Chapter Nine
nine
Lanie
■ 1-SEP ■ Trans-Continental Airways ■ Flight: 602 ■
LHR-London, Heathro w ? JFK-John F. Kennedy Int’l Airport
Seat Assignment: 4C/11A
It was midday by the time Lanie took her grandmother back home. After hearing her grandmother’s diagnosis, it was clear they’d dodged a bullet, but Lanie hoped she wasn’t the only one who recognized that or the next time it would be a barrage. At least in those first hours postappointment it seemed like they’d all grasped the gravity. She, Gemma and Gran barely exchanged twenty words on the tube back to Balham. And upon arriving on Merton Road, Gem went to the Pereras without saying a single thing. Lanie watched and wondered if Jonah was even there, this being a weekday. It was more likely he was at the High Court.
“Gem and Charity have become quite close,” Gran explained, reading Lanie’s face.
“Jonah’s sister used to think Gem was an airhead,” Lanie muttered.
“Melanie.”
Lanie braced herself. It was her grandmother who had originally dubbed her “Lanie,” so her full name automatically meant trouble.
“In case you’ve missed it, a lot has happened since you last visited.”
Lanie huffed a little breath of annoyance before the magnitude of that statement fully hit her. Her grandmother glared and Lanie straightened her back and cleared her throat remorsefully. “Sorry.”
“Jonah has been a very good influence on Gemma,” Gran continued. “Encouraged her to think about what she wanted to do.”
“Gem already knows what she wants to do. She’s wanted to be a hairdresser since we were kids and she’s already doing that.” Lanie snorted.
“Yes, but what she really dreams about is opening her own salon and marketing her own line of products. Did she ever tell you that?”
Not in so many words. Lanie shrugged. But based on the number of mayonnaise, avocado and coconut oil hair and face masks Gemma had created and Lanie had endured over the years, she could have guessed.
“You know all that trouble before made her drop out of school.”
Lanie nodded. In the kitchen, her grandmother set the electric kettle in the base and turned it on.
“She’d told herself she wasn’t smart enough for school or for her own business. It took a while, but Jonah convinced her to get specialized tuition for her dyslexia and focus on taking business classes. She finally enrolled last term and now she’s doing really well.”
“He did that?”
Gran nodded. “So don’t make her feel foolish because school has always been easy for you.”
Not really easy , Lanie thought but didn’t say. Just a different kind of hard.
“At least she’s trying to go back when it’s hard for her. You won’t even try. You just gave it up.”
At her Gran’s rebuke, Lanie felt about a foot tall. She didn’t bother mentioning that she hadn’t given up, she’d been pushed out.
Only now, standing on the sprawling shopping concourse in Heathrow Terminal Two among fussy children, fatigued businessmen, giddy tourists and other travelers, did Lanie find herself more at ease. The change in mood buoyed her enough to send Gemma a message.
LANIE:
I’ll do it. Best mate of honor it is
Lanie wasn’t sure she was right to accept, especially considering she was still having trouble wrapping her head around Gemma and Jonah as a couple. But she needed to show everyone she supported her people—the pity she’d endured over the past few days proved that much. And she was over Jonah. Completely. She would tell herself that until she believed it.
Gemma reacted to the message with a string of hearts. Lanie exhaled; that was as close to a makeup as they could manage before she left anyway.
“Lanie?”
She was off-loading the last of her pound coins to a barista at an airport coffee shop when she heard her name enunciated in a deep and incredulous timbre. Sweeping the room quickly, she found Ridley Aronsen standing there in all his tall, dark and disarmingly attractive glory looking down at her.
“I can’t believe I found you.”
“That’s creepy.” Her even tone belied her own surprise. “You were looking?”
“No, I just mean I thought you would have left days ago. What are you doing here?” he asked.
Lanie took her receipt with a smile, then moved down the counter to wait for her latte before replying, “It’s an airport.”
His face fell, mouth flattening.
At his look, Lanie relented. “Something came up. I had to reschedule my earlier flight.”
“Everything okay?” He frowned with genuine concern in his eyes.
Lanie fought the easy familiarity that had allowed her to speak so freely with him before, the instant camaraderie that had clearly been one-sided. Still, the impulse to unburden herself gripped her. Then she noted the wedding ring still firmly affixed to the fourth finger of his left hand.
“Should be fine,” she replied coolly.
Lanie sought some bit of indifference standing before him again, instead of this heart-quickening thrill at seeing his face. That Ridley was here in front of her after she’d spent seven days reconciling herself to the idea that she’d somehow imagined him was almost comical. She battled to keep her expression a blank mask, focused on getting her coffee.
“Did I make a mistake approaching you?” There was that forthright primness of his again, burrowed into the question.
“It depends on why you did.” She raised her eyes to his. “Why did you?”
They watched each other, in a standoff of sorts, each daring the other to acknowledge what had happened.
“To apologize,” he stated plainly. Lanie’s eyebrows rose. “Scratch that. No, I don’t owe you an apology.”
“Oh, okay.”
With a nod of thanks to the barista, she retrieved her cup of coffee and walked over to the table with the condiments. Ridley followed her, his infamous toe-mauling roller case right behind him. Placing her cup on the countertop, Lanie pulled out brown sugar packets, then the shaker of cinnamon. As her hands busied, Ridley stood at her side, watching. He was hard to ignore but Lanie was trying her damnedest, only peeking at him out of the corner of her eye.
He frowned at her cup as she stirred. “Is there any coffee in that?”
She regarded the cup. “A little.”
“What is in it?” He eyed it with suspicion as she brought it to her mouth to taste.
Perfect.
She swallowed her sip. “Whole milk, three pumps of syrup: caramel, toffee-nut and cinnamon. With whipped cream and salted caramel candy bits on top.” She licked away the small whipped cream mustache that sat on her upper lip. “Oh, and a double shot of espresso.”
Ridley watched her, his eyes fixed on her mouth as it curled into a satisfied smile, while his own did similarly but possibly in revulsion, as if she’d admitted the cup contained nuclear sludge. It was preferable to his other expression, the imperious “resting blank face” he’d first introduced her to on their flight the week prior. Though what she really would have appreciated was the less dry version of Ridley that had made his welcome appearance later that flight.
“That’s easily three days’ serving of sugar in a single cup,” he remarked. “Hope I don’t find you collapsed in the aisle when the sugar high fades.”
His words stunned Lanie out of her revelry. Her face fell. She looked down at her cup, as if it had betrayed her. Like she didn’t know where it had come from or how it came to be in her hand. It had cost her six pounds fifty, but a flash of her grandmother collapsed on the floor of the church stopped her from taking another sip.
She put it back on the counter, abandoning it, and walked around him.
“What happened? Did I say something?” He spun, asking as she brushed past him toward the exit.
“No.”
“So, you are aware that you left that thing you were calling coffee behind?”
“My apology? That you don’t plan to give me? Where is it?” she snapped, prompting Ridley as they crossed the wide concourse.
“You misunderstand.”
“Do I?” Lanie turned on him. They stood in the middle of the busy concourse as travelers walked by on all sides. “You just said you don’t owe me an apology.”
“I don’t.” Ridley’s jaw set, a muscle jumping beneath his smooth ebony skin. He seemed to be recalibrating. Where was the cool, fun guy she’d been getting to know on the plane?
Why is this killjoy back?
“Well, I agree, by the way.” She’d surprised him with that admission, she could tell. He unclenched for a moment, eyes widening. “Owing me an apology would imply hurt feelings. My feelings aren’t hurt.”
It was the truth, though it felt like a lie. Her feelings weren’t hurt... exactly . She was confused by his hot and cold behavior, embarrassed that she’d seemed to read something into it that wasn’t there and resolved never to do that again ever . But yeah, she wasn’t hurt, she was annoyed...with herself.
“I’m surprised to hear that. You seemed hurt.” He amended it. “Seem hurt.”
“Were you trying to hurt me?” Lanie stepped over to a half-empty row far away from the gate entrance. She would still be able to hear them calling her flight at the gate from there. She was always so paranoid about missing an important announcement. She sat.
Ridley dropped his satchel on the carpeted floor at his feet, propping the hard case against a pillar beside him before sitting down in the more crowded row facing hers.
“No, of course not. Why would I want to deliberately hurt you? I don’t know you,” he scoffed as if affronted. “But it seems as if I might have.”
“Well, like you said, you don’t know me well enough to make that determination either.”
Ridley cleared his throat. “Fine, we’re agreed, then. I don’t owe you an apology and you don’t feel owed one. But might I offer an explanation of my behavior, at least?”
“I can’t stop you, but I certainly don’t need to know,” she said firmly. “It’s your right to decide who you want to be friendly with...and for how long they hold your interest before you get bored.”
He balked audibly, his mouth falling open for a moment. “You’re overstating things.”
Lanie cringed inwardly. Her mouth went sideways sometimes, as if it ran on its own autonomous motor, and her impulse control varied. And now it was too late to take it back. “Am I?” Lanie crossed her arms over her chest and her legs over each other to take it all in, take him in.
Sitting there in another one of those inoffensive, neutral-toned, cable-knit sweaters that strained over his chest, with a dress shirt beneath it and dark slacks, he looked ready to commence a lecture. And she could see her closed-off reflection in the lenses of his tortoise-framed glasses, like seeing herself through his eyes. She uncrossed her arms and legs, trying to loosen her tightening mouth, attempting a small smile, waiting. She owed this man nothing, but as they’d already established, he didn’t owe her anything either.
“You didn’t get any coffee.” The non sequitur came flying out of her mouth as she tried to restart their conversation.
“From there? God, no.” Ridley scowled, leaning in on his elbows to say, “And I hate coffee.”
“Then why did you come into a coffee shop?”
“I saw you inside.”
Easy , Lanie said to herself before she got any more stupid ideas. She considered the bustling concourse for a moment to gather herself. She’d probably have done the same with someone she’d shared even a particularly meaningful cab ride with. It meant nothing. Melanie, don’t start picking out your china patterns. Especially since...
“I’m sorry. Go on,” she refocused.
“Uh, yes, our conversation was entertaining.” He paused. “Probably one of the more enjoyable conversations I’ve had recently.” He lowered his voice as if admitting that only to himself. “It would have been a long flight to sit in absolute silence during.”
“We could have.”
“But we didn’t.”
She nodded reluctantly.
“And I felt...” A deep line bisected his forehead as his brow furrowed. It was as if he couldn’t understand something. “Odd...about how we’d left things.”
“How we left things?”
“I, well,” he stumbled. “Well, I had more fun talking with you than any adult I’ve spoken to in months.”
“Adult?” That was a strange distinction.
“I have a daughter,” he explained. “Bean, uh, Beatrix. She’s upbeat and engaging...like you. She’s thirteen.”
Lanie’s heart sank in despair. It was as if she’d been found out. Whereas the world saw her as a woman, she suspected the truth was that she was merely an overgrown adolescent masquerading in an “adult suit.” Still, it was hard to hear it confirmed that others saw her that way too. “I’m so happy to have reminded you of your daughter...”
It was obvious Ridley was older than her and except for his smooth, line-less skin, everything about him screamed curmudgeonly eighty-year-old. But Lanie had gotten a glance at his passport as they’d filled out their landing cards and he was only eight years older than her. And physically, he didn’t even look thirty-nine. Square-jawed, with whiskey-brown eyes in a narrow face with a full nose, he had wonderfully plush lips that Lanie had shamefully imagined feeling pressed against her own—
“Lanie?” Ridley said, frowning at her.
“Hmm?” Lanie murmured. Her face heated. Was she staring at his mouth? Oh God.
His cheek twitched in obvious annoyance. “I did not say you reminded me of my daughter. What I said was that my daughter was the last person with whom I’d had such an entertaining conversation.”
“Same difference, but whatever.”
Ridley exhaled a frustrated breath.
Lanie did too, wondering if it had only been their proximity and the inescapable nature of their eight-hour flight that had made them so crackling good together before. She wanted that back.
“So, I misunderstood you?” she conceded.
“You did. Again...”
This was getting tiresome. Surely, he couldn’t have lived this long without realizing his priggishness was off-putting? But the gate was too crowded, and getting more so by the minute, for Lanie to get up and move. Her row had filled in with travelers. She dispensed with any further pretense.
“I’m sure your wife understands you fine though, right ?” It was an accusation, not a question.
His face fell.
“Or is she not ‘engaging’ and ‘entertaining’ enough?”
“Lanie, I’m a widower,” he explained.
Lanie’s head throbbed, face reddening. Oh no. No, no!
“My wife died two and a half years ago.”
“Ridley. Oh God. I—I’m so sorry.”
“Complications due to lupus.” He paused. “It was something of a surprise.” His eyes darkened behind his glasses. For a moment Lanie felt as if she’d lost him to a memory.
“I am so sorry. Shit, I said that already.” She strained for something better, more meaningful. “I wish I’d never brought that up.”
“It’s fine.” He came back to her then, shaking his head. “She was only forty-one, far too young. So I’ve gotten over the impertinence of it. Mostly.”
That didn’t necessarily make Lanie feel better about her blunder but she understood it wasn’t meant to. It was the truth and Ridley seemed to be blunt, she’d already noticed.
“And since then,” he continued to her surprise, “it’s been me, my daughter and her grandparents in a little bubble. Since the bubble finally popped, it’s been nothing but work: getting my clinical trial back off the ground, getting Bea back into school, getting everything back to normal. Or the ‘new normal,’ you know? So I’m...let’s call it shit at talking to random women now,” he said in a halting manner.
“ Random? I see...” Lanie said to herself and nearly laughed before realizing how deeply and horrifyingly inappropriate that would be. It was the impulse control thing again.
“I mean, really talking to anyone not related to me anymore. Then last week I got, I don’t know, uncomfortable with how familiar speaking with you became.”
“Familiar?” she asked. Familiar? She mulled the word further. A bit clinical but maybe it fit.
“So, when you went to the bathroom, I suppose I wanted to reestablish our boundaries?” Ridley sat up straighter. “I had only just decided to take my wedding band off, you see.”
Lanie almost smiled. It wasn’t her imagination. He had put that ring on.
He shifted uncomfortably. “I certainly didn’t expect that doing that would put me on the radar of quite so many women...or at the mercy of so many unwanted advances.”
“I didn’t realize I made an advance?” Lanie asked, eyebrows rising.
“Not you! Not you, specifically. I meant in general,” he corrected himself. “Even my neighbors try to set me up. But I certainly didn’t expect that putting it back on would alienate you either, or I might not have done it.”
“Me?” she cried, indignant. “You alienated me?”
“What? You don’t think that’s what happened?” His face was guileless and smooth, the hallmark of an honest man.
She wanted to smack him upside the head. “No! I think I went into the bathroom and the person I thought I’d met disappeared while I was gone.”
He shook his head. “We cannot see ourselves, so I understand that you might not realize how upset, borderline angry, you became.” The high-handed bearing and sanctimonious tone that had finally begun to recede threatened to return.
Lanie’s nostrils flared, her cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t angry then,” she said. “But I am getting angry now.”
“Why?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Ooh, you are right, you could use some reeducation on how to speak to women—”
Just then, overhead the boarding call for first class, business class and premium economy came over the PA. Lanie grabbed her bags and rose. Ridley did too.
“Are you still following me?”
“Of course not. I’m going back to New York.”
The minute she’d said it, Lanie felt stupid... again . Why would he be at this gate otherwise? Duh. “That’s what you were complaining to your friend on the phone about, right? Having to turn around and come back to New York so soon.” She deflated.
“Dash? Yeah.” Ridley nodded, hefting his satchel onto his shoulder.
Why did he hold on to this for six days, to the point that he feels compelled to apologize, er, explain himself? Still, that went both ways. Why do I care? she wondered . And why did she feel at times assuaged and yet still annoyed?
“You back in premium?” she asked, an olive branch of sorts.
He took it with a smile. A real one. Bold and surprisingly sexy. But also achingly brief. Lanie blinked, short-circuiting the somersaults rolling through her stomach at the sight, and it was already gone.
“Business,” he answered.
“Lucky dog.” They both moved toward the gate, Lanie in the lead as they merged with the line forming.
“Lanie?”
She was coming to like hearing her name in his buttery-smooth bass.
“Hmm?” She turned to him, stepping into line behind a woman whose arms were laden with duty-free bags.
“It occurred to me that I—ah, I should have given you this before.” At that, he flipped something between his fingers at her.
“Your card?” Lanie stared at his hand. “Okay?”
She took it from him.
“I wanted to give you my card to—” Nervousness looked peculiar on him.
She smiled knowingly. “To start your reeducation?”
He struggled. “No, I, uh, thought maybe we could have lunch while I’m in town?”
She slid her finger across the smooth, clearly expensive card stock, peering at it as if she couldn’t decipher its use.
RIDLEY P. ARONSEN, MD PhD MRCP (London)
St Ignatius Nhs Foundation Trust, UK
“You’re kind of the only person I know there,” he added.
“I doubt that,” she scoffed. “Well, I don’t know about my availability.”
“Should I ask for it back, then?”
“No, thank you.” She pulled her hand away, suddenly suffering from an inability to look directly at him, splitting her focus between him and the card. “Upon further consideration, I may be free.”
His mouth hitched in the corner. “Okay. Well, I’m over there.” He nodded toward the first-and-business-class line that had only five people in it, compared to her twenty. “So, you’ll call me, yeah?”
“Sure.” She gave him a half-hearted smile. “Uh, thank you, Ridley... I mean, Dr. Aronsen.” Lanie smirked as he rolled his eyes at the self-correction. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” Lanie offered her hand for him to shake.
He looked from her face to that hand, aware of the significance.
“The pleasure was mine,” he said with sincerity, but a formality had returned to his tone.
“I found a smaller hand sanitizer this time. Yay, Boots and their two-for-one on travel sizes.” The cheer was painfully awkward.
Ridley slotted his large hand into her slightly smaller one. Odd. She didn’t expect it to be so soft. Her mother’s hands were rough-worn from all the harsh soaps and astringents she constantly had to use in the hospital, going in and out of patient rooms all day. Lanie wanted to pause a second longer to bask in the warmth of his hand surrounding hers.
They looked into each other’s eyes. Lanie knew that she had not imagined it; something had happened between them—was happening.
Nope. She let go.
She couldn’t rightfully ask the universe for more than this. This was a decidedly better ending than they’d had last week. Better to leave it right there instead of calling him later with “Wedding Bell Blues” playing at top volume on a loop in her brain.
Right?