“Oui, c’est moi,” he confirmed. “Alors, comment ça va ma belle?”
“Ça va—quelle surprise,” she said.
“But we must speak in English, ma chère,” he said. “I must practice, of course.”
“Eric, I didn’t expect to hear from you—are you calling from France?”
“No, no. I am at the Sheraton, near the airport.”
“Here? In Sacramento?” Veronica couldn’t disguise the shock in her voice.
“Mais bien sûr,” Eric said with a laugh. “Why would I call you if I was somewhere else? I hope I am not disturbing you?”
“No, not at all,” Veronica said, feeling muddled. “I was just sitting here, watching an old movie.”
“Ah yes, Audrey Hepburn?” But the way he said it sounded like Oh-dray Epboorn. His accent was so charming. Veronica closed her eyes. Focus, she told herself. What about the plane? Well, the dream must not have been referring to his flight over from France—one of those glimpses into a further future event like Daniel was talking about. Daniel. Oh, crap, what am I going to tell him? she wondered. She hadn’t even had a chance to talk to him—to see if he was just too uncomfortable with her seeing Eric. And now Eric was here. What was she going to do?
“Vero? You are still there? Were we cut off?”
“Oh, sorry. Distracted. I… have a cat. Um, what were we saying?”
“Not important. Tell me, are you working tomorrow?”
“I—uh—no, I’m a teacher. I have the summer off.”
“Such a pleasant quality of the profession,” Eric said. “So, perhaps we could meet? I could take you to lunch?”
This is when you say, “I’m sorry, Eric, I’m having lunch with my boyfriend,” Veronica told herself, but what came out of her mouth was, “Sure, that sounds fine. What time?”
~~~
Clouds, white, amid a blue sky, a lovely, robin’s egg blue. Then Veronica was sitting in an airplane seat. The plastic cup of whiskey on ice rattled lightly on her tray. Smoke gradually filled the air in the aisle, its source unknown. The two female flight attendants, a blonde and a brunette, whispered to each other down the aisle, and soon the male flight attendant joined them. The rattling grew stronger, until Veronica had to scoop up her cup to prevent liquid from sloshing out of it. The seatbelt light went on.
Crap, this is not good, she thought, just as the chubby middle-aged woman next to her grunted.
“I hate turbulence,” the woman said, and Veronica’s host took a sip of the whiskey.
Looking at the flight attendants, she could see the tension in their postures. The male flight attendant’s eyebrows were raised and the brunette flight attendant had both hands out, palms down, making slicing motions.
A great lurch caused several passengers to cry out. The brunette flight attendant pointed to the front of the plane, her voice rising, but not enough for Veronica to make out what she was saying. The male flight attendant disappeared down the aisle towards where she was pointing.
“Fire!” a male passenger on the other side of the cabin called out, and he stood up, pointing. The brunette flight attendant made her way hastily to the passenger and spoke to him in hushed tones until he sat down.
After another lurch, both remaining flight attendants made their way to the back of the plane. The smoke in the air thickened. A male voice came over the PA system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return to your seats and keep your seatbelts fastened. Mesdames et Messieurs, le commandant de bord…” The announcer continued with a translation of the message in French.
The plane jogged up and down in a manner that might have been comical if it had been part of a movie or a ride in an amusement park. As it was, the sense of absurdity Veronica felt only made the situation worse—she didn’t want to be a part of one of God’s dark jokes.
People muttered and some let out gasps and yelps as the plane pitched again. Veronica thought she caught sight of flames diagonally across and ahead of her, on the other side of the cabin, just through the partition.
The woman next to Veronica hid her face in her hands and started whispering. Veronica caught bits of the Lord’s Prayer. She tried to bring the drink to her lips again, but her arm jerked and the whiskey slopped onto her lap.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. Due to extreme weather conditions, we may need to make an emergency landing. A short video will review the emergency procedures, and give you instructions. Please stay calm. Mesdames et Messieurs, ici le capitaine. En raison de conditions météorologiques extrêmes…”
Stay calm? Veronica thought, as the woman next to her began moaning.
A video flickered to life on the large screen at the front of their cabin, as well as on the smaller screens mounted on the ceiling every few rows down. As an attractive redhead began speaking on the video, it became clear that there was no sound.
Do they expect us to put on our earphones? Veronica wondered.
Then the plane rocked and the video blinked off. Veronica felt herself leave her seat, the belt yanking tight around her hips as her knees whacked the tray. The plastic cup in her hand burst under the force of her grip, and pain pierced her fingers and palm.
An alarm began to sound and the nose of the plane tilted down through the air, angling ever more sharply. Yellow oxygen masks deployed from above. A horrid whine joined the alarm, increasing in volume, soon drowning out the cries, screams, and the alarm as well.
Veronica’s host grabbed at the oxygen mask in front of him, blood from the cut staining his palms red, his hands shaking as he put the cup over his mouth and nose. Out of the window clouds whipped by. The plane lurched up again, and the whine died back down, allowing the sound of the panicked passengers and the alarm to become audible again. The plane didn’t stay level for long, but rolled to the side. Several of the overhead cabinets snapped open and baggage fell on passengers and tumbled into the aisle. The people yelped and wailed. The roll turned into another dive, and this time the whine built up to a deafening pitch immediately, and was joined by an impossibly loud grinding noise. Veronica’s host grabbed his ears, closed his eyes, and screamed.
~~~
Gasping, but unable to release the scream from her sleep-numb body, Veronica woke up with her fingers clutching her ears so hard that they hurt. She was covered in sweat, her teeth grinding. After a moment, she regained control of her ragged breathing, taking in a long breath and releasing her ears. She repeated the breaths until she felt her muscles loosen. Then she felt them begin to twitch as the adrenaline pumping through her warred with her efforts to relax. For several minutes she lay where she was, her body shaking. In the distance, she could hear the train that ran right behind her duplex grinding its brakes; it sounded a lot like the plane’s horrid whine.
After a time, the shaking diminished. Veronica sat up in bed, rubbing her hands over her face. “Okay,” she murmured. “Thank you all for that. No need to replay it ever again.”
It was three-twelve AM, and the urge to call Daniel and beg him to come over swept through her like a tidal wave. Veronica leaned against her hands, trying to ride out the desire. She pressed her face into her pillow, a shuddering breath escaping her. What a dream to have when she was alone.
She didn’t care about their fight. With a few tugs of the sheets, she climbed out of bed. The feeling of cool floor under her bare feet was a strange comfort as she padded quickly to the living room where her phone still lay on the coffee table. She punched a “3” and speed-dialed Daniel.
“Seong,” he answered, his voice thick with sleep.
“Daniel,” she managed, and then burst into tears.
Swallowing a sob, she strugggled to convey the gist of the nightmare, and Daniel arrived at her door less than fifteen minutes later. Once he came inside, they didn’t talk. She was in his arms, the warm firm strength of his body pressed against her. She kissed him�
�it felt like dying of thirst and finding a waterfall. Her arms slid around his neck and he lifted her up, whisking her into her bedroom.
~~~
The alarm on Daniel’s phone woke them four hours later at seven-thirty. Veronica still lay wrapped in his arms. No dreams had troubled her as they slept.
Daniel yawned, stretched, and reached for his phone, hitting a button that quieted it. Veronica gazed at him, admiring the morning light as it caressed his slim body. It illuminated the curve of his biceps and the line of his collarbone. She traced a finger along the latter.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“How are you doing?”
Veronica smiled. “A lot better.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“You have work?”
“Yep.”
“Daniel, thank you for coming over.”
He cupped her chin and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. “Ronnie, I am glad you called.”
Her heart twisted—she had to tell him about Eric. “I got a phone call yesterday,” she said.
“Oh?”
“From Eric.”
Daniel’s hand fell from her chin to the sheets between them. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes. He’s here. He’s taking me to lunch today. I’m sorry. I really am. I should have refused. I should have called you yesterday and we should have talked about everything before I agreed to do anything with him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Daniel,” she said, grabbing his hand. It lay motionless but his arm was tense. “I’ll call him back. I’ll cancel.”
Daniel sucked in his lower lip and shook his head. “No, don’t do that. Go to lunch.”
“I don’t have to do that, Daniel—”
“No, you do,” Daniel said. “You have this… unfinished business. So finish it. Go to lunch. Go to dinner if you have to. Let me know if things… change.”
Veronica watched wordlessly as Daniel pulled off the sheets and rose from the bed. He found his clothes and pulled them on.
“I have to head out,” he said. “If I hurry I can fit in a shower at home before work.”
She didn’t answer.
He turned to her and reached out, catching a thick strand of her dark hair between two fingers. His eyes were sadder than she had ever seen them.
“Figure it out, Ronnie.”
“Figure what out?” she whispered.
“What you want. And let me know, okay?”
Lowering her eyes, Veronica gave him a nod. She didn’t watch as he left.
Chapter 11
A yellow taxicab stopped in front of The Mariner’s Catch, a seafood restaurant Veronica chose when Eric said he wanted to have lunch on the river. Wearing a blouse of pink eyelet and her light denim capris, Veronica waited on the bench outside the restaurant. The day was not yet as hot as previous days had been; it was perhaps eighty-five degrees out.
The rear door of the taxi swung open and a man stepped out. He wore faded jeans and a loose navy tee-shirt. Veronica recognized him immediately, although his hair was shorter—it was still the same shade of light brown. As Veronica stood, Eric saw her, and gave her the lazy smile she remembered. It made her stomach do a little flip.
Crap, she thought.
As she had been waiting for him, her guilt over hurting Daniel worked to make her wish she’d refused to see Eric on the phone the day before. But now that he was here, thoughts of Daniel’s feelings became an abstraction. Eric strode over holding out his hand. As he closed the distance between them, his hand grasped hers as if he meant to pull her to him. He leaned close and kissed her cheeks in the style of the common French greeting.
“Vero!” he cried, his voice full of gladness.
“Eric, how nice to see you,” Veronica said, and noted, pleased, that her own voice sounded very steady and normal.
“How long has it been? Over ten years! Can you imagine?”
“It’s been at least thirteen years,” Veronica said with a grin.
“You don’t say,” Eric exclaimed, his French accent flavoring the words deliciously. “Let us forget that it has been so long, don’t you agree? We cannot possibly be so much older.”
“Are you ready to go in?” Veronica asked, still grinning. It really was a pleasure to see him, all weird feelings aside—it was like a piece of her youth had come to visit. “We have so much to catch up on.”
“But of course,” he said. “Let us go in.”
~~~
“And so, my company has begun several contracts with agricultural providers involved in growers’ associations in the Central Valley.” Eric pronounced it Centrahl Vah-lay. “So they need a small office nearby, you see. I am to be the head. Because of my expertise with the English language, of course.” He laughed.
Veronica rolled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers as she listened. They were having a very nice white wine with their fish. She smiled. “Your English is excellent,” she confirmed.
They were sitting across from each other at a small round table on the wooden deck of the restaurant, outside. A bright orange bougainvillea grew up the exterior of the wooden railing, climbing over it and spilling onto the deck nearby. During the course of the lunch she’d told Eric about Daniel, her teaching job, her pets, and Melanie and Angie. He told her about his family’s vineyards, vacationing in Corsica, his plans to one day buy a yacht and sail around the Mediterranean, and now his job. She felt like a drab little mouse sitting across from a golden lion. Had she really worried that he would sweep her off her feet? Why on earth would he bother?
“My job is often very boring,” Eric continued. “I apologize if I’ve shared too much of it with you now.”
“Oh, no,” Veronica said, waving a hand. “Not at all. I was wondering what brought you to Sacramento. Now I know.”
“Nothing so exciting as a police detective, I’m sure,” he said, his hazel eyes twinkling at her.
Blinking, Veronica let out a little gasp of air. She didn’t know what to say to that. And it was the first time she could honestly say Eric had flirted with her during the lunch—because comparing himself unfavorably to Daniel had to be some sort of underhanded flirtation, didn’t it? Hiding her confusion with a sip of wine, Veronica tried to remain rational. Maybe not. She was probably just reading into his comment.
“Police work is dangerous,” she said once she’d set down her glass. “It’s not like in the movies. It’s often more excitement than I really care to deal with.”
Eric nodded and had a sip from his own glass.
“Do you know where your offices will be?” she asked to change the subject.
“It is one of my projects, to find a good location. I suppose in the downtown.”
With a nod, Veronica opened her purse and produced a AAA map. She unfolded it and lay it between them on the table, moving aside the empty wine bottle, salt and pepper, and bouquet of yellow zinnias that served as a center piece. Next she found a highlighter she’d brought as well. She uncapped it and used it to point to the capitol building on the map.
“This is the capitol building. All around here is downtown.”
“And where do you live?” he asked.
Her stomach did the little flip again. Was he flirting? Wasn’t asking her where she lived, instead of asking about something to do with the city that would be of practical interest to him, a sign that he was flirting? Was she nuts?
“Ah,” she said, then pointed. “Here. Just outside of Midtown. Midtown is very nice, it has a lot of older buildings in the Victorian style.”
“You live just beside the train tracks, Vero. It must be very loud, is it not?”
Okay, I’m not nuts. “Um, yeah, it is. I have an air conditioning unit in my bedroom window, though, and it’s loud, so the train never wakes me up in the summer.” Why are you talking about your bedroom, Veronica? she thought furiously. Get a grip. Tell him where the mall is or something. “So, you could look at downtown f
or your offices. It’s prettier than some of the other parts of Sac that have a lot of businesses, like Arden, but it’s also a lot harder to deal with traffic and parking. Of course, some buildings have parking garages.”
“That would be more practical, of course,” Eric agreed, and Veronica relaxed a little.
Yes. Let’s talk about parking garages. Not bedrooms.
“I hope you will help me find a car to buy,” he said. “I think I would like an American car. Which is the best?”
Okay. Cars are good. We can talk about cars.
Except Veronica didn’t know much about cars. “I’m not sure. Mine is Japanese. Honda.”
Eric smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah yes. I have a French car in Paris, a Renault, but I think when in Rome, we must do as the Romans, n’est pas?”
“Sure,” Veronica said.
Leaning back, Eric closed his eyes, basking in the sun. “I think a convertible, don’t you think? Perhaps a Mustang.”
Veronica gazed at her map. “Um, sure.” She’d expected that they would spend most of the lunch looking at the map, marking neighborhoods and such. It seemed instead they would be discussing Eric’s intention to buy an expensive car—well, who was Veronica to argue? She supposed he had an expense account for such things. She wondered what it would be like to have an expense account that allowed her to buy a Mustang convertible.
“So you must take me to a Mustang dealer, okay? Can we go this afternoon?”
“This afternoon?” she echoed.
Eric straightened and opened his eyes. “I hope it is not an inconvenience, Vero. I simply cannot stand to continue taking taxis here and there. It will be fun, don’t you think? You can take me there in your Honda. Unless you are busy.”
A Tuesday in the middle of summer represented the opposite of “busy” in Veronica’s life—everyone who wasn’t a teacher or student was working, and she ended up fiddling her days away doing something or other, but she didn’t really qualify as “busy.”
“Um, no, I’m free.”
“What good news!” Eric said. “Now, do you want a coffee?”
In France, you often had a little cup of espresso after lunch, so the often rich foods eaten wouldn’t make you too sleepy. Veronica supposed The Mariner’s Catch might have coffee among their beverage options, but she doubted it would be much like the strong espresso Eric was used to. “If you want a coffee, we should probably go somewhere else to get one,” she said.
The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3) Page 11
