I can’t help thinking she needed this too. She arrived feeling like a failure and absurdly afraid of serial killers, but a little laughter has helped loosen her up, and she now seems comfortable with the uniquely urban mix of hotels and homeless tents.
We circle the parking garage back to the sky bridge we would have taken if on foot. Playing tour guide, I point to the elevated light-rail station. “You can catch that train directly downtown to the Space Needle or to board a ferry for Bainbridge Island.”
“It’s pretty here,” she says. “Similar to San Francisco, but greener.”
“That’s why we call it the Emerald City,” I respond automatically. But I’m logging this new info that she’s from the Bay Area.
If I’m right, she shouldn’t be afraid of big cities. Unless she’s worriedabout getting killed by Sasquatch. That’s more of a Pacific Northwest thing.
Up the hill, we reach the Marriott right before her condos and the mix of older neighborhoods. Many of the split-levels and ranch-style homes are painted in bright colors, which I figure are meant to balance out the rainy skies of winter. I personally opted to paint my bungalow a dusty blue, like the view of twilight from above the clouds.
Once our driver pulls under the hotel’s portico, the family files off first.
I stand and grab Claire’s bags. I’ll make sure she gets safely to her condo.
“Don’t,” our driver snaps. “My sister was a flight attendant until she got mugged on her way home and had to have retina surgery. Nobody is getting their retinas scratched on my shift.”
Claire flinches. “That’s awful. Is she okay?”
He shrugs. “She lost peripheral vision in one eye and kept scraping up one side of her car when she drove, so I became her driver.” He turns to glare at me, as if I’m the cause of his sister’s car accidents.
I hold up my palms in innocence. “My fingernails aren’t long enough to scratch someone’s retinas.”
“You get off here anyway.” He points a beefy hand toward the open door. “I have time to drive the ladies to their crash pad, and I don’t want you to see where they live.”
Right. I’m still the threat.
“Bless your heart for taking care of your sister,” the other flight attendant drawls. “And bless your heart for taking care of us.”
This is goodbye with Claire then. Not that saying goodbye in a different parking lot would have changed anything.
“Nathan lives in the same apartment complex.” Claire argues my case even though she doesn’t have all the facts.
I thank her with a small smile. “Not anymore. I bought a house across the street.”
“Oh?” She seems to deflate.
Did she feel this same connection that expanded in my chest like a breath of fresh air? Of course not. She’s connected to someone else.
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” she offers.
I grab my bag and shoot her a teasing grin. Though we’re saying goodbye, I’m in a better mood now than before we met. “Only if I’m looking for trouble.”
Her lips soften into a return smile. And I think we’re both better off.
The airline industry is both too big and too small. It’s usually the opposite of however you want it to be in any particular situation, and in this situation, I admit I would have enjoyed getting to know Claire better. So I doubt I’ll see her again.
Chapter Three
Claire
If God meant man to fly, He would have given us more money.
—ANONYMOUS
Though our driver—whose name tag I just noticed actually readsJimmy, which could be short for James—got puff-chested when defending me to Nathan, now that he’s seen the other flight attendant, I’m all but invisible. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he only kicked Nathan off so there wouldn’t be any competition for the blonde’s attention.
I watch through the window as my new pilot friend pulls up the hood of his waterproof jacket, then drags his luggage through the puddles. I’m warm and cozy on this shuttle, thanks to him. But he’s going to remember me as nothing but a hot mess.
