The child stared at him, blinked, and then bawled even louder.
Bloody hell.
Motormouth ditched the grapes and hugged her child.“Come on, honey.It’s been a long day.We’re tired.We’ll feel better when we’ve had a sleep.”She then gabbled on to him about the beach, and thefishiesand seashells, the clear water and coconut trees, until her voice was drowned out by the wheels firing up on the runway.
The engines revved and roared.Dan found his earbuds, and a few minutes later, they were in the air.The airplane straightened.The seat belt sign came off, and Motormouth lifted the armrest and settled her son into her lap.
“Got any plans for when you’re in the Cook Islands?”she asked.
“No.Just resting.”Dan popped his earbuds in and tapped his phone.
“We spent the past three months in New Zealand,” Motormouth went on.“Have you been there before?”
“Nope.”Dan found his music app, raised the volume, and—boom!—Isabella’s damn Christmas song blasted through his brain.He whipped his earbuds out, but it was too late.All the hurt came flooding back.He reached for his pain meds and popped a couple more into his mouth.
“Haven’t you taken enough of those already?”
Dan glared at her.
Her eyebrows raised.“I guess you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” he snapped.“Now, all I need is some sleep.You know what I’m saying?”
“Sure thing.We’ve got three hours before landing.It’s hard napping on flights, but if you—”
“Look, can you just shut up, please?”
Motormouth gasped.Shit.He’d never been so rude!But before he could say anything, the boy cried out, “Mommy!”
The hurt in her eyes turned into concern.“What is it, sweetie?”
Dan rubbed his sore head.“I’m really sor—”
“Oh, honey!”
The child retched.
Out of nowhere, Motormouth pulled out a cloth and held it to his mouth, but it was too late.
Hot spew hit Dan’s chest.
“Shit!”He tried to hoist himself out of his seat, but his damn leg and hips had stiffened, and the next stream of puke shot him in the back.
Fuck this.
Dan yanked himself out into the aisle.“Can this bloody journey get any worse?”
“How about being a two-year-old with an upset stomach?”With the boy wrapped in her arms, Motormouth pushed past him.“Asshole!”
“I didn’t mean…”Oh, what’s the point!His apology could wait!Everyone was staring at him, and gunk was seeping into his underpants and trickling down his leg.
“I’ll help you get cleaned up, sir.”An air steward handed him a wet cloth and some napkins.“Come this way.We have another seat for you.”
“Thank you.”Dan looked back up the aisle.Motormouth and the Projectile Puke Kid were being assisted too.He grabbed his bag and hobbled to the other end of the plane, wondering what the hell else could go wrong on this hellish journey to paradise.
Hissuitcasewasmissing.
In Rarotonga’s quiet arrivals hall, Dan stood alone, glaring at the empty conveyor belt.
