Chapter Fifteen Claire
Chapter Fifteen
Claire
Birds learn how to fly, never knowing where flight will take them.
—MARK NEPO
Sounds like I’ll be celebrating my birthday in Walla Walla.
At least I’m not celebrating alone, the way I thought I would be after Wyatt canceled his visit to the Pacific Northwest. I’d had his flight booked and was about to preorder tickets for dinner at the Space Needle when he called this morning.
I tried not to cry since Wyatt considers tears to be manipulative, so I held them in until we hung up. He doesn’t know I cried, and he also doesn’t know I picked up this trip with Nathan.
I’m afraid to tell him about it because I don’t want him to get jealous again.
Honestly, I had no idea Nathan would be on this trip. I’d simply determined to get out of the crash pad. Rather than do so by dining tragically alone at the top of the Space Needle, I figured I’d make a little extra money by working my way across the country. And now I’m not crying anymore.
Nathan finishes his walk-around, then strolls with me along the tarmac toward the simple brick, cement, and glass airport that more closely resembles a hospital or high school.
Rolling hills in the distance are brown and mostly barren.
Not something you’d see on the other side of the state.
Our plane is the only one here, and with the engines off, it’s eerily quiet.
He motions for me to enter the revolving door ahead of him. “I’d doubled up on vitamins to work with Alex, but I have to say I’m relieved to see you.”
I grumble at the irony. “If only he’d called in sick for the trip I worked with him last week. Then he wouldn’t have gotten me sick, and I could have gone home on my days off.”
“Oh man. I’m sorry.” He follows me into the small compartment that spits us out of the sterile area. “I knew you were looking forward to seeing your boyfriend.”
My shoulders sag. “Yeah.”
We head toward the only restaurant in the place. Its entrance is blocked by one of those metal gates that lowers from the top, like a garage door. A few hungry passengers stand around it. So much for my birthday celebration.
A lady rushes to the other side. “Sorry. We normally close once all flights have boarded, but I just heard you’re stuck here. I’ll open back up. Give me a minute.”
I smile my thanks.
She rattles the door open and moves a chalkboard out front to display the specials. Sandwiches, quiche, soup, salads, and snickerdoodles. We move forward to stand in line. What do I want for my birthday meal?
“You feeling better?” Nathan asks.
At first I think he must be able to see past my fake smile and somehow know I’m upset. But then I remember we were talking about my physical well-being. My cold. “Yeah,” I say again, with even less enthusiasm than before.
His eyebrows pinch together. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”
Maybe he can read me. I shrug it off. “Well, I didn’t get home for my weekend off, then Wyatt was supposed to fly up for my birthday, but he had to work.”
The line moves. Nathan doesn’t. He stares at me with dark eyes of disbelief. After two weeks of serving strangers who only paged me when they wanted something and living with roommates who are too busy to really connect, it’s nice to be seen.
“When was your birthday?” Nathan asks.
Oh, he doesn’t know. I haven’t yet confessed to anyone why I’m here. I’ve been trying to act as if it doesn’t matter, but his compassion reminds me it does. I want to cry again, but this time I’m blinking away tears of relief rather than pain.
I press my lips together a couple of times to swallow my emotion before I can safely open them to answer. “Today.”
“What?” He looks a little like Jake in the movie Sixteen Candles when Molly Ringwald tells him nobody remembered her birthday.
He speaks to the lady behind the glass display, as if he wants to order a cake we can light while sitting across from each other on a table.
“Our lunch is on me since it’s her birthday.
What’s the most expensive thing on your menu? ”
His response is totally over the top, which makes me laugh even as I hold out a hand to stop him.
“Uh . . .” The worker glances at the chalkboard menu overhead. “Our grilled cheese sandwich has caramelized Walla Walla onions on it.”
Nathan checks with me. “Want a birthday grilled cheese?”
It actually sounds delicious. But maybe that’s just his company. “Yes, and I can pay.”
“Nope.” Nathan pulls his wallet from a pocket. “Anything else? Chips? Soda? Birthday cake?”
“We don’t have birthday cake.”
“Birthday mocha?”
“No thank you.” I’d love a mocha, but I’m allergic to chocolate.
Also, while I’ll let Nathan pay for the sandwiches to make him happy, I’ll pay for our coffees to make Wyatt happy, should he ask.
Now that I realize there’s a chance Nathan could be attracted to me, my behavior must remain above reproach. I wait until he pays for our sandwiches, then step forward to place my order for a mocha and latte.
Nathan frowns playfully down his nose at me. “Hey.”
I hand the employee my ten-dollar bill but grin at Nathan. “Hey.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else.
Maybe it’s normal that pilots buy for flight attendants since they make so much more money than we do.
I did let Vincent buy my dinner last week, but that feels different.
If Nathan were buying for a group or had a wife with him, I might’ve allowed it.
A barista sets our drinks on the counter, so we’re free to take them and find a seat. The room has filled up quickly with stranded passengers. We claim a booth overlooking the gate where the rest of the passengers wait. I didn’t know they made airports this small.
“So how old are you?” Nathan asks the question men aren’t supposed to ask.
I gaze past the passengers out the window toward our plane. It’s a symbol of change in my life. And while I do believe the airlines have a lot to offer, it’s still hard to say goodbye to the life I’d planned. “I’m too young.”
Nathan sets his coffee down. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
I humor him with a sad smile. “I wasn’t supposed to retire from ballet for another ten years.”
“Well.” Nathan lifts his coffee cup, his gaze somber yet celebratory. “Here’s to the first year of your new life.”
I suppose life could be worse. I’m not sick anymore. They opened the deli back up for us. I’m being toasted.
Exhaling regret, I lift my own paper cup to tap against his. “To the first year of my new life.”
The concoction is sweet and creamy. It warms me from the inside, like satisfaction. I’m glad I picked up this trip.
“To God’s plan to prosper you and not to harm you. To give you a future and a hope.” Nathan sips, then grins over the top of his paper cup. “I think I just gave you a birthday verse. Jeremiah 29:11.”
I’ve never had a birthday verse before. I can’t say that I believe God has plans for me, but I appreciate that Nathan does. “I’ll take it. I could use a little more hope for my future. Some help to find some purpose.”
The waitress brings our sandwiches. Grilled bread and cheese melt together to create a buttery scent more delicious than science can explain. With the added layer of caramelized onions, it takes on a whole new level of tantalizing aroma. And that’s before I even bite into the sandwich.
I speak around my mouthful of crispy gooeyness. “Move over, birthday cake.”
Nathan pulls the sandwich away from his mouth to try to break stretchy strings of cheese. He grabs a napkin to help. “The chef has certainly found her purpose.”
“No kidding,” I say, though I’d never considered creating delicious food to be a life purpose. But it’s improved my life.
I look toward the counter to catch our server’s eye and signal our appreciation. She didn’t have to open her little shop back up. In the grand scheme of airports, she plays a small part, but today she made a huge difference.
Maybe that’s what a life purpose could be about. Not about becoming great the way I’d longed for as a ballerina, but to serve as I do now.
With this new perspective, I look around at all the hangry passengers the deli employee saved me from.
There’s a businessman who very well could sell the farm equipment that brought us these incredible onions, an elderly couple who might have been here to visit the family they raised and who now run their old farm, and a mom with kids who have the potential to one day grow more onions for future generations.
I nod toward a woman at the gate who is taking up a whole row of seats to . . . lie down for a nap? “What’s her purpose?”
Nathan glances out at Sleeping Beauty. “She’s helping other passengers meet their step count for the day since they can’t sit down.”
“Very thoughtful of her.” I grin. This could be a fun game. “What about him?” I tilt my head toward a man having a loud argument over the phone.
“Oh, you don’t know?” Nathan swallows so he can get into his story. “He’s a lawyer. The good kind. He’s fighting to keep criminals off the streets.”
I lean forward. “He’s not going to refuse to put his phone in Airplane Mode and then give me dirty looks when I wait patiently for him to hang up so we can take off?”
“Oh, he most definitely will,” Nathan affirms. “But it’s for a good cause.”
I snort. Nathan grins proudly for making me snort. And we continue on with our little game until Vincent calls to let us know Denver has lifted their ground stop. We need to board immediately.
In record time our passengers are buckled, the doors are armed, and we take off from my favorite little airport. Then I panic.
I’ve never worked aft before. Our flight to Walla Walla was so short that I didn’t have to do anything, but our flight to Denver is long enough that everyone has time to wash down their grilled cheese with a soda. There are so many carts and bins back here. Which cart do I use for service?