Chapter 3 #3
“Hold on now. That isn’t quite what I meant. We’re coming in on a new year, and I think it wise for you to look back on your life before making the leap to a new city and a new job. You may learn something that will be useful.”
I snort and gesture to the lavish lounge. “Do you have a crystal ball or a scrying bowl somewhere in here so I can watch my life like reruns of an incredibly boring TV show?”
And for a moment, it doesn’t seem the most ridiculous thing to find in this place, and I worry I’ve insulted her.
She waves a hand. “Oh, I don’t put much stock in such things. Far too unreliable. And I find actually being in the moment is far more impactful than watching it passively, don’t you?”
I shrug. “I suppose?”
She presses further. “If you could go back and relive a moment from your past, undo a mistake, take a chance, or just do something differently, what would it be?”
I don’t hesitate. “I’d go back and hold the ladder for my dad.
” I was at the Culinary Institute of America in New York, three thousand miles away, when he took his fall.
I can’t say the number of times I’ve wished I’d been there.
How much would be different if just a few things had gone differently.
The Ticket Agent shakes her head. “I’m sorry, dear, but there are certain paths in our past that are written for us as they must be. It was your father’s time, unfair as it was.”
I stand from my place. “Who are you and how do you know this?” Things are getting too eerie for me, and it’s time to seek the normalcy of postholiday travelers celebrating the final hours of the season by being positively beastly to one another.
“Like I told you, I’m a friend, dear. I’ve just known you a bit longer than you’ve known me.” She smiles and makes no move to stand. She’s completely relaxed and doesn’t seem anxious to stop me from running for the door.
So, inexplicably, I don’t.
Because the fact remains that I have nowhere to go and no one waiting for me.
I’m certain if I turn my phone on, it will have a zillion missed messages from Robin and Brian telling me off for leaving early.
Possibly a message from Chloe telling me she’s sorry she didn’t have the chance to say good night.
Social butterfly that she is, it probably didn’t even register with her that I headed out just as the party was getting started.
But no one would be saying they missed me or urging me to hurry home because they genuinely like my company.
I flop back in the chair and stare at the retro—or possibly vintage—light sconce on the wall as though it might contain the answers to all my woes.
“What else, dearie?” The Ticket Agent speaks as if I didn’t just nearly storm out of this surreal lounge.
Perhaps she knows I’d never find my way back to the real airport if I left.
I’m tempted to go test the doors to see if I’m locked in here against my will, but it hardly seems worth the effort.
If the Ticket Agent wants me here, I don’t think I have much choice but to stay.
I let my mind wander a bit, and it settles on the disastrous encounter with Edward.
The interview with Nora went fine. Great actually.
We made a good impression on each other, though none of it mattered.
They wouldn’t risk alienating the talent to bring in a general manager he didn’t endorse.
But what if I’d never met him? What if he were just a talented chef like any other who needed some guidance from a business-minded GM like me?
“I wish I’d never met Edward Fairbanks. I wish I’d ignored him at the bar all those years ago and met him for the first time at my interview.”
The Ticket Agent shakes her head. “No, dearie. He may be quite the pill, but you were always meant to meet him when you did. My advice would be to think a little smaller than saving a life or cutting someone out of yours entirely. You’d be surprised at the difference a small decision can make.”
I ponder further. We’d parted with a rather public shouting match back in New Orleans—not my proudest moment—and not spoken again until our fateful encounter in Denver, despite being in the same field. And reconciliation doesn’t seem to be in the cards.
If I’d kept my temper under control, I just might have left on good enough terms with Edward to have a shot at the Denver job.
And if I could succeed in doing for him what I wasn’t able to do for Joelle, I just might be able to revive the dreams of Michelin that seem to be smoldering amid the embers of my career.
“I would go back to end things with Edward on better terms.”
The Ticket Agent gives a small smile. “Not bad. Why don’t we give it a go?”
She hoists my backpack over her shoulder and gestures toward the Jetway door I didn’t notice before. I remain stock-still.
She looks back in my direction. “Do you trust me?”
I obviously should say no. I don’t know this woman or anything about her. She doesn’t fit the profile for a serial killer, but those are always the best ones, aren’t they? But the strange truth is that I do trust her. Despite all reason and logic, I nod.
“Come with me, then. No need for your luggage just now. Your pack will suffice.” She pats my green bag and gestures toward the door.
She opens the door to a private Jetway, and I’m now certain this is some sort of secret celebrity hideout to which the plebeians usually don’t get access.
I have never been on a flight from Burbank that didn’t board outside.
The Jetway looks nothing like the modern ones at other airports but, like the lounge, feels straight out of the golden age of air travel.
She escorts me into the plane, a private jet that appears to be from the same vintage but is as pristine as a plane straight from the factory line.
If there is such a thing as a new airplane smell, this one has it.
Leather upholstery, polished wooden tables that smell of lemon Pledge, and carpets that look freshly vacuumed.
The Ticket Agent senses my anxiety as I take in this veritable time capsule of an aircraft.
She smiles her warm smile, and my shoulders lower an inch.
“Choose your seat and get settled.” The seats are more like sofas.
There’s easily room for three passengers at one, each with an oversized table, perfect for use as an in-flight desk or dining table.
She spends a few moments fussing about and hoists my backpack in the overhead bin.
“Anything you’ll need will be in your pack. And if things go badly or you find yourself displeased with your destination, all you need to do is head back to the airport.”
“Am I the only one on the flight?” I look around and don’t even see evidence of a pilot onboard.
She places a hand on the edge of the massive seat. “No one can take this journey with you or for you, dearie. And I can only offer you one more bit of advice for now.”
I look at her expectantly.
“You may be going to New Orleans with an objective in mind, but be open to new paths and options. What you think is important may be far less crucial than you believe. And remember, you’re always free to come back here whenever you wish.”
The Ticket Agent leaves back up the Jetway, the door of the aircraft closing behind her. A mechanical voice tells me to fasten my seat belt, and the jet engines roar to life.