Strangers On A Plane

Chapter 1

When flying, I wrap myself in a mantle of Frenchness.

I’ve found it discourages idle conversation and, for some reason, garners more respectful treatment.

I am unfailingly polite, but I just want to be left alone.

I travel for business, so airtime is work time and I don’t appreciate some random, anxious, first-time flyer trying to strike up a conversation.

“Merde,” I whispered under my breath, eyeing my assigned seat. I hated the center seat. Trapped. No window view and no easy egress for the lavatory. Just me squeezed between two people, like the filling in a panini sandwich (Please don’t be obese. Please don’t be obese!).

As I sat though, setting my purse and laptop at my feet, I saw that my fellow traveler at the window seat was neither hefty nor likely to be garrulous.

He appeared to be average height, maybe slightly tall, and lean.

As a bonus, he did not even look up as I sat, his hands cradling his head full of dark, tousled curls.

It seemed like I’d won the travel lottery when the aisle seat passenger sat next to me.

A slight, elderly lady who put in earbuds, adjusted a pillow behind her neck, and promptly closed her eyes.

Ah, heaven! I might actually get some work done this flight.

I pulled out my laptop as the cabin crew went through the preflight instructions and opened the files for the meeting.

I checked and rechecked each agenda item, then sighed.

The problem was that I didn’t have much to do, really.

I’d gone over the presentation so many times that I could deliver it in my sleep, if I had to.

I had other projects that needed my attention, but since they were dependent on the outcome of the meeting, there were none that I could work on till my current project was wrapped up.

So, I pulled my French edition Vogue out of my bag and started idly flipping through the pages as the plane took off.

Halfway through an article about the exciting fall collections being shown on the runways, I could feel someone looking at me.

I glanced at the man seated next to me, his curious gaze on the magazine, but when he saw me noticing, he looked back down at his hands.

I flicked my eyes back to the magazine, my face impassive.

Outwardly serene, on the inside I was jumping up and down, squealing, hands waving like a 13-year-old fan at a concert.

Because there, in the seat next to me was none other than Jack Garcia, the amazingly talented and oh so handsome founder of the band PRTY!

My inner fangirl was fighting to get out and jump in his lap and profess my true love for him, but the outer, mature, professional woman was in charge, and I continued coolly flipping through my magazine.

Sneaky side glances told me he’d resumed his previous head-in-hands posture. What was up with that? Was he scared of flying? Feeling sick? I had seen none of the classic signs of either—white knuckling the armrest, sweating, or clutching the airsickness bag.

My musing was interrupted by the drinks cart coming down the aisle, the attendants carefully scooping ice into plastic cups and pouring beverages.

I knew better than to ask for plain water (the water hold in the plane was never washed out), so when the attendant, Caryl, offered me a beverage, I asked, in a thick French accent, for sparkling water.

She obligingly poured it out and handed it over.

She then asked if my companion would like anything.

Jack had not moved at all during this exchange.

I tentatively tapped his back and asked, “Would you like somesing to drink?” in my heavy French accent.

His head came up and he gave me a level, assessing look, then told Caryl, “An orange juice, please. No ice.” I kept my expression bland as I handed him his cup and napkin.

Then I deliberately turned back to perusing my magazine.

I sensed a look of—bafflement? sorrow? —before he turned back to gazing out the window.

I did not see any books, paper or digital, or devices poking from his duffle.

How on earth was he going to entertain himself for the whole flight?

Maybe he’d write a song, and when it played on the radio, I’d be able to look back with a smile and remember that I sat next to him.

But he made no move to get out any distraction from his bag, merely sitting, looking out the window at the clouds below us.

When his breathing shifted, turning ragged, I snuck another look. His eyes were tearing up. Oh, no, he wasn’t scared or panicked. He looked…sad. I couldn’t help it. I knew how annoying the unwanted conversational overture was, but I had to say something.

“Are you all right?” I asked in my throaty French accent.

He glanced up, startled, and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

“D’accord. So sorry to intrude. Eet just looked like you had much you were zinking about.”

One side of his mouth twitched up as he said, “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I only ask because sometimes eet is better to share ze soughts when zey weigh you down. If you would like ze sympathetic ear of a stranger, I would be happy to listen.”

“Strangers on a Plane?” he asked with a smile that twitched both corners of his mouth.

“Oui, but not Strangers on a Train. I would not keel someone for you, just listen.”

That made the smile a bit broader. “That’s a very kind offer, but I’d hate to bore you with my troubles. I can see that you’ve got work to do.”

Polite, thoughtful. Who would have guessed Jack would possibly be a nice person?

“Mais, non, my work is all…how you say…taken care of. I now have nossing to fill ze hours but ze tedious fall fashion disasters being foisted on us by Givenchy and Chanel. I would be happy to share my magazine, but zen you would be even more triste…I mean sad.”

He looked back down at his hands clasped in his lap, shaking his head for a moment. Then, straightened and looked at me, his dark brown eyes intense. “I am sad, but there’s a bunch more and it’s all complicated. Too much to unravel.”

I met his gaze with a small smile and gestured around the airplane. “I have nowhere to be. I am your captive audience for ze next—” I snuck a peak at the dainty Piaget on my wrist— “four and a half hours.”

He bit his lip, thinking. “It’s all tangled together. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

I gave him my calming smile, the one that I used to smooth over awkward situations. “Then we shall start with ze easy zings. What is your destination?”

“Ok, that is an easy one. Scottsdale.”

“D’accord. Zat really was a simple one. Now we make it a bit more difficile… difficult.” I paused and let him take a breath. “Why are you going to Scottsdale?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. “A funeral. Well, a memorial service. For my best friend.” His eyes filled with tears again, looking back over the years. “He was my best friend growing up, but, well, things got complicated, and we haven’t spoken in years.”

I nodded. “Zat must be painful. To have someone you love taken from you. Wizout the chance to make zings right again.”

He gulped and looked out the window, swallowing back the emotions threatening to engulf him. “It is.” He took several deep breaths and then started.

“Nick and I grew up together. We lived on the same block and were always in and out of each other's houses. We played ball together in the vacant lot on the corner, swam at the community pool in the summer, washed cars together for money, and then spent that money at the local grocery store on candy and sodas. We sat next to each other in school and were always getting in trouble for talking and horsing around. We were like brothers, never one without the other. My gramma used to call us two peas in pod.”

I nodded, to show I was understanding.

“Then, in our senior year in high school, a new girl moved into the neighborhood. Valentina. She was gorgeous. All the guys were drooling over her, but she went out with me. We were together the whole year, going to all the dances together, dating and stuff. We were each other’s firsts.

I just knew that she and I were going to be together always.

I was so in love with her I couldn’t picture not being with her.

I was seriously considering throwing away my college scholarship so that we could stay together and not have to try to do long distance stuff. ”

Jack took a ragged breath and paused. I didn’t interrupt, giving him time to gather his thoughts.

“But it turned out that I didn’t need to worry about that. I caught her having sex with Nick in the back of his car. I found out that almost the whole time she’d been with me she was seeing Nick behind my back. I broke up with both of them and left town the day after graduation.”

I saw the pain in his eyes and nodded. “I am so sorry.”

“I haven’t seen either of them for 5 years. Then I get a call from Valentina. She tells me that she and Nick had gotten married and that recently he’d had a bad fall (he was working as a roofer) and he’d died, and she wanted me to come to the memorial service.

“And, honestly, I didn’t know what to do.

I’ve got all these mixed feelings. Like, screw you, you deserve what you got, you lying, cheating, skank.

But also, all these memories of good times.

Good times with Nick and with Valentina.

So, I got on a plane. But I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make myself go. ”

My heart went out to the man. He was obviously hurting.

At that moment he wasn’t a pop star, he was a man in pain.

I reached out and touched his forearm. “I am so sorry. It is a truly difficult position to be in. You want to honor your good memories of your friend and what you shared. But ze hurt and betrayal get in ze way.”

He nodded, slowly. “That’s exactly it. And I don’t see how to do that, to get beyond the betrayal.”

I took a breath, searching for the right words. “It is both simple and almost impossible.”

He looked up at me, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “How?”

“You must forgive zem.”

Anger flared in his face. “Forgive them? Why? I don’t think either of them deserve it. Certainly, neither of them ever apologized or asked for forgiveness!”

I nodded. I knew how this felt. Boy did I ever. But I knew the truth of what I had to say, so I plowed on.

“Zis forgiveness, it is not for zem. It is for you. Ze hurt and bitterness inside, it eats you up. Like swallowing acid. When you forgive zem, you release zat. It frees you. It does not change zem or what zey did, but it changes you and allows you to move on wizout pain.”

He swallowed and looked back down. I patted his arm again and then picked up my magazine. “Zink on it. When you have more questions, I am here.”

For the next hour I sat quietly, flipping through my magazine, giving my companion furtive side glances. He stayed in the same hunched pose, hands clasped. Finally, he gave a long shuddering sigh and sat straight.

“I think you’re right. I need to forgive them. I just don’t know how. Is that something I just walk up to Valentina and say?”

“Non, she has not asked for your forgiveness. You need to do zis in private wiz yourself. Picture each of zem in your mind. Picture ze good times. Zen picture ze betrayal. Scoop up all ze pain in your arms and srow it into ze sky. Release it. And say to zem, ‘I forgive you.’”

He nodded and lowered his head again, eyes closed. Occasionally flicking glances at him I could see tears running down his face. After twenty minutes or so, he opened his eyes and looked at me.

“Better?” I asked.

“I think so. Thank you.” He wiped the tears off his face. “By the way, I’m Jack.” He held out a hand for me. I took it and gave a brief, firm shake.

“And I am Eve. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jack.”

“Again, thank you for listening, Eve. It was really nice to have you listen and give advice. Is this what you do professionally?”

I laughed a bit and said, “Non, I work wiz a hotel chain. I just have some experience in zis area.”

Jack gave me a serious look. “Is it something you need to talk about? Cause I’m here.”

“Ah, non, that is in the past, all dealt with. But sank you for ze offer, Jack.”

He gave a small smile and a nod. Then he seemed to be struggling with what to say. His face knotted into worry.

“Eve, this is super awkward for me to ask, but…I just had an idea.” He shook his head and looked away. “No, never mind. It’s too much.”

“What is it, Jack? Is zere somesing I can do for you?” I couldn’t imagine what I could possibly do for him, but it was worth asking.

He bit his lip, seeming to have an inner debate. Then he looked up at me tentatively, as if he feared reproof. “The memorial I’m going to… Is there a chance I could convince you to go with me?”

When I didn’t immediately answer he said, “No, forget it. That’s way too much to ask from a stranger. I’m sorry I said anything.”

“Mais, non, Jack. We are not strangers; we are introduced. I am zinking. When is this memorial and how far from ze airport is it?”

“It’s this evening at five. And then there’s going to be some sort of dinner afterwards. It’s about half an hour from the airport.”

I pondered my schedule and gave a curt nod. “D’accord. I can do zis. My business meetings do not start until tomorrow morning.”

He looked at me, incredulously, his eyebrows raised. “Really? You’d do this? It would make it so much easier to go if I felt like I had someone in my court. Are you sure you can fit it in your schedule?”

I smiled at his enthusiasm and patted his arm. “I’m not sure how much usefulness I can be to you, but I will go wiz you.” Then a thought struck me. “Are you desiring me to appear to be a friend or more than a friend? Do you need me to appear to be a girlfriend?”

He mulled that idea over and I could see the pros and cons playing out over his face. “I don’t know, really. Can we play it by ear?’

“D’accord, Jack. I will be your companion. However you have need.”