Chapter 5
FIVE
ATTICUS
I’m slowly coming to the realization that I missed my shot with Phoenix Riviera.
At this point, I’ve tried everything. Every trick and technique in the book that has served me so well in the past has landed with a thud. Where Phoenix is concerned, I have absolutely no game.
The emergency lights cast everything in a sickly greenish-yellow glow that makes Phoenix look like she’s about to vomit.
Which, to be fair, she might be. We’ve been on the ground for twenty minutes now, and she still hasn’t unclenched her death grip on the armrests.
Mason’s trying to coax her fingers loose, speaking in that low, soothing voice I’ve already identified as the one he uses when Phoenix is spiraling.
“Phoenix, we’re safe. We’re on the ground.” Mason’s thumb brushes over her white knuckles. “You can let go now.”
“No.”
“The plane isn’t moving anymore.”
“It might.”
“Physics doesn’t work that way.”
“Physics tried to kill us thirty minutes ago, so forgive me if I don’t trust it very much right now.”
She’s got a point. The landing was rough enough to send Stephanie’s laptop flying across the cabin, where it connected with her face hard enough to leave a gash that’s still bleeding through the tablecloth she balled up to use as a makeshift bandage.
The flight attendant’s sporting what’s going to be a spectacular black eye, and I’m pretty sure I bit through part of my tongue when we hit the runway and bounced right back up like it was a trampoline.
Now, I’m just sitting here like an idiot, watching them and wondering how I became the villain in this particular story.
“This is your fault,” she says for the third time, finally releasing the armrests to point an accusing finger at me.
“You and your statistics. Turbulence never brought down a plane, Phoenix. You’re perfectly safe, Phoenix.
Stop being an anxious idiot, Phoenix. Well guess what? We almost fucking died!”
I’m pretty sure those aren’t exactly verbatim quotes, but it’s probably better not to argue. “We didn’t almost die.”
“We had to wear oxygen masks!”
“As a precaution—”
“Oxygen. Masks. Atticus.” Each word comes out like a bullet. “That’s not precaution, that’s…holy shit we’re all about to become a cautionary tale for aviation safety.”
Mason produces a bottle of water from somewhere—the man’s like Mary Poppins with that messenger bag—and presses it into Phoenix’s hands. “Drink this.”
“Is it vodka?”
“It’s water.”
“Then no.”
“Phoenix—”
“I almost died stone-cold sober, Mason. I deserve vodka. I deserve all the vodka. I deserve to bathe in every drop of liquor on this plane like some kind of pickled Cleopatra.”
Her flair for the dramatic is charming, but I’m more than a little worried her head is going to pop off if she doesn’t calm down.
The pilot chooses that moment to emerge from the cockpit, looking haggard but professional. He’s got that particular brand of silver fox appeal that must make all the flight attendants flutter, but right now he just looks exhausted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize again for the rough landing. We experienced a complete failure of our starboard engine about forty minutes into the flight. While the aircraft is perfectly capable of flying on one engine, protocol demanded we divert to the nearest suitable airfield.”
“Suitable?” Phoenix’s voice climbs an octave. “This place looks like where planes go to die.”
She’s not wrong. Through the window, I can see we’re on what appears to be the world’s most depressing airstrip.
There’s a single hangar that might have been white sometime during the Clinton administration, a few rusted fuel trucks, and what looks like a graveyard of small aircraft in various states of decomposition.
“Where exactly are we?” I ask.
“Coastal Maine. About two hours north of Portland.” The captain straightens his tie, trying to project authority despite the fact that we all just experienced what I’m pretty sure qualifies as a near-death experience.
“The good news is, the airline is already arranging alternative transportation. We should have another aircraft here by tomorrow morning to continue to Montreal.”
“No.”
Everyone turns to look at Phoenix.
“Absolutely not. Never. Not happening.” She stands, wobbling slightly, whether from the Xanax or adrenaline crash, I can’t tell.
“I am never getting on another plane again. Ever. I’ll walk to Montreal.
I’ll swim to London. I’ll dig a tunnel to Paris with my bare hands if I have to, but I am done with flying. ”
“Phoenix, be reasonable—” Mason starts, but Phoenix whirls on him.
“Reasonable? We almost died! The engine exploded—”
“Failed,” the captain corrects. “Not exploded.”
“—and you want me to just hop on another death trap tomorrow morning like nothing happened?” Phoenix laughs, high and slightly hysterical. “Fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck planes. Fuck the Wright Brothers for inventing them.”
“Miss Riviera, I understand you’re upset—“
“Upset?” Phoenix’s voice could shatter glass. “I’m not upset. Upset is when they put 2% instead of the oat milk you ordered in your latte. Upset is when your favorite show gets canceled. This? This is trauma. This is PTSD. This is—“
“This is completely understandable,” Mason interrupts smoothly, standing and placing himself between Phoenix and everyone else. “Captain Morrison, what are our immediate options for tonight? I assume we can’t stay on the plane.”
The captain shifts uncomfortably. “Well, there’s a small bed and breakfast about twenty minutes from here. The airline will cover accommodations, of course.”
“As long as it’s on solid ground, I don’t care if it’s a cardboard box,” Phoenix declares.
“I’ll need to stay here with the aircraft,” the captain continues. “There’s a small pilot’s suite in the hangar. But I can arrange for transportation for the rest of you. One of the mechanics offered to give you a ride into town.”
The flight attendant, whose name I never caught, pipes up, “Ms. Gerber is still bleeding and appears to have a concussion. She needs to be checked out at the hospital.”
Phoenix’s expression turns horrified. “Oh my God, Steph. Are you okay?”
Stephanie limply waves her hand in a shooing gesture.
“She’ll be fine,” the flight attendant assures with a tight smile. “We’ll arrange for an ambulance, but the rest of you should probably be on your way. The truck is already warmed up outside.”
“Oh, okay. Our limo awaits, I guess.” Phoenix grabs her bag, then immediately drops it when her hands start shaking. Mason picks it up without comment, adding it to his own.
“What’s the name of this town?” Mason asks, and there’s something odd in his voice. A tension I haven’t heard from him before, which is telling considering that we just survived an emergency plane landing.
“Harmony Harbor. Charming little place, apparently. Population about eight thousand, great lobster rolls, and—”
Mason goes completely still. The color drains from his face so fast I’m worried he might pass out.
“Harmony Harbor?” His voice comes out strangled.
“You know it?” the captain asks, brightening. “Oh, that’s wonderful! You can show everyone around. The airfield manager mentioned we should grab dinner at The Anchor. Best clam chowder in the state.”
“I—” Mason starts, then stops. His hands clench around the bag straps. “I need to make some calls. Excuse me.”
He practically flees toward the back of the plane, leaving Phoenix staring after him with concern.
“What was that about?” she asks me, like I have any insight into Mason’s psyche.
“No idea.”
But I’m curious now. Mason Aldrich, unflappable assistant extraordinaire, looking like someone just told him his worst nightmare came true? That’s interesting.
“Captain,” I say, pulling out my phone. “This Harmony Harbor. How far is it from Portland?”
“About two hours by car, depending on traffic.”
“And the nearest major airport?”
“Portland would be your best bet. Though Boston’s only about four hours south.”
Phoenix perks up slightly. “We could drive to Boston. Take a train to Montreal. Trains don’t fall out of the sky.”
“Trains also take fourteen hours to get to Montreal from Boston,” Mason says, reappearing with his composure forcibly reassembled. “And that’s if we can even get tickets at the last minute.”
“I don’t care if it takes fourteen days. No more planes.”
“Phoenix—”
“Mason, I’m serious. I will quit this entire press tour before I get on another plane.”
He sighs, that particular exhale that means he’s calculating how to manage her. “Let’s just focus on tonight. We’ll figure out tomorrow when we’re not all running on adrenaline and altitude sickness.”
“Fine.” Phoenix turns to the captain. “Where’s your mechanic friend? I want off this death trap.”
As the captain goes to arrange our ride, I sidle up to Mason. “You know something about this town you’re not saying?”
“I live in Los Angeles,” he says flatly.
“Good to know, but not quite what I asked.”
His jaw tightens. “Drop it.”
“Harmony Harbor ring any bells?”
“I said drop it.”
“Come on, Mason. We almost died. Surely that earns me one personal detail about you.”
He turns to face me fully, and for the first time since I’ve met him, there’s something genuinely threatening in his expression. “My past is none of your business. Neither is Phoenix. So whatever game you’re playing, whatever angle you’re working, leave me out of it.”
“I’m not playing any games.”
“Right. You just agreed to join us on this press tour out of the goodness of your heart. There is obviously something in this for you aside from making Phoenix look good.”
“Maybe I like her.”
“Everyone likes her. That’s not the same as helping her.”
“And you’re helping her?”
“I’m protecting her. There’s a difference.”
“From what? Me?”
“From everyone.” He glances over at Phoenix, who stopped on her way out of the plane to speak softly to Stephanie. “She doesn’t see how people look at her. Like she’s a commodity. A pretty thing to use up and discard. Even you.”
“That’s not—“
“Isn’t it?” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You think I don’t see how you look at her? Like you can’t wait to put another notch in your belt.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.” He adjusts his grip on the bags. “I know you’ve never had to work for anything in your life. I know you think charm is a substitute for character. And I know that when this is over, you’ll move on to the next interesting thing, and she’ll be left picking up the pieces. Again.”
A twinge of something that feels very much guilt runs through me. I haven’t decided exactly what it is I want from Phoenix yet, even though that doesn’t change just how much I want whatever it is.
But that still doesn’t give Mason the right to judge me.
So instead of telling Mason that if either of us is hiding something, it’s him, I give him my most practiced red carpet smile and speak loudly enough for Phoenix to hear. “Let’s head out to Harmony Harbor. The town sounds amazing, right, Mason? And anything is better than getting back in the air.”
“Amen,” Phoenix huffs.
With another winning smile, I leave Mason and the sour expression on his face to gather the rest of our bags.