“Ow,” I say, hopping on one foot.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says and hurries away.
Where is my Viking when I need him? Granted, this doesn’t qualify as a sword-slaying incident, but I’m guessing Manimal would think twice about being so rude and watch wherehe’sgoing if I had the Viking by my side.
I give my head a little shake for being so silly. My doctor assured me I’m in perfect health, but there is more to my recovery than just the physical aspects. I’m still healing from the change to my appearance, my relationship with Todd, the difficulty that followed, and having to sell everything I owned. I’m firm in my decisions, but they weren’t easy, so I give myself a little grace for wanting a strong Norseman with a steed and a sword to defend my honor.
Although he isn’tmyViking, and typically, I don’t need rescuing. Ours was a marriage of convenience and nothing more. I’ll probably never see him again.
As the other passengers collect their bags, two little kids scamper around, probably restless after the long flight. Longing tugs at my heart. However, their mother, also traveling alone, looks like she’s going to have a meltdown of her own as she repeatedly instructs them not to climb on the conveyor belt, ride the luggage cart, or pinch each other.
Eventually, only the mother, her kids, and I remain, waiting for our belongings.
The mom and I exchange a knowing glance, both realizing the same thing at the same time. The airline lost our stuff.
It’s been a long day, a long week, and an even longer series of months, but I refuse to let the inconvenience get me down. I tell myself my suitcases aren’t at an airport in New Guinea or Cape Horn.
The little girl tugs on her mom’s shirt. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, me too,” the little boy says.
“Our car is waiting and we’ll be at home soon,” the mother says. “I guess we have to go report our luggage missing.”
“No!” the little girl yells, throwing herself on the floor.
From the exchange that follows, I gather that her favorite doll was inside their suitcase.
“Sweetie, we’ll get LuLu back,” the mom says. The poor woman struggles with her tired and hungry children as they whine.
Wearing a friendly smile, I give them a wave. “Excuse me, can I help? My suitcases didn’t make it either, and I’m hungry too.” I glance at the little girl, on her belly and kicking the floor. “I kind of feel like doing that myself, but I was going to grab something from that kiosk over there. I can get them something, too. Or I can help you report your missing belongings.”
The woman relaxes with relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much. We’re just coming from a funeral and—” Tears prick her eyes. “It’s been a hard week.”
I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for your loss.” In my own way, I understand. I’ve lost so much and am hoping my new life in Concordia will lead to a brighter future. “I’m on snack patrol. Any food allergies I should be aware of?”
“Mercifully, no.” The woman exhales like she’d been holding her breath since boarding the plane.
“In that case, I’ll meet you at the baggage office with some goodies.”
Fifteen minutes later, I have two new best friends who perch in the plastic chairs on either side of me, contentedly munching on popcorn and drawing pictures using blank pages from the Cookie Dough Diary. I’m like Mary Poppins with this thing.
Sam and Zoe draw me pictures of their pet frog and fish, respectively.
Patty, their mom, returns from the help counter, looking somewhat relieved. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“Don’t mention it. We were all at our wits’ end. Trust me, if I thought lying on the floor and crying was going to help, I would’ve been right down there too.”
I tell her about sitting next to Manimal. We chat for a few minutes and exchange numbers when the woman asks if I’d ever be available to babysit.
I tilt my head from side to side. “I’m just starting a new job at Blancbourg, but once I’m settled in, I’d be happy to.”
“Good luck recovering your bags,” the woman says before leaving with her kids.
And that’s where my charm and resourcefulness end because the worker can’t locate my luggage but assures me it’ll be delivered to Blancbourg Academy as soon as possible.
“Soon as in tomorrow or soon as in?—?”
“It can take anywhere between twenty-four hours and we’ve had some luggage not turn up for twenty-four months.”
