Chapter Thirteen Claire
Chapter Thirteen
Claire
We are angels who have but a single wing, and we can only fly if we cling to one another.
—LUCIANO DE CRESCENZO
Nathan warned me I’d be ruined for all other trips after working with his crew, but when I got called out the next day, I seriously never expected the following:
1. A captain who intentionally flew slowly to make more money. If I earned ten times more an hour the way he does, maybe I’d appreciate it. But as it is, I’d give back the extra pennies in my paycheck for the ability to go to bed earlier.
2. A first officer who handed out paper airplanes to kids when they boarded. I thought it sweet of her at first, until I was required to dodge a squadron of white pointy-nosed fighter jets during each extra-long flight.
3. Another flight attendant who kept coughing and wiping his nose on his sleeve.
To make matters worse, he worked quickly.
So no matter where I was headed, he got there first and covered the area with his germs. He claimed it was allergies, but I’m afraid it was actually a virus that my immune system is unprepared to fight, thanks to my incredible lack of sleep.
Now it’s my day to return home and visit Wyatt, but my body feels as though I went skydiving without a parachute.
Okay, I’ve never actually gone skydiving, but I’ve heard that if your parachute doesn’t deploy, it’s not the landing that kills you—it’s the way that first landing shatters all your bones so that the bone fragments puncture your organs when you bounce.
I’d consider this a good description of my current aches and pains.
I wish Desiree were one of my roommates so she could pray for my healing in person.
She and Vincent invited me to their church after our trip together, but even the idea of climbing down from my bunk makes me want to cry, so there’s no way I’m attending church tomorrow.
Unfortunately, my nose is already dripping like tears, and I need to grab some Kleenex. Or a whole roll of toilet paper.
I turn over, triggering my temples to drum the beat for my pity party. A moan escapes.
Angel pops up beside my bunk, bringing her face-to-face with me. Except her face is beautifully made. Once the swelling goes down in my throat, I’ll have to ask what brand of foundation she wears. At the moment, even my ears hurt when swallowing.
She frowns. “You don’t look so good.”
“Can you . . .” My voice croaks. I point to the bathroom. “Tissues?”
Her heels click on hardwood, as she’s already dressed in uniform. The sound stabs my brain, but at least she understood my request.
I close my burning eyes.
“Here.”
I jolt at her return, as if waking up all over again. Then I reach for the handful of tissues and bury my face in them. If you’ve ever seen a kid with a security blanket, that’s me and my Kleenex. “Thank you,” I snuffle.
“I got sick a lot too at first. Do you take vitamins?”
I grunt in place of an actual answer. I’m doubting my one multivitamin a day will cut it.
“Extra vitamin C? Zinc?”
This time I groan.
A tall Asian twentysomething wearing trendy plastic glasses props her hip against the doorjamb. “I’m pretty sure her grunt means yes and her groan means no.”
She speaks with the lilt of a valley girl, but at least I have a translator. Now I don’t have to put energy into using real words.
Angel muffles a burp. “I have some extra packets of dietary supplements to mix into your water.” Her chunky heels clip-clop away, so she might be going to mix up the concoction, though she could also be going into the other room to belch louder.
What I really want is some NyQuil to put me out of my misery. But my flight home takes off in two hours. I’ll ask her for DayQuil instead. That is, if I don’t fall asleep before she returns. My eyelids droop.
Instead of heels clicking, I hear more of a scuffling sound. Someone else is entering the room. So much for making a good first impression on my new roomies.
Peeking up, I expect to see the valley girl from the doorway, but instead I find a middle-aged woman who styles her dark chin-length bob to cover one of her smoky eyes.
She lifts a little squeezy bottle between us.
“This throat spray will help boost your immune system. Open your mouth.” Her husky voice and French accent make her sound like she’s swallowing some of the syllables.
I respond to this stranger in the same way as a trusting baby bird. She squirts four times, and the sweet essence of honey coats my tongue.
I offer what is supposed to sound like “Thanks.” Glancing past her, I check to see if the other roommate is still here to interpret my rasp.
The younger roommate joins us, dressed for the gym—if the gym were actually a set for filming music videos. Her yoga pants are designed with mesh inserts, and her sweatshirt hangs off a shoulder. I doubt I’ve ever made sweating look so cool.
“I’m Brittany,” she says. “This is Vivienne. You must be Claire.”
I wave hello, letting my hand flop back to the mattress. “Do either of you have any cold medicine?”
Brittany shrugs her bare shoulder. “Sorry. I took prescription antibiotics last time I was sick.”
“Oh no.” Vivienne’s tone dips with disdain. “You shouldn’t do that. I only use natural remedies.”
Seeing Wyatt will be both my natural remedy and my prescription drug. He’s all I need.
I drop my head into my squishy pillow and close my eyes again. “I’m supposed to fly home to visit my boyfriend.”
“If you fly home, passengers sitting in your surrounding rows will have an eighty percent chance of contracting an infection from your germs.” The statistic isn’t stated in Vivienne’s accent or Brittany’s breathy uptalk but more of a no-nonsense tone.
It continues. “Though I suspect your primary fear is potential discomfort from ear pressure changes during take-off and landing due to congestion in the eustachian tubes. I recommend postponing your travel.”
I pry my burning eyelids up to find a fourth roommate poking her head in the door. This one wears her light-brown hair cut short, and without makeup her features kind of blend together. I’m guessing she’s younger than me, though she’s acting older. Before I can confirm, she’s gone.
“That was Sparrow.” Brittany waves after her.
Vivienne harrumphs. “She should be named Alexa or Siri, with the way she only pops up to spout information.”
Brittany’s laugh tinkles like wind chimes. “Well, she’s not wrong. Remember when I didn’t call out sick and ruptured an eardrum?” She turns to me, her eyebrow slivers dipping in cute concern. “You don’t want that. It can cause hearing damage. Plus, it hurts.”
How is this my life? I’m overwhelmed by a cast of new faces and names, yet there’s still another half of apartment residents I’ve yet to meet.
And while these women are kind enough to try nursing me back to health, the only person I want to spend my free day with is in a different state.
Worse, if I try to get to him, my eardrum could burst.
I roll onto my back, throw an arm across my eyes, and give an overdramatic fake cry.
Heels clip-clop. “What’d y’all do to her?”
“Sparrow,” Vivienne deadpans.
“It’s not Sparrow’s fault,” Brittany defends lightly. “It’s just a tough truth to hear.”
I’ve had enough tough truths lately. But whether my eardrum would burst on an airplane or not, I doubt I have the energy to get ready for the airport, let alone travel.
And if I somehow made it to San Francisco, I wouldn’t be any fun.
Wyatt would be stuck taking care of me on his day off.
As much as I’d love to be in his arms right now, I wouldn’t want to get him sick too.
Angel strides to the bedside and holds out a glass filled with transparent orange liquid. “You’ll have to sit up, but I think this will help.”
Vivienne props pillows behind me so I have something to lean against.
Brittany pulls a phone out of her leggings pocket and scrolls in the millennial way. “I’m looking up the schedule of flights to San Fran for you. Are you off tomorrow too? Because maybe you’ll feel better by then.”
I take the glass from Angel and force a few citrusy sips down my tight throat. Here’s hoping it’s a miracle cure and I can at least see my boyfriend for one day.
“Bummer.” Brittany drops her arm to her side. “The flights are completely booked. Oh, I remember why. The Mariners are playing the Giants in the World Series.”
So much for the day-trip idea. So much for going home. The idea of Seattle as my new home isn’t as inviting as when I’d arrived. “Home, James,” I mutter, without mirth this time.
Sparrow pops her head in. “Do you know the origin of that phrase?”
Vivienne crosses her arms. “Nobody says ‘Home, James’ anymore, so no, nobody knows where it came from.”
“Claire just said it.” Sparrow turns to address me.
“Queen Victoria had a carriage driver named James Darling. She didn’t want to call him by his last name, as was the custom at the time, since ‘Darling’ sounded too intimate, so she’d call him James.
When she wanted to go home, she’d say, ‘Home, James.’”
We all stare, unsure how to respond to the irrelevant history lesson. Since Sparrow directed her knowledge at me, I should probably be the one to break the silence. I grunt my thanks.
Brittany turns back and resumes our earlier conversation. “The Mariners haven’t been in a World Series for a long time. I met one of the coaches on a flight, and he was telling me about it.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” Angel trills before seeming to remember my dilemma and turning her smile upside down for my benefit. “At least Claire got to meet someone famous on her first trip too.”
Sparrow disappears, evidently not one for social interaction, pop culture, or seeing the bright side of things.
Brittany, however, perks up. If that’s possible. “Who’d you meet?”
I try to remember meeting someone famous. Does Angel mean the football player? My brain is pretty fuzzy, and I couldn’t even remember his name when I told her this story after returning from my trip late last night. She’d had to look him up.
Tired of waiting for me to answer, Angel explodes, “Andrew James asked her out.”
Vivienne’s smoky eyes pinch in confusion. “Who is Andrew James?”
Right?
Brittany clasps her hands to her heart. “Claire, you went out with Andrew James? Is that why you said, ‘Home, James’?”
Did the girl just forget the whole reason I want to get home to San Francisco in the first place? “No.” The word scrapes my throat on the way out, so I leave it at that. Enough said.
“She has a boyfriend, remember?” Angel nudges Brittany. “Besides, if she were to leave her boyfriend for anyone, it wouldn’t be Andrew James.”
My gaze slides toward Angel in confusion. Even if I weren’t sick, my head would hurt from trying to keep up with her in this conversation.
“Who is Andrew James?” Vivienne repeats.
“He’s the quarterback for the Forty-Niners, but that’s old news now.” Brittany’s dark eyes sparkle. “Who’s better than Andrew James?”
Angel plants a hand on one sassy hip. “First Officer Nathan Stuart.”
Oh please. She’s still stuck on that? I shouldn’t have even told her Wyatt looked Nathan up out of jealousy. She was already making too big a deal out of him after our shuttle ride.
Brittany cocks her head. “He’s cute, but I wouldn’t advise dating him. He’s still stuck on his ex-girlfriend.”
I close my eyes, ready for this day to end.
“I’d advise against dating any pilots,” Vivienne adds sagely.
“Too late for that.” Angel giggles.
Thankfully, all attention turns her way. Including mine. She failed to mention this new man when we’d been whispering from our bunks in the dark like college students.
“Who?” Brittany demands.
“I’ll tell you when I get back from the trip I’m working with him.” Angel checks her watch, then strides toward the door. “For which I’m running late.”
Brittany jogs after her into the living room, her voice fading. “Is it the Australian guy? Or the guy who owns his own plane and lives in a hangar? Please tell me it’s not the one from Florida who wrestles alligators.”
I shake my head at the ceiling. I’d thought my dance troupe had drama, but my new roommates put them to shame. Alligator wrestling? Are we living in a crash pad or a cartoon?
Vivienne backs out the door after the other two. “I’ll let you rest, ma chérie. It was nice meeting you.”
I wave. Finally some peace and quiet to FaceTime Wyatt. My throat may hurt when talking, but text messages are getting old. I want to actually see the guy I’m seeing. At least he’ll be coming up here to celebrate my birthday next week.