CONTENTS
Copyright
Dedication
Other works copy
Day 1: December 21
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Day 2: December 22
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Day 3: December 23
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Day 4: December 24
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Day 5: December 25
Chapter 32
One Year Later
Airport
Author's note
About the author
Chapter Two - About the author
More by Herb Scribner
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled or stored in any means or forms, either electronic or mechanical, without the express consent of Herb Scribner.
Copyright © 2017, Herb Scribner
All rights reserved.
For Cate
THE PEN ANTHOLOGY:
The Pen
Battle Born
The Winter Darkness
OTHER WORKS:
A Town Called Santa
Nessus
A New Day
Not Afraid of You
DAY ONE: DECEMBER 21
1.
Just about everyone in the country has decided to travel home for the holidays this year. The Los Angeles airport is filled from end-to-end with snaking lines of us holiday travelers. The waiting area outside the flight gate from here at LAX is stuffed like the Thanksgiving turkey we all consumed just a month ago. The faint buzz of airport hubbub lingers above us like a low descending cloud.
I open my book to read. There’s not much else I can do to pass the time. I’m proud of myself. It’s not every day that I finish a book on the first half of a trip. Montana to California isn’t really that long of a trip, but between the Uber rides to and from the airport, the time spent in the waiting room, and the flight itself, I’ve sliced through this book like fruit cake.
The good news — I’ve still got another flight to go. LAX to BDL (that’s Bradley Airport in Connecticut, the closest to my hometown, a little known Connecticut town hidden along the shore of the Connecticut River).
Here we are though, waiting at LAX. The gate is packed with cows mooing as they are ushered to their planes.
Next year I’m going to book a nonstop flight.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Charity says, sliding into the chair next to me with the latest copy of The Hollywood Reporter. A picture of some famous rapper who I don’t know stretches across the face of the magazine.
“No problem. I’m just reading.”
“You’ve been reading this whole trip.”
“Reading is better than waiting,” I confess to her.
She waves me off. “Noelle, Noelle, Noelle. Don’t try and lie to a liar.”
What is she getting at?
“What are you getting at?”
“Come on. We both know what’s going on here. This last minute trip home instead of going to Derek’s family’s house? Spending all of the trip reading your dumb book. I mean, it’s not exactly rocket science to see what’s going on here.”
Okay, Charity. Don’t get me started on all of your faults. You’ve got problems too, you know. And so what if I blew off my hunky hot boyfriend Derek for the sake of a one-stop flight across the country to visit my parents. And yeah, sure, I didn’t invite him to come with me and see my home for the holidays. It’s not like it’s rare for couples to spend the Christmas season apart. That happens every year all over the country. Not all couples spend their holidays together.
Jeez Charity. Get a grip on reality.
“What is going on?” I ask to entertain her. I already know where this is going.
“You’re trying to avoid Derek and you’re going to break up with him.”
Ugh. Such a drama queen. She really deserves an award for how dramatic she can get. Seriously. It’s like we’re still in high school. I can’t imagine what it would be like to spend eternity with her.
“Maybe,” I reply. “But you’re one to talk.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, think about it. You just happen to have a second seat for this trip?”
She picks up her magazine and flips it open to a random page in the center. Her nose turned upward, she says, “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“You and Joe didn’t want to spend the holidays together?”
“Joe doesn’t like the snow. He’s basically allergic to it,” Charity says.
“So you’re comfortable with him everything? It’s sort of weird that he didn’t want to come with you. Unless, wait, maybe you didn’t want him to come with you.”
“And that’s why you’re mistaken, dear friend. He’s fine with it, I’m fine with it. He has plenty of work to do over the break anyway.”
Sure, sure. Work. That’s always the excuse when you don’t want to do something but you don’t have a good explanation of why. I swear if I had a stocking stuffer for every time someone blamed work for their ailments, I’d have enough gifts to deliver on my own like some sort of mythical being who slides down chimneys.
My cheeks flare up and my legs buzz numb. Just the thought of Santa Claus can get me all kinds of riled up. I’ve always had a crush on Old St. Nick. Don’t tell anyone. I know he’s fake. But he’s much more possible to walk in my life than Brad Pitt or Bruce Willis. I can sit on Santa’s lap anytime I want.
Oh, stop it, Noelle, you’re in the middle of an airport.
“Listen,” Charity begins, slamming her notebook onto the top of her suitcase, “I think it’s clear we’re both taking a break from our boyfriends for the holidays. I mean, hell, we’re not even thirty yet!”
We’re twenty-eight, which is almost as close to thirty as you can get.
“If we want to spend the holidays alone, we should be allowed to.”
“Then we will,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “I plan to. I wouldn’t want Derek to meet my family anyway. They can be a real pain in the ass. You remember what it was like growing up. Always checking in on us to make sure we weren’t with the boys.”
“Yeah. I agree. They are a pain in the ass. Almost as much as Joseph’s boss.”
Here we go again with the work blaming. Oh, please, Charity. Save me the lackluster excuses. Just admit that you’ve got a problem with your boyfriend. Stop pretending your life is perfect.
“Who knows,” Charity says, “maybe we’ll meet people back at home at Marley’s Bar that we can date in the future.”
“Yeah, like a boy from Connecticut will want to move out to Montana for either of us.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
She’s right, and wrong. No one from Connecticut has the desire to settle down in my measly ranch out in Montana.
They won’t want to live alongside a woman who scrapes together thirty-thousand dollars a year and feels fancy whenever she buys a $5 bottle of beer.
Charity leans back in her plastic airport gate chair and sighs so heavy you think she’d want to get rid of her breath.
“When did our lives because a senseless venture where boys affect all of our decisions?”
Wow. Is she finally admitting she has a problem? Good for you, Charity! Keep going! Rush to the finish line and meet me in the jaded pool of misery.
“Well, we won’t. This Christmas, we won’t let dumb, stupid men run our lives. Totally free and independent women.”
Charity looks over at me and I give her some half-ass smile. Maybe it’ll encourage her to agree with me.
“I gotta pee,” she says. And she’s off like a race horse.
I sigh heavily and lean back in my own chair, staring forward toward the gate. Our flight is already delayed by thirty minutes. Great. Another Christmas issue to deal with.
2.
“What do you mean all the seats are full?”
Great. Great. Just our luck, isn’t it? Well, maybe it’s not Charity’s luck. It is my luck, though. I never rolled a pair of hard eights or called the call from the radio station for a free cruise. Ugh. I don’t even know if that makes sense to anyone else. But definitely makes sense to me.
“I’m sorry, miss, and, uh, other miss,” the desk clerk says. He’s a straight-laced, shinning-button kind of dude. His jacket stretches across his body as tight as spandex. He probably takes his job insanely seriously. Loosen up buddy. Unbutton one of those golden knobs. Live a little.
His mouth is mum, his eyes float back and forth between him and his screen, like he’s caught off guard and has no interest whatsoever in speaking to us.
“Come on, don’t go cold on us now,” I beg him.
“Sorry,” he shakes his head, his cheeks wobbling like a cartoon character. “So the inbound flight coming from Salt Lake City is a little slow getting in. We’re already behind on some other flights so that one will be rerouted for another flight. We’re going to bump you to a flight in an hour. It’ll fly down to Dallas, but then arrive in Bradley later in the day.”
“Sounds great!” Charity exclaims.
“Well, there’s a hold up. We’re sort of … short.”
“Short?” Charity asks.
“We only have one seat on that flight. So we can offer one of you those seats, but the other person will have to wait until tomorrow evening for a flight out of here.”
Charity and I lock eyes and we see the disappointment on each other’s face. Oh how horrible this will be. We planned on flying back to the East Coast together, not separated and on different flights. The trip home sounded even better when I knew I’d be flying next to my best friend. But this golden button clerk just ruined everything. What good is it traveling across the country together on a streak of feminine independence if there’s no one there to celebrate with you?
“Well.”
“Well.”
Our eyes bounce back and forth, trying to find the answer in the other person’s gaze.
“I mean, you should take it,” she says.
She acts like that fake voice didn’t just float from her lips. I spot it immediately. I wish she didn’t have such a fake voice. I’m probably one of the few people who can pick it out of a lineup. Those moments are nails scratching across a chalkboard.
“No, please, you take it.”
Charity shakes her head. “No, you can take it. Seriously.”
“Charity, look, let’s look at this objectively. You have to be home tonight.”
“Wait, why?”
“Your family’s rocking funky Christmas Eve-Eve celebration.”
She pretends like she didn’t have that on her mind already, but it’s certainly there. It washes over here, spinning her face into one of purely fake realization. Is she really this clueless? How did I remember her family’s ultra-holiday celebration and she didn’t? There’s no way I care more about the Jensen’s that she does. They’re her own family.
“Oh, right.”
“Yeah. Please. It’s all you. Go home, make your family happy, and then you can pick me up tomorrow morning.” An idea pops in my head like a ball of holiday kettle corn. “Ooh! And then we can order drinks at Marley’s in the afternoon tomorrow. Now that’s definitely a way to celebrate Christmas Eve.”
“Aren’t you fun,” Charity says. She lays her palms on my shoulders. “So you’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely.”
Charity turns her attention over to the airport clerk. “And you promise me that her flight will leave tomorrow? On time?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Tomorrow afternoon at 3:46 p.m.”
Why do airports pick such odd times for their flights? Can’t they ever choose a normal, run-of-the-mill, clock stops on the dot time? These odd numbers just complicate everything. You know how hard it is to remember your flight time when it’s not on one of the quarter marks?
Charity and I lock eyes again.
“You sure?”
I nod. “Yes. Please. Go. Get out of here. They’re probably boarding now.”
The clerk perks himself up and interjects into our conversation. “Yep! Boarding right now.”
“Thanks Cherry,” Charity says.
“It’s Jerry,” he replies with a scowl.
“Whatever.”
She makes me laugh. Rarely does someone make me laugh as she does. Derek used to when he first started dating, but not as much anymore. When you’re best friend is the only one who can bring a smile to your face, you know you’ve got issues with other people.
We hug and say our goodbyes. She skirts off down the corridor of the airport, dragging her luggage with her. She waves goodbye to me all the way to the end of the hallway before she turns the corner. I probably could have walked her to the gate, but that would have just brought a rainstorm to my already soaked mood.
I have a whole night to kill now. A few thoughts about what this night will hold race again and again through my mind. Let’s think. I can spend a little time reading the rest of my book. Then I can grab a meal at one of the cafes that will cost close to $30. Probably more like $50 if I order a water. Snag a nighttime cup of coffee from the Starbucks. Sip that down so I can stay awake. Find a seat near my new gate and drift somewhere between sleep and being awake, because it’s almost impossible to fall asleep when you’re stuck in an airport. Between the sounds, the strangers and the security guards, sleep seems like a sin. Once I escape that, I’ll grab another coffee, a breakfast sandwich and then bam! On my next flight.
Jerry leans forward as a machine spits out a ticket lathered in courier font and barcodes. “Free meal on us.”
Finding the amount is hidden so deep under the fonts that it’s almost not worth the hunt. Ah. There it is. $12. Nice. That’s barely a meal.
I roll my eyes and slowly walk away from the desk, dragging my suitcase with me into the waiting area. At least now I can definitely finish my book.
3.
I’ll admit it — I really don’t mind spending time in an airport. I’ll usually swoop in three hours early, walk around aimlessly to the various restaurants and cafes, meander through the square box shops that glisten with jewelry and tourist items, hunt for the right meal before the flight. I swear half the stress that holiday travelers feel is born from late arrivals. Flocking to the airport early soothes the mood, loosens the uptightness and empties the packed bottle of stress hormones that rattles in your luggage.
Trust me, I’m a pro. Travel from Montana to Connecticut enough times buffs up your resume.
Now I’m stuck at LAX without anyone and I’ve already been through all the cafes, all the magazine stores, all the souvenir huts that belong in a winter wonderland. I already floated around the bigger stores — airports have slowly grown into more expensive versions of mall, haven’t they? — and used the bathroom twice. Each time there was someone
cleaning it. How often do they have to work to keep those things clean?
I settle down onto a chair outside my gate. A few of the chairs are peppered with other travelers, stretching out for their naps, burying themselves in a new copy of National Geographic. Wonder if they got bumped too. Or if they’re like me and just have to arrive at the airport early.
My watch’s face tells me it’s only nine o’clock at night. That’s it. Not even close to being the next day. I still have a few hours until I get my evening coffee, and before I attend my appointment of floating back and forth between alertness and dreams. Great. Now I have to find a podcast to listen to or pick out a new book from the pricy brick-and-mortar store around the corner. Though, let’s be real — I’m already feeling that reader’s hangover. You know, when you’ve finished a book and you have absolutely no reason to read another. The mere thought of another book puts you to sleep. Yeah. That one.
Commotion lifts like steam from a cup of coffee. Normally that happens when you have some late travelers to a gate, like the family in “Home Alone,” rushing to the gate in a mad heap of chaos. Running, sweating, worrying, stressing, that they’re going to miss the flight.
A crowd of people gathers by the window, staring out into the empty space far out beyond the airport. The collection of people reminds me of those waiting outside of Walmart on Thanksgiving night, foaming at the mouth for the latest television deal. Now the window is completely shielded by bodies. Travelers are walloping one way and the next, marveling at something out there, like they’re in a marveling at a sculpture in a museum.
“I heard it’s going to affect all the flights,” a bulbous man whispers to his similarly rotund wife as they rumble past me.
An older woman with slate gray hair on her pate exclaims to others, “It’s the first time since before the war!”
What in the bloody Christmas is going on out there?
Now the commotion is starting to worry me. That leaky feeling of fear and adrenaline has started to boil and fester. It hans’t boiled over the top yet though. Most people, despite the excitement, seem pretty calm and mellow about whatever’s going on over there.
Christmas in LA Page 1
