Chapter 29 – James
JAMES
Maura flops down on her leather-upholstered seat, a glass of sparkling apple juice in hand.
“I used to judge celebrities for it, but they were right.” She sighs. “Private jet is the only way to travel.”
I chuckle. “And you haven’t even seen the beds yet. Trust me, you’ll never get a better night’s sleep on an international flight.”
“Is this the menu?” She picks up the small ivory booklet on the table in front of her. “There are so many options! It’s like we’re at a restaurant.”
“Just because you sometimes live on granola bars alone doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have higher standards,” I inform her, opening my phone to check some last minute emails. “I’ve got some work to attend to. You can pick my dinner, as well.”
“Hmm, the granola prepared three ways sounds just up your alley…”
We fall into a companionable silence as I deal with meeting requests for our Athens trip—the Annie in Athens star, Caroline Daniels, apparently wants to pitch me a biopic based on her life, despite being all of 22—and Maura sketches idly in her sketchbook.
I barely look up when the flight attendant approaches and asks us to put on our seatbelts to prepare for take-off. Maura, however, stiffens as she sets down her sketchbook. Once the plane starts taxiing, she grips the armrests so hard, her knuckles turn white.
“Something wrong?” I murmur.
“I'm not a fan of takeoff,” she says. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead, rather than on the window next to her. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’ll be over soon. Just go back to your emails.”
I glance back down at my phone, but the words are a blur I can’t bring myself to focus on.
I keep glancing at Maura in my peripheral vision, checking on her strained expression and her tense posture.
When the plane picks up speed, the runway rumbling underneath us, her breaths turn short and shallow.
Instinctively, I set my hand over hers. She’s too tense to even take it. She just keeps gripping the armrest like a lifeline while the plane leaves the ground, refusing to release it until we’re well into the air.
“Better?” I ask.
“Sort of.” She pulls her hand out from under mine and reaches for her sketchbook—hopefully a good sign. “I’m sure my nerves will settle once we’re cruising. It’s just the rough parts, you know?”
The flight attendant emerges with a cart of water, whiskey, and sparkling apple juice.
She automatically fills our glasses. “If you're ready, I can take your dinner orders now,” she says brightly.
“Our captain is anticipating some turbulence in about an hour, so I'd like to get your dinners ready before then, just in case it interrupts service.”
“I’m not that hungry,” Maura says. I frown. Just before takeoff, she was so excited, looking through all the options our airline chef had prepared. Shit, turbulence really bothers her.
“We'll just take some sliced fruit, cheese, and crackers, please,” I say. Hopefully, that'll help Maura settle her stomach.
After the flight attendant leaves, Maura leaves her sketchbook open in front of her.
Her pencil lies still in her hand, her gaze fixed in front of her.
For now, I won't press her. By now, I know how much she hates being interrogated when she’s feeling vulnerable.
Silence is the best thing I can give her.
Once our food arrives, Maura barely picks at it. Despite my weakness for a good French cheese, I don’t find the display too appetizing, either.
The jet’s movements slowly move from smooth to ragged. One particularly rough bump forces me to grab for my glass of whiskey before it tumbles off the table. Maura lets out a muffled sound that I think might be a whimper.
The next time the flight attendant approaches us, the smile on her face is tight. “The pilot has asked me to remain seated until we're through the turbulence,” she says. “So unfortunately, I'll be suspending service for a while.”
I nod. “Of course. Thank you.”
She keeps her hand on the bulkhead for balance as she walks toward the front compartment, but the plane shakes and she almost loses her balance just as she closes the door.
I glance over at my wife. Maura’s eyes are squeezed shut, and I can see a muscle jump in her clenched jaw as she grinds her teeth together. I grab her hand with mine.
“Are you alright?” I murmur.
She gives a tiny nod that obviously doesn’t reflect her true feelings.
“Not a fan of turbulence?” I ask.
Her neck bobs as she swallows. “Apparently not. I don't fly much. The last time I dealt with turbulence like this, I must've been twelve. I assumed I'd grow out of it, but…”
Shit. I assumed she was an experienced flyer.
Most people with her kind of wealth have been jetted around for vacations since toddlerhood.
I'll have to ask her about that later. Right now, I need to find a way to get her mind off things.
The turbulence is strong enough to shake my confidence, and I've flown hundreds of times for work. With Maura’s inexperience, no wonder she's fucking terrified.
I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “We're going to be fine,” I assure her. “My pilot is one of the best flyers around, and he’s flown me through turbulence like this plenty of times before. It feels more dangerous than it is.”
“I know that in my head. It’s just hard to convince myself, you know?”
I do. “How about…a distraction?”
“Like what?” Her eyes are still squeezed shut, her hand tight around the armrest.
“What if I tell you about the time Beau almost got me arrested?”
One eye peeks open. “I’m listening.”
“It was right after my parents died, and I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I was entertaining the idea of starting Sequel, but I hadn’t actually committed to it. I ghostwalked through a few college courses, but I wasn’t invested. I was as lost as I’d ever been.”
Truthfully, getting out of bed was almost impossible at the time. I might not have left the house at all if it weren’t for the guys dragging me out.
“I’m sorry,” Maura says quietly.
I nod, brushing past it. “I’m just setting the stage for my state of mind when we decided to sneak into the mayor’s Halloween fundraising gala.”
She snorts. “That’s not so bad. You were probably invited to the gala.”
“True. I was not invited to attend dressed as Gerard Butler in 300.”
“Wait. You mean with the loincloth and the red cape?”
“Exactly.”
“To a gala.”
“Admittedly, it was Halloween. Most people wore costumes.”
“Yeah, probably like masks and gowns, or they wear a tuxedo and say they’re James Bond. Nobody would go naked!”
“I wasn’t naked. Loincloth, remember?”
Maura’s answering giggle breaks off as the plane lurches again. Her hand feels clammy under mine, and I squeeze it tighter.
“If it had just been the costumes, we might have gotten away with it,” I continue. “The older guests complained, but some of the guests were more…interested.”
“The martinis and Xanax wives,” she breathes. “I remember them well.”
“Exactly. They were happy to have some young men to ogle when their husbands weren’t looking. Unfortunately, Beau happened to strike up a conversation with the mayor’s nineteen-year-old daughter. They were in the same class in high school, and one thing led to another…”
“No,” Maura gasps. “Tell me he didn’t—”
“Let her take a look at his sword in the coat closet? He sure did. Beau has…let’s call it a reckless streak. They were discovered, shrieks were shrieked, lawsuits were discovered, police were called. About what you’d expect to happen.”
“Wow. I wish anything like that had happened at the galas my father dragged me to,” she says, shaking her head. “They were so mind-numbingly boring. I only found someone worth talking to once.”
“Oh?”
“A boy. He was maybe ten or eleven. My father had locked me in a storage room as punishment for sitting under a table to draw, and this boy just…appeared..”
Something stirs in my chest. A memory, hazy and half-formed.
“He brought me some dessert,” Maura continues, her voice soft with nostalgia.
“And orange soda. He sat with me for a while. He was the first person who ever really looked at my art, you know? Like he was taking it seriously.”
The plane lurches, and she squeezes my hand tighter. I squeeze back, but my mind is elsewhere. Horses. A storage room. Cake from the kitchen.
It can't be.
“His parents came to get him eventually,” Maura says.
“His mother was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. And the way his father looked at her...” She trails off, shaking her head.
“I'd never seen love like that before. Not in real life. I think about them sometimes. I hope that boy found someone who loves him like that.”
My throat feels tight. I should say something. I should tell her.
But the plane shudders again, Maura's face goes pale, and the moment passes.
“But, anyway, back to the story with Beau—how did you get out of being arrested?”
I shrug. “How else? Writing a significant check to the mayor’s campaign fund, given with promises to keep Beau fifty yards away from the daughter at all times.”
“I’m guessing Beau didn’t keep to those promises.”
“Of course not. Reckless streak and all. The next week, he twisted his ankle jumping out of the daughter’s bedroom window. Spent one month on crutches and two months bitching about the pain.”
“Stop.” She laughs, grabbing her stomach. “Seriously, I’ve had to pee since takeoff, but I’ve been too scared to walk to the bathroom. If I keep laughing, I’m going to have to pay to get your leather seats professionally cleaned.”
“As soon as there’s a break in the turbulence, I’ll help you walk over,” I promise.
“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I can walk by myself.”
“I’m walking you, because I’m not taking any chances and getting a second twisted ankle on my conscience,” I tell her. Hopefully, wrapping it in a joke will make her accept it, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go on her own.
She rolls her eyes. “So bossy.”
“I thought you knew that by now.”
“Think we’re good now?” she says after a few minutes of relative calm.
“Yeah.” I pull her to her feet and put my hand on her lower back, guiding her to the back bathroom. Immediately, I’m glad I insisted on walking her, because her legs tremble slightly underneath her. I brace my spare hand on her elbow to help her balance, the silk of her blouse soft against my skin.
“You’re not going to follow me in, are you?” she asks as she pushes the door open.
“I’m not that controlling.” I take a seat in a nearby row. “I’ll wait till you’re done, though. Just in case.”
The plane remains calm when we walk back to our seats.
After a few minutes, the flight attendant comes out to offer us coffee or tea.
Without the turbulence, Maura doesn’t take my hand again and we fall into a charged silence as she reads and I study her face in profile.
Trying to see the little girl from the gala who promised me she’d be at the next one but never showed.
My chest squeezes and when Maura looks at me with a question in her lifted brow, I clear my throat and look away before she can guess at my thoughts.
I file away the memory and hope the bone deep sensation in my chest can be locked away with it, gripping the armrest until my pulse slows.