He stood up and looked at me.
“Do you know your fiancée’s in love with another man? And he knows how to hide a body.”
Neva tried to smack me, but the effort she put into it was poor. “I did not say that!”
Jerrica stood up and glared at me. “What lies are you spreading, Judith?”
I slowly shook my head. “Not me. Neva here. She told me you went to a book signing because you’re lusting after the author.”
Jerrica tipped her head back and laughed. “Yeah, he’s hot. His books are good though. I’ve read all of them.”
“His books?” Jesse frowned. “Did you go to his signing because of his books or because of how he looks?”
She reached up a hand and patted Jesse on the cheek. “He isn’t a patch on you, no need to be jealous. He’s just a really talented author.”
He was still frowning. “I’m not jealous.”
“Of course you’re not.”
The plane jolted, turbulence distracting Jerrica and Jesse, making them sit back down. I looked at Neva, seeing her fists clenched, her face pale.
My mum hated flying. She’d gotten better as the years had gone on, the couple of glasses of wine she had at the airport helping to settle her nerves, and given the holidays her and my dad had since he’d retired, she’d had to get over it.
“Hey. Hold my hand. Dig your nails in.” I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.
I expected a refusal, but none came. Instead she gripped tightly, closing her eyes, and I gripped back. Sensory stuff could help, touch could help regulate emotions and feelings, I knew this from experience. When I was struggling to focus on something, lifting weight, or being under a weighted blanket helped. It’d taken long enough to work this out, but at least I knew now.
You remembered where your body was. Sometimes that was exactly what I needed to calm down.
I kept my hand there, feeling the sharp digs of her nails in my skin and ignoring the discomfort. I used my other hand to open my book, picking up where I was at, thanks to a handy bookmark courtesy of a receipt from the last take-out I’d ordered.
I didn’t eat a shit ton of junk food. I had done at one point, but I knew the wrath of Neva wasn’t the sort of wrath you wanted to encounter, and also, I liked being fit. Shit food made me feel shit the next day, but sometimes it was worth it, and that Chinese take out had been worth it.
My book was good enough to drown out the rest of the noise from the plane, the story and Neva’s hand the only two things I was focused on. The turbulence was easing off, although the seatbelt sign was still on and the flight attendant who had the pleasure – or not – of dealing with us today was still sat down too.
“Have I damaged your hand?” Neva sounded sleepy still.
“I’ll recover. How are you feeling?” I wanted to make some bad joke about the plane not crashing yet, but I didn’t think that would go down too well. About as well as the plane going down.
“Okay. Drowsy.” She relaxed her grip a little.
The seatbelt light clicked off. We were free. Movement started.
Rowan almost ran to the toilet. Nate’s girls stood up and headed over to Jerrica, carrying brushes and hair tie things. Genny got her laptop bag from the overhead lockers.
“I think we’re done with the turbulence. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re due to land.” I turned to glance at her and wished I hadn’t.
Neva was the sort of pretty that made you want to stare. She looked Scandinavian, which she partly was on her mother’s side. Almost jet black hair that was thick, the bob she had cut in when we were sleeping together still there. Her build was athletic because she exercised five times a week, as regimented with it as she was with her diet. She was a runner and Pilates enthusiast, refusing to have anything to do with weights, something I’d teased her about until she’d threatened to pick up a kettlebell and slam it over my head. Her eyes were big and dark blue, and her skin had always had a healthy glow, which probably had something to do with the amount of fruit and veg she ate.
I’d never stopped thinking she was pretty.
“I shouldn’t have taken the sedatives. They can knock me out for hours.” Her words sounded too slurred, which I wasn’t keen on.
“I’ll use you as a crutch to get off the plane. That’ll wake you up.” I would’ve liked to have carried her off, but my Achilles probably wasn’t up to that.
“Or ask Jesse to lift me into a wheelchair.”
No, I wouldn’t be doing that. Not a chance.
