Chapter Two
Maisy concentrated on reading her novel and did her best to ignore Mr. Grump.
Yet, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate, her mind wandered, her thoughts spun, as she reviewed their brief conversation.
When she’d first noticed him, something she couldn’t precisely name struck her, something beyond his impatience and foul mood.
Whatever was happening in his life had clearly upset him. It was in the intensity in his eyes, as if he carried a heavy weight. It seemed as though he’d come to the end of his rope. From the way he spoke and moved, it was apparent this airport was the last place on earth he wanted to be.
He’d said he was a businessman. Yet he didn’t seem to be working, as he’d implied he would be.
When she was confident he wouldn’t notice, she turned to study him.
He appeared to find the seat uncomfortable and fidgeted, seemingly unable to find a position to his liking.
Every few minutes or so, he scrolled through his phone and then exhaled in frustration.
Irritation radiated off him like a bad sunburn.
Likely it was some matter out of his control.
Mr. Grump was clearly a man who needed to be in charge.
Whatever it was that caused this unexpected interruption in his life had taken away his control.
An hour into the flight, the attendant came through with lunch. Mr. Grump waved it away without even asking what was being served. Instead, he ordered a glass of red wine and then complained when it arrived chilled.
“You should always serve red wine at room temperature,” he told the male attendant. “Take it back.”
The flight attendant accepted the wine and ignored the comment. “Miss,” he said to her. “Did you want lunch?”
“Yes, please.” Maisy fully intended to enjoy every aspect of her first-class experience.
“Set up your tray and I’ll return with your meal.”
“Thank you.” Only Maisy had trouble finding the tray. When she sat in coach, the tray was located on the back of the seat in front of her. That wasn’t the case in first class. Twisting and turning in an awkward search, she accidentally bumped arms with Mr. Grump.
“Sorry,” she said. “I can’t seem to find where they hid the tray.”
Without a word, Mr. Grump reached over and lifted the flap on the padded armrest between them to indicate where it was stored.
“Oh,” she said brightly. “Thanks. I’d never have guessed it was there.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, shutting her out.
The flight attendant delivered her meal.
Maisy looked over the plate, and her eyes rounded with delight.
“This is amazing,” she said. The chicken-and-rice dish with stir-fried vegetables looked delicious.
The dinner roll was warm enough to melt the butter, and the dessert was a peanut-butter cookie. The meal was far better than expected.
“Can I get you anything more?” he asked.
“Water, please,” Maisy told him as she spread the linen napkin across her lap. “And thank you.”
“And you, sir?”
Mr. Grump sighed. “If you have white wine, bring me that. Only make sure it’s chilled.”
“Coming right up,” the attendant returned pleasantly.
The Grump mumbled something that sounded like he needed to be saved from people who insisted on being cheerful.
Maisy glared back at him, her own frustration with him starting to mount again. The man was being a jerk to everyone. Telling him exactly what she thought of him and the way he spoke to others was on the tip of her tongue when she remembered something her beloved grandmother often repeated.
Be slow to speak and quick to listen.
Maisy had listened, and she didn’t like a single word the Grump had spoken. While she’d like nothing better than to give him a talking-to, she hesitated and mulled over their brief exchanges.
His wine was delivered, and he wasn’t happier with the chardonnay than he’d been with the first glass. “This isn’t fit to drink,” he said as he handed the glass back after a single sip.
Maisy had heard enough. She sighed, remembered her grandmother’s wisdom, and bit her tongue. “Excuse me,” she said, turning to face him.
“What now?” He groaned the question.
“You seem to be in something of a bad mood.”
“Not your concern.”
“True,” she answered agreeably. “But it’s my understanding that when someone is unpleasant or rude, there’s generally something else going on. Whatever it is in your case appears to have caused you to be mad at the world.”
His eyes narrowed as he glared at her.
Maisy continued. “I refuse to believe you’re the kind of person who goes through life lashing out at everyone within the range of your voice.”
He snickered, then closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the seat.
Maisy had tried, and that was the best she could do. Refusing to allow him to ruin such an enjoyable meal, she finished eating and then thanked the patient attendant who collected her tray. She could only imagine how many unpleasant passengers he had to deal with on every flight.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked.
Maisy removed the napkin from her lap and thanked him. “Thank you, but no. It was a wonderful lunch.”
“My pleasure,” he responded with a smile, and then frowned at her seatmate, who remained sitting with his eyes closed and his arms crossed, as if blocking out the world.
Sometime later, the pilot announced that everyone needed to buckle their seatbelts for rough weather ahead.
Mr. Grump sat up, tightened his seatbelt, and then glanced at Maisy. Sighing, he whispered, “My mother died.”
It took half a second for Maisy to understand that he was speaking to her. Instantly, her heart filled with sympathy. Reaching over, she placed a comforting hand on his. “I’m so sorry.”
He looked at her hand and then at her. “I’m not. She wasn’t much of a mother.”
His words shocked Maisy. “Still, she was your mother.”
He huffed and rolled his eyes. “She was a drunk. She never cared about me or anything else except how long it would be until her next drink. Yet I’m tasked with making her funeral arrangements and seeing that she’s properly buried.”
“This is why you’re flying to Seattle?”
“My only reason. I’ll meet with the funeral home this afternoon and fly out this evening. The sooner I’m done with this matter, the better.”
“How sad,” Maisy said, and realized she’d spoken the words aloud when she hadn’t meant to.
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but her death certificate stated she died from liver failure, which was inevitable. As far as I can figure, it took longer than it should have.”
“Did you have any contact with her toward the end?”
He laughed as if she’d joked. “No way. I haven’t spoken to her since I was in grade school.”
“Did she reach out to you?”
His smile spoke more of sadness than humor. “She tried, but I wasn’t interested. There wasn’t a single thing she had to say that I wanted to hear.”
“That is incredibly sad,” she said again. “Sad for her and even more so for you.”
“Whatever.”
He folded his hands in front of him and turned away from her. His body language said he was finished with their conversation. Likely, he regretted having spoken at all.
The plane descended, and before long they were on the tarmac at Sea-Tac Airport and easing toward their gate.
Once the jetway was in place, Maisy collected her carry-on bag and prepared to disembark.
Mr. Grump was one of the first to exit the plane and was out of sight.
She didn’t see him again until she descended the escalator to baggage claim.
The way Mr. Grump paced back and forth, barking into his phone, told her something else had gone awry. He shoved his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling.
“What do you mean my car has been canceled,” he shouted impatiently.
The entire area could hear him. “Yes, I realize my plane was delayed. That is no excuse…”
Whomever he was speaking to must have hung up on him, because he growled and glanced anxiously at his watch. Maisy, like several others, stood transfixed, staring at him.
After a few moments, looking even more disgruntled, he approached her. “Would you happen to know where I can catch a taxi?” he asked.
“It’s downstairs and across the street. Your car service was canceled?”
“Yes,” he barked.
“Did you try Uber?”
“Of course,” he said, as if that was a ridiculous question.
“There’s apparently a big conference in town, and the next available car won’t arrive for another forty minutes.
I’m already behind schedule and late for my appointment with the funeral home.
If I’m delayed any longer, I’ll miss my return flight this evening. ”
From experience, Maisy knew the taxi line could take longer than forty minutes as well. “I’ll take you,” she said, hardly believing the words coming out of her mouth.
“You?” His eyes rounded as if he was sure he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Why would you do that?”
He should know the answer. “So you don’t miss your flight back to Chicago.”
“But…”
They didn’t have time to argue. “My car is in the lot across the street. Come with me and we’ll be on our way in less than fifteen minutes.”
“But the taxi…”
“The lines here are horrendous. I’m your best bet. Take it or leave it.”
He hesitated and then reluctantly nodded. “I’ll take it.”
Maisy collected her suitcase and then led the way out of the terminal. Reluctantly, Mr. Grump followed her. “Why should I trust you?” he asked, falling into step next to her.
“Do you want to make the return flight or not?”
He groaned as if unsure.
“Listen…What is your name, anyway?”
“Chase. Chase Furst.”
“Chase, listen. I promise I’ll get you where you need to go.”
He sighed. “Like you said, I don’t have much of a choice.”
“True.” She understood his hesitation.
His steps matched hers. “Why are you helping me?” he asked, as if he found it hard to believe she would willingly go out of her way for him.