back in my seat. It takes only seconds for my imagination to betray Trevor and show me a future with Cody. But as hard as I try, it’s never right—the image never quite clear.
He just doesn’t fit the tux, and I can’t seem to put more than two people on his side of the church—Gabe and Jessie. My side is overflowing with people, until I realize that most of those are acquaintances and professional contacts I’ve made with Trevor. I erase them from my mental seating chart, and I realize the only people left are my crazy aunt and Cody’s childhood friends from the wrong side of the tracks. I choke on the water I’m sipping and open my eyes at the absurd thought.
Minutes later, the captain announces our landing, and I help Sophie pack up her belongings. The attendant comes to help her off the plane first, and Sophie surprises me by reaching around and giving me a hug. I kneel down and hand her my uneaten bag of peanuts.
“Here, I saved mine for you. You earned them by doing such a good job,” I say. She grabs them and clasps them in her hand while she walks toward the gate.
I’m a little jealous that my new best friend is on her way to meet someone. There’s a person at the end of the hall who will greet her, hug her, be thrilled to see her. My first interaction is going to be with the app on my iPhone for the Super Shuttle.
I’m not used to sitting in the front, and I see now why people fight to board first. With only a carry on, I’m out of the plane and winding through the gate seconds after we’ve landed. I already see Sophie’s curly hair mashed up against the chest of a large man who has actual tears in his eyes at seeing his daughter, and it makes my heart feel terribly hollow. I force my lips to smile at the sight, because I know that’s what’s natural, but inside I’m sad.
“How was your flight?” a voice near me asks.
I scream out in a breathy gasp, and my bag drops to the floor. Cody reaches down and picks it up, pulling the strap over his head so it crosses his body. I must be dreaming, still on the plane—asleep—when I thought I only shut my eyes to rest them. Because Cody is here, and I see how all of the pieces fit. It’s a small ceremony, and I’m in a white cotton dress. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and we’re both barefoot by the river. My aunt is there along with Jessie and Gabe, and there’s a minister who I swear I’ve seen before. Our rings are nothing but bands, no diamonds or engravings. Everything is simple, but perfect. The water ripples beneath our feet, there’s the faint sound of fifties music piping through Cody’s truc
k and then he’s kissing me.
I startle again when he brushes into me, waving his hand in front of my face. “Hello, earth to Charlie,” he’s chuckling.
“Oh, uh…flight. Yeah, flight was good. Short…how?” I say, pointing at him directly. The last thing I said to Cody was in a text, and I told him I couldn’t give anymore. Yet here he is, standing in front of me. He smiles with tight lips and nods at my question.
“Trevor,” he says, his face falling before he turns and continues walking ahead of me. Trevor? Why would Trevor call Cody, of all people in the world? He would send Shelly for me first. Hell, he’d charter a special jet and race me home before he’d let Cody be the one to welcome me.
“Wait a minute,” I say, pulling on the strap of my bag and forcing Cody to stop. “Trevor called you?”
Cody doesn’t even turn to look at me, just shrugging my bag back in place over his shoulder. “Yeah, he called me. He’s all freaked out and shit because you left early. Said he needed me. The whole thing was really…well, strange.”
Cody turns to face me just before we hit the elevator bank to head down to the garage level. His face looks tortured, and I feel my fingers tingle wanting to touch it. I stuff my hands into my pockets instead.
“Why’d you come?” I ask, not sure what I want him to say in response.
Cody just shrugs and curls his lip to the side. “Thought you were in trouble. Had to be, if Trevor was calling me,” he says, sliding in backward as the elevator doors open. I follow him in and stand to the side next to him, getting a little closer when a few more people join us for the ride down.
I swear I can feel the heat coming from Cody’s body, despite the layers of sweaters and sweatshirts between us. His eyes shift to the side to look at me, hoping I don’t catch him, but I do. I do because I’m just flat-out staring at him. We’re only traveling down three floors, but the ride feels like it lasts for minutes. We’re both shuffling our feet, awkward and anxious all at once.
When the doors finally open, I follow Cody all the way to his truck and offer to help with my bag. He brushes me off and tosses it in the back. His body seems tired today—I always notice when he’s been working too hard, his limp is more defined. “Your leg hurts,” I say, not able to stop my thoughts from sounding. I close my eyes from my mistake; I hate calling attention to his injury, mostly because I know it makes him uncomfortable.
“Yep,” he says, climbing into the truck and slamming his door with a little extra muscle.
I can tell he’s angry. He reaches over and turns the music up loudly as soon as we pay the toll. I laugh to myself because it’s The Killers. I know he’s done this on purpose. The show is in two weeks—the show I offered to take him to in trade for his tutoring help, though deep down I admit it was only about wanting to have a reason to be close to him, alone with him.
We’re silent the rest of the way to his shop, and when he pulls in the main drive, I lean forward and turn the music off with a heavy punch of my finger, wanting him to see how angry I am, too—though I’m not sure what I’m angry about.
He rolls his eyes and flings open his door to climb out. I match him, slamming mine and rattling his mirror.
“Jesus, easy with that, okay?” he says, nostrils flaring open and his eyes wide and full of fire. I hear him mumble under his breath as he steps up on the side of his truck and reaches over the bed for my bag. I stand on the step on my side just so I can match his line of sight.
“If you hate me so much, why the hell did you come and get me? I could have found my way home!” I say, my knuckles white as my fists clench along the truck bed.
“Fuck,” Cody says, still under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. I’m a little stunned by his brashness. He leans back, holding onto the edge of the truck bed and stretching his arms out while he looks up at the sky, almost like a kid on a merry-go-round. When he comes back in, he pounds one fist on the side of the truck. “Just because you said you can’t, doesn’t mean I can’t. I don’t just turn this shit off like that,” he says, pounding his flat hand to his chest—to his heart. Oh my God! “I don’t want to…I’m not ready to. That okay?”
I can see the plea in his eyes almost instantly, and I can also see the realization of his admission flash over him as he quickly grabs my bag and turns to head into the garage. Cody gave me more than he wanted to with those words. And they’ve just made the sharp cut of the diamond in my pocket more painful to deal with. But I’m glad he said them. At least…I think I am.
The music pumping out of one of the garage bays is loud, and Gabe jumps when we walk in behind him. He smiles at me quickly, though, and I’m grateful for his warm welcome. After my visit with Jessie before my trip, I was worried that the two of them might be a little angry with me. Of course, when they find out about the ring in my pocket, they still might be.
Cody dumps my bag on the floor in the corner and walks to the back of the garage. I see him rubbing his neck, the tension rolling off of him with every step. He raises his eyebrows at Gabe, a knowing glance that I know is a sign between the two of them. When Gabe shrugs back at him in return, I’m sure of their silent conversation—and I know it’s about me.
“Why are we here? Weren’t you supposed to take me home?” I sound snotty, but I can’t seem to help myself.
Cody walks by with a wrench and pushes me softly out of his way so he can slide a board under the front of the car wheeled up over the oil pans. “Jim’s home. I’m not taking you there. Trevor said he was fine with it. That okay with you, sweetheart?” he says, his frustration with me absolutely clear.
I glower at him in return, and turn to grab my bag and take out my drafting book to sit at the table. I’m pretty sure there won’t be a lot of conversation, and since I have no idea when I’m going to go home, I start a new set of drawings.
Maybe it’s because I’m so angry with Cody, or maybe it’s because I’m even angrier with Trevor—whatever the reason, after an hour and a half of sitting at the worktable, I’ve managed to drum up a vintage sketch of the shop. I haven’t felt inspiration like this since I started the home series inspired by my dad’s house. I’ve played up the 50s appeal, pulling out more neon, penciling in the bright greens and reds to pop off of the white building, adding shading structures and entry signs that say Jake’s. I’m biting my lip and working feverishly when I notice a shadow in my light.
“What do you think?” I ask.
I hear Cody swallow hard, but I don’t turn. I keep shading and coloring, while Cody stands behind me watching. I feel the stillness that starts to surround the two of us, both of our breaths held. I want to speak, say something—something that will make everything better. But every time I open my mouth, I’m stalled, and can’t think of the words. It takes him almost a full minute to answer, his voice cracking slightly.
“When I was a kid, that’s what this place looked like. I mean…it looked just like that,” Cody says.
He can’t see me, so I let the smile take over my scowl. For some reason, I’m happy when he’s happy. “If you want, you can keep them. Frame them or something…you know? For the garage,” I say, instantly embarrassed by my suggestion, like my work is worthy of art. I’m so incredibly lame.
I feel his hand slide over my shoulder, and his fingers squeeze lightly before his face leans in, close to my neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. I bite my tongue, my mind working several moves ahead, and every which way I go, he’s there at the end. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, still facing away from him, when he suddenly leaves my shoulder feeling cold, his body no longer close.
“Charlotte, baby. I’m so sorry,” Trevor’s voice has replaced Cody’s, and it makes me wince. I hear his keys land on a table, and I turn to see him walking into the garage toward me, his arms open. Everything about him is big and confident, such a contrast to the quiet and subdued feeling of a moment ago.
Trevor must have taken a flight just behind mine. While I know I should be swooning that he’s chased
me, fought for me—instead, I’m filled with disappointment. And though I will barely admit it to myself, I know that part of me was hoping he’d just stay in Washington, forget about me—call everything off. And then I’d move on to...
Trevor’s hugging me, and by habit I reach around and hold him back. He’s whispering apologies, over and over, stroking my hair and cradling my head, but all I can do is scan the garage to see where Cody is. I lock eyes with him for the briefest of seconds as he slides under the car next to Gabe, and I know he’s just trying to avoid us.
“I’m so sorry. Please, you have to forgive me. Charlotte, I was so wrong,” Trevor says. I know I should be completely invested in his words, but I’m only half here. The rest of me is trying to send my thoughts to Cody—tell him that I’m the one that’s sorry. Sorry I shared part of his story with Trevor, sorry I told his secrets.
“I forgive you,” I say, forcing my eyes to look at Trevor when I speak, ignoring the sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. My eyes are stinging with the want to cry, but I fight it off. “I forgive you,” I say again, reaching back to him to hug him and bury my face in his sweater.
Trevor holds me for minutes, until the music in the garage is drowned out by my inner thoughts and turmoil. I’m looking at Cody’s legs, and I know he’s just lying under the car, not doing anything. He’s hiding. Just like I am.
“I followed him once,” Trevor says. I pull back and lower my brow. “My dad? I followed him once—to Chicago. I saw him. He has an entire family, Charlotte. Like, a wife and two little kids. They must be two or three.”
What the hell! I know Cody is surprised by this, too, because he slowly wheels his way out from under the car and sits up, rubbing his head and leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. I don’t know what to say, so I just look at Trevor and shake my head in understanding. He’s looking at the floor, his eyes a little red.
