"OK. Just please be safe. Email or call me when you get settled." She hugged me again. "Be happy. That’s all I want for you. And be safe."
I cried as I hugged her back.
"You too. Congratulations. Words can’t explain how happy I am for you. Have a wonderful rest of your wedding and honeymoon. You deserve it. I will update you when I can. Please, don’t think about me. I will be fine. I’m going to find my swims."
She looked at me and smiled. I guessed she knew what I was trying to say. I didn’t have to explain Anna’s odd expression. I gave her one final hug and left, waving at Sam as I went.
The rest of the walk to the valet passed in a blur. People called out to me, but I could only muster a small wave. I was exhausted, and I felt like I was floating. It was happening. I was actually heading to the airport. The day came into focus, and I felt some inexplicable pull, possibly from sheer insanity, pulling me forward. Anna had given me the idea, but I’d acted on it. I was proud of myself for being so brave.
I picked up my suitcase, cast one more glance back at the wedding extravaganza, and walked out on to Fountain Avenue. It was nighttime now, and cars buzzed past me excitedly because it was Saturday night and people were going out. There were endless possibilities for how the night could go. I remembered that feeling from early on in college. I felt that feeling again, at that moment. Tomorrow I’d be in Europe if everything went my way tonight. My heart sped up at the notion that I was actually doing this.
I watched as cars drove past me. I was thinking nothing, but feeling everything. I was sad about Harry, happy for Amara, and excited for what the immediate future held for me. I hauled my suitcase to a corner and plunked down on top of it. Here I was, in West Hollywood, pretty much stranded and alone, waiting for a taxi to the airport, heading to an unknown place. I saw a taxi round a corner and tried hailing it down. Five more passed before one stopped. None of them wanted to drive me "all the way to LAX". That was the problem with Los Angeles. It was so big and so spread out. The taxi drivers wanted to stay in West Hollywood, where it was busy, banking on the drunkenness of people who needed a ride home. Finally, an elderly taxi driver took pity on me and accepted the ride. In Los Angeles, you even had to work for your taxis.
We drove down the 101 freeway to the 110 freeway, and I said a silent goodbye to the place that had been my home for the last eight years. I wasn’t leaving for good (I mean, I only had seven pairs of underwear) but, in my mind, I probably wouldn’t be returning as the same person. I was hoping to be transformed by the time I got back. I didn't quite know how yet, but Anna had inspired me, and I was going with it. I’d read about women who deal with life crises by traveling and "running away", and I was willing to try it for the betterment of myself. I needed time to myself, and I needed a place to take my mind off of everything. Europe seemed like the perfect place to do this. I’d never been, but I’d always wanted to go.
I really hoped that they still sold last minute tickets. I wasn’t an experienced traveler, so I didn’t really know about these things. As I got out of the taxi and paid the driver in cash, plus a generous tip for driving "all the way to LAX", I glided into the International Terminal with a vague idea of where I needed to go. I looked around. The smartest thing to do would be to choose an airline, go to their ticketing kiosk, and tell them that I needed to get to Europe ASAP. I didn't want to overthink it. I thought it might be helpful to choose an actual destination, but I was going to let fate take control here. I would end up where I was supposed to end up. I hoped. I looked around and saw multiple airlines. KLM Airlines was the closest, and they probably flew all over, so I headed over without any idea as to how I would convey my needs without sounding dangerous or crazy. This would be interesting.
"Hiii…" I languidly placed my elbow on the ticket counter, hoping I would sound casual. "I need a ticket to Europe, please. Anywhere will do, I just need to leave as soon as possible."
The woman behind the counter ("Dani" from what it said on her name tag) looked at me like I was the stupidest person she’d encountered that day; and that was saying a lot, because she worked at an international airport, where she probably encountered hundreds of stupid people every day.
"Ma’am, no offense, but it sounds like you need to flee the country."
I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not, so I answered honestly. I figured it couldn’t hurt. I was already here. I was already so far gone. I let out a giant sigh to dramatize my situation.
"My husband left me today. I couldn’t go home, so I had to go to Bloomingdale's to get a whole new vacation wardrobe, and I barely made it to the bank in time to get my passport from the safety deposit box before they closed. My best friend’s wedding was today, which I missed because I had a major freak out and went a little crazy. I just need to get away. I don’t care where; if you have anything going to Portugal, that’d be great because I know someone who lives there, but at this point, I’ll take anything." I looked at her hopefully. I hoped I sounded as desperate as I felt. "I really need to get away."
She looked at me sympathetically. I gathered that she was probably being sarcastic before.
"OK, well, let me see when our next flight to Europe leaves. Do you have a budget? Last-minute travel is usually inflated, but if money is no object, I can probably find something leaving in the next hour."
"Wherever it is, however much it costs, please, just book me a ticket." I could hear the desperation in my own voice. I sounded pathetic. The thing was, if I had to wait around for a few hours, it was possible I would change my mind. I knew myself, and I knew that I needed this trip. In an hour, I would be having second thoughts, and if I were still at the airport, I might change my mind. If I were on an airplane already… there would be no turning back.
She nodded and clicked on her computer for a minute. I imagined exotic destinations like Santorini, Venice, or Paris. I could so do Paris. I imagined myself mourning the loss of my marriage sitting across from the Eiffel tower, sipping an espresso and eating a chocolate croissant. Or Florence. Prague and Berlin were supposed to be beautiful. London was nice, so I’d heard. Really, any of those places would do.
"We have a direct flight to Swansea in 40 minutes. If you run, you could make it on time. I’ll let them know you’re coming. The ticket is $2,405. Will you be paying with cash or credit?"
"Swansea? Umm… where is Swansea?" I didn't actually know. For the second time today, she gave me an ‘are you kidding me?!’ look.
"Wales. In the United Kingdom. You are familiar with the United Kingdom, right?"
I didn’t appreciate the tone of her voice.
"Of course I know where the United Kingdom is, but…" I switched my purse to my other shoulder uncomfortably. "Do you have any flights to, say, Paris? Venice? What’s the next flight out after Swansea?"
"Ma’am, do you want me to book you for Swansea? If you want a specific destination, please tell me and I will gladly look it up. You asked for the next flight, and the very next flight on KLM Airlines to Europe is Swansea, in 39 minutes. So you better make up your mind soon, or you’re going to miss it."
I didn’t know what to do. My idea of an exotic vacation would not be in Swansea. Or maybe it would. I’d never even met anyone from Wales.
"Have you been to Wales?" I asked her earnestly, leaning in closer.
"No, I have not. But you’ll never know if you don’t make up your mind. The flight is now leaving in 38 minutes. I can only do so much to get you there on time. You need to leave now."
I thought about it for another minute. Wales? Did I know anyone in Wales? It must be a big enough city to have a direct flight from Los Angeles. I’d probably need to buy a real jacket, as it sounded like a cold, marshy place. I was just going on my gut feeling here. I actually had no idea what Wales was like. It was in the same vicinity as England – that I knew. I could go to London. Or Dublin.
"Sure, I’ll take it." I handed her my passport.
"Will you be checking
any bags?"
"No, just my carry-on." I pointed to my bright red suitcase.
"Very well." She clicked on her computer for another minute. "Here is your ticket, and your passport. Please proceed to security. You can let them know that you’re on flight 602, departing in 35 minutes. They will let you skip ahead of the line. Your flight is boarding, so don’t dilly-dally."
"Thank you!" I took the ticket and my passport, getting ready to run.
"Have a nice trip. Good luck with everything." She smiled genuinely.
So… I was going to Wales.
***
I made it to my gate with about twenty-seven seconds to spare. I was the last person to get on the plane, and I had to squeeze between two very large Welsh gentlemen. It was going to be a long flight, stuck next to these two. Luckily, they seemed friendly, and they both let me use the armrests, so that was a plus. We chatted briefly about Wales and where I was headed, to which I lied and said I was visiting my friend in Swansea. They asked if I'd ever been, and I said no. They chuckled and looked at each other. I wasn't sure why, but I decided not to ask. Images of pig farms, à la Babe, ran through my imagination, even though I knew Babe was technically filmed in Australia.
The flight was pleasant enough. I spent the majority of the eleven hours asleep, and the rest of the time I was eating questionable airplane food and reading my smutty book. I knew I was still in shock from everything that had happened today, but for some reason, something unbeknownst to me was pulling me forward and causing a pit of excitement in my core. Maybe it was destiny; the same destiny that Lainey had predicted for me. Or maybe, just maybe, it was happiness.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit disappointed in my destination. When I envisioned traipsing off to Europe, I'd envisioned France or Italy, maybe even Greece or Hungary. I wanted a big city with bright lights and lots of people. Swansea sounded fun, but I really had no idea what I was going to do there. I didn't know what to expect. All I could gather, from studying the little airline route map in the seatback pocket, was that Wales was a little country in the United Kingdom. I would be equidistant to Dublin and London, and I could go to either pretty easily. I could take a ferry to Ireland or a train to England. I decided to stick it out in Wales for a few days and see what kinds of adventures it held for me. It definitely seemed relaxing, if nothing else.
As we flew over Greenland and Iceland, I wondered what Harry was doing. It was horrible to think or even admit to myself, but for the first time in my life, I felt free. Of course I was sad; my partner of eight years was no more. Our time had come to an end, and pretty abruptly at that. Although I was sure I’d be mourning the loss for some time, I felt like a new person. The second the plane had taken off, I could feel the layers of myself that had been holding me back flying away behind me, left in Los Angeles, in my dead marriage, in my old life. It felt like I was physically and metaphorically shedding my old skin. I was starting anew. I was going to conquer my life. I was going to allow my mind to relax and I was going to find myself again.
I hadn't really felt like myself since college, before Harry. Of course, I could never admit that to myself, but in a way, I’d known this day would come for some time. In college, I’d been so determined to change the world with Public Relations. I had had visions of moving to New York, living in a small but luxurious apartment in the Village, and commuting everyday on the subway. I'd had grand plans of working with celebrities and CEOs, managing their public image, and paving a pathway for women everywhere. But instead, I was working as the PR point person for a Children’s Hospital. I loved my job. It was flexible, and I got paid well. I respected my boss. More importantly, she respected me. But… it wasn’t my dream job. And now that I was thinking it… it wasn’t my dream life.
I’d always planned to find another job directed more at what I really wanted to do, but it had never happened. Harry had been right. Complacency had set in a long time ago. My daily schedule was fixed at this job, and my life with Harry was the same day in and day out. I hadn't realized how comfortable I'd become, how boring I’d become. I was thirty, but I acted sixty-five. Harry and I would get up at 7 a.m., go for a jog, go to work (with a healthy smoothie breakfast for the car ride, and don’t forget a peck on the cheek), come home, make dinner, sometimes have sex (most often not), and go to bed by 10 p.m. If we were feeling crazy, we’d watch Conan and stay up until 11. That wasn’t the life I’d envisioned for myself.
As I anxiously awaited my arrival in Swansea, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Harry and everything I'd put him through. He was still going through the motions, living, somewhere, in the same predicament as me. He carried the same memories as I did. He was just as attached to me as I was to him. I wondered if he had anyone to talk to about all of this. He couldn’t talk to me, even if he tried. He had tried. He’d texted me after our talk, and I’d dumped my phone in a puddle in response. Maybe this whole thing really was my fault. Maybe I'd completely fucked up my marriage, and he'd called to reconcile. And now I was on a plane to Wales. I decided I would call him as soon as I was settled. Amara knew what I was up to, so, if nothing else, I found solace in the fact that she would pass the word along if he asked.
The captain announced that we would be landing soon, and I felt myself drift off into a half-asleep dreamland. Perhaps it was the wine, or just plain old mental exhaustion, but I started to think about the possibility of having children with Harry, and how it would’ve impacted our relationship. I’d been trying to become a mother for the past five months with no real introspection. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be a mother. It had been a mad dash to get pregnant to prove Lainey wrong, but it turned out, she'd been right. Where would we be now if I had gotten pregnant? I shuddered at that thought. We wouldn’t be happy. That was for sure.
We began to descend into Wales and, from the looks of the aerial views I had leaning over my seatmate, Wales had a lot of green, rolling hills and a long, dark-blue seashore with white sand. I could see wild forests too as I glanced down at the evergreen trees and the brown branches poking out. For the most part, it looked pretty rural. I had no idea where I was headed after the flight. I thought I’d probably just ask the taxi to take me to the closest hotel and regroup there. I didn’t have any expectations. I was just going.
It was a bumpy landing, and the two gentlemen next to me discussed landing techniques the whole time we taxied to the gate. Maybe every rural Welsh farmer had his own plane. Again, the farmer from Babe came to mind. That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.
I said goodbye to my seat companions, got off the plane, and looked around. Everyone looked fairly normal. What I presumed to be Welsh accents met my ears at every turn, not that I could differentiate between Welsh accents and English accents. I had a relatively painless and quick customs experience, went outside with my suitcase to the pickup area, and looked around. I didn’t see any taxis. As I waited, I sat down on my suitcase and pulled my jacket tighter. It was late afternoon here and the June air was chilly, even though it was technically summer starting next week. I looked around. There had to be a taxi at some point. This was an international airport.
Finally, I saw a black taxi turn the corner. The driver headed straight for me, but I still waved my arms at him just in case. Jet lag was starting to kick in, and all I wanted was a nice, warm bed and a 12-hour night of sleep. I saw the portly man get out. He grabbed my suitcase and hoisted it into the trunk. I got in the back, and he got in shortly after.
"Where ya going, dear?" The driver was old and stout, with small wisps of hair on his almost-bald head.
"The closest hotel. I don’t have any idea where to go."
"Ah, American, eh? I pegged you as Irish, ‘cause of your hair." He grinned.
"Nope. 100% American."
We sat there for a minute as I debated repeating my request. Maybe he hadn’t heard me.
"I’ll drive you to my nephew’s place. It’s a bed and breakfast just up the road a ways."
&nb
sp; "That sounds perfect. Thank you so much."
"What brings you to Wales?" We drove off, getting on to some sort of main road.
I’d decided early on in my flight to try and be honest about my situation with anyone that asked. I felt guilty about lying to my seatmates. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed but still, saying you were fresh off of a plane because your husband had left you might put some people off. I didn’t want to send any crazy lady signals, so I decided to play it by ear with each person.
"It’s a long story."
"We’ve got time. I’m Tommy, by the way."
"Charlotte. Nice to meet you, Tommy." I cleared my throat. "My husband left me today."
Tommy let out a whoosh of air.
"S’ the perfect place to relax," he said, gesturing to the Welsh countryside. "We have everything. Horseback riding, beaches, shopping, you name it. I reckon you’ll enjoy your stay at Parc-Le-Bouveret."
"Parc-Le-Bouveret? Is that the name of the bed and breakfast?"
"Yes, ma’am. Nice place."
"As long as it has a bed, it will be fine."
We drove along a two-lane highway along small seaside villages to my right and forest to my left. The juxtaposition was jarring, yet beautiful. Eventually, we turned left onto a road thick with trees. Shortly after, we turned left again, going up a narrow driveway. The road had turned to dirt and I couldn’t really see our surroundings due to the cloud of dust that followed us. Suddenly, the taxi lurched to a stop, and as the dust settled I saw that we were in a clearing in the woods and a gigantic mansion stood in front of us. Now, this would do. This would do just fine.
A sprawling green lawn awaited me as I got out of the taxi. I paid Tommy, who helped me with my suitcase. It was almost dusk, so the whole grey house was blanketed in a pink-orange hue. The large windows were reflecting the magnificent colors. The house itself was built out of stone, and it was a fairly large house for a bed and breakfast. The more my eyes rolled over the details, the more I visualized the next few days. This place would be perfect. It was rural, yet close to Swansea. There seemed to be a lot of land in the surrounding areas, which would be perfect for my morning strolls along the beach. I could visualize everything now.
The Foretelling (Charlotte Bloom #1) Page 7
