Chapter 7
Cavin cleared the sleep from his eyes as the family’s limousine slowly came to a halt at the departures entrance of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. The beams from the headlights of the other cars reminded him that most people were still in bed this early in the morning.
“Sit tight while I collect your bags for you, Mr. Dawson,” the driver offered.
“I will grab them this time,” Cavin insisted, holding up a hand. “I only have two to check, and you probably have better things to do on Black Friday than work.”
“This is what I signed up for,” the gentleman dressed in a fancy tuxedo replied with a half-hearted smile.
“I have better things to do,” Cavin reported begrudgingly while strapping a backpack over his shoulders and then reaching for his laptop. Before opening the door, he handed the driver a $100 bill. “Go buy your wife something nice.”
Once the soles of Cavin’s dress shoes hit the asphalt, he pulled two hefty suitcases from the vehicle, steadied their wheels, and popped up the handle.
The contents would need to keep him clothed for nearly a month.
A few seconds later he entered through the automatic sliding doors and made his way to the check-in counter, knowing he could find it with his eyes closed.
Like clockwork he handed the attendant his driver’s license and plopped his bags onto the designated weighing area.
“Heading to New Bern, huh, Mr. Dawson?” the blonde-haired woman confirmed with a trained smile.
“Beaufort, actually,” Cavin mentioned mostly to keep the pronunciation of the town at the forefront of his mind, yet he feigned interest in her, especially the way she filled out her uniform but didn’t quite flaunt the features beneath the clothing.
Even if he didn’t find the woman on the other side of the tall counter attractive, he would have studied her closely as he did everyone with whom he came into contact.
His father raised him to notice the details, such as a person’s name, the style of watch on their wrist, the brand of shoes on their feet, and whether or not they made eye contact.
“I guess New Bern has the closest airport,” Cavin added, making small talk which often helped start meaningful conversations in his line of work.
“Are you flying there to see family for the holidays?” the lady around his age asked while handing him his ticket.
Cavin knew many of the airline’s workers' names at this airport, but he never encountered this woman before. “Nope, I am going there for work on Black Friday of all days,” he replied with a snicker.
She smiled genuinely as her head cocked to the right ever so slightly. “At least I’m not the only one working the holiday,” she teased.
“If you weren’t working, I would invite you to explore coastal North Carolina with me, Grace,” he suggested with a grin after reading her nametag and checking her ring finger.
The woman blushed and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe another time.”
Cavin grinned. “Don’t work too hard today, Grace.”
People loved hearing their names, and he knew that.
He used all types of tactics to remember names, including saying them multiple times in conversations, especially upon meeting someone new, relating their name to another person he knew or a celebrity, or writing it down along with a few important characteristics about the person.
At the security checkpoint, Cavin followed protocol by setting all his belongings in the bins on the conveyor belt, including his belt, cufflinks, watch, and cell phone.
He removed his shoes last and watched the bins move along the line while stepping into the revolving scanner to lift his hands above his head as the picture showed.
“Good morning, Tom,” he greeted.
The security officer on the other side of the machine that Cavin had walked through hundreds of times nodded. “Mr. Dawson, I hope you and your family enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving.”
Stepping in his direction, Cavin performed the typical circular rub of the stomach.
“It was fabulous; I just ate too much.” It impressed him when others remembered his name, especially someone like Tom, a retired military officer, who saw thousands of people daily.
He took this job for something to do rather than the pay after his wife passed a couple of years ago.
His son lived abroad, so he didn’t see him often.
It amazed Cavin how much could be learned about people by spending only a couple of minutes in their presence every now and then.
Tom tapped his own plump stomach. “I eat too much every day, my friend,” he responded with a chuckle.
“Airport food will do that to us,” Cavin concluded with a laugh.
A few minutes later Cavin reached the gate specified on the mobile ticket and boarded the airplane with the first group.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Dawson,” the flight attendant greeted as Cavin entered the airplane. She stood next to the pilot who shook another man’s hand before recognizing Cavin.
“Thank you, Darlene, it’s good to see you again,” Cavin acknowledged. “How are those two children of yours?”
“Crazy as ever,” she replied with her typical spicy demeanor laughing louder than socially acceptable, but everyone always seemed to quickly embrace her jolliness.
“Cavin, happy Thanksgiving,” the pilot offered.
“Truman, Thanksgiving was yesterday,” Darlene broadcasted. She didn’t need the intercom for her voice to reach the back of the plane. “Today is Black Friday; tomorrow is Small Business Saturday; and Monday is Cyber Monday.”
Truman shook his head and laughed, and Cavin chuckled in unison.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and all the rest to both of you,” Cavin remarked.
Because of the flight rotations, keeping up with the pilots’ and flight attendants' names proved more challenging than for some of the other airline workers.
“She keeps me on my toes,” Truman teased. “What is Sunday?”
“A day of rest,” she retorted.
“On another note, Dad says he’s buying a private jet for the family business in the New Year,” Cavin disclosed. “We might have to hire you two to keep us on our toes and in the air.”
“We know how to do that,” Truman replied. “That’s exciting news. Keep us posted.”
“Truman, you better treat me right,” Darlene encouraged. “This is the second job offer I’ve received this week.”
With a smile on his face, Cavin took a seat in the first-class section and stretched out in the leather chair while rummaging through his bag for a pair of earphones.
By the time he picked a movie, the wheels lifted off the runway, and his ears popped.
Out of habit he tossed a peppermint into his mouth.
Normally, Cavin would listen to a business-related podcast during the flight, but to celebrate the holiday weekend which his dad cut short, he opted for mindless entertainment.
Darlene brought him a beverage and a snack and checked on him several times while, thanks to the window seat view, Cavin watched the sunrise above a layer of puffy cotton clouds that could easily be mistaken for snow-capped mountains.
One of the perks of getting up this early in the morning to catch a flight was the unique perspective of the golden rays of the sun filtering through the clouds.
The plane touched down in Charlotte well before the film ended, but Cavin figured he would pick back up where he left off after the short layover.
Unfortunately, the second flight landed in New Bern before Cavin finished the movie, but he was glad to be on the ground.
Maybe he would watch the rest later but probably not.
He had more important things to accomplish.
The newly renovated yet quaint airport allowed him to gather his checked bags quickly and locate the reserved rental vehicle within a matter of minutes.
The GPS in the full-size black SUV promptly informed him that a mere forty-mile drive to Beaufort lay ahead.
That would put him there around the time most businesses opened on a regular weekday morning.
Leave it to his dad to ensure he literally had every available hour in town.
However, with Black Friday not being a typical day, he imagined most banks, real estate firms, and other business offices would likely be closed while the retail shops probably opened earlier than normal.
The rumble in Cavin’s stomach made him think about grabbing breakfast in New Bern or while driving through one of the other small towns on his route—Havelock or Morehead City—but he decided he would rather kick off his business trip dining with the locals.
Highway 70, which he learned would soon become Interstate 42, thanks to a couple of construction zones where the road shifted from two lanes to one for short periods, took him all the way to Turner Street which led into the heart of Beaufort, North Carolina.
A short and curvy high-rise bridge just before the horseshoe turn into the quaint town offered a view that made his heart smile as he heard the cha-ching sound slot machines make in his mind.
A picturesque glimpse into Beaufort featuring an inviting body of water dotted with docks filled with sailboats and other vessels welcomed everyone showcasing an area that resembled a small port city.
It reminded Cavin of the cover of a movie he saw when scrolling through options on the airplane.
A cute little sign made the location as clear as the blue sky on the other side of the open sunroof.