They settled back in the leather seats and started to pour drinks even though it was before midday. Both Mr. Gowan and I had taken an early departure from work but who was going to care? He didn’t seem to report to anyone and I reported to him, the guy who had expected me to carry his overnight bag from the car. I had said no, I would not.
“Who are you?” one of the other men finally asked me. My boss hadn’t introduced his three friends.
“That’s Cate from my office,” he told them now, and they didn’t say their names back to me. “Cate with a C,” he added, and the red-haired guy laughed like that was funny. Was it? I’d always liked the C, since my dad told me that my mother had chosen it. It was the only thing I had from her.
“What do you do in the office, Cate with a C?” the short one asked. He glanced at my boss and grinned.
“I…” I hesitated, because they had already closed the door and I had just felt the plane jerk into motion. “Mr. Gowan and I are working on special projects.”
Red and Shorty laughed again, but my boss didn’t join in. “What kind of special projects are you involved in, Beau? I remember your output in college,” Shorty remarked. Red thought that was spectacularly hilarious.
He finally calmed down enough to explain the joke to me. “Beau’s output was piss,” he said, still chortling. “He drank so much, that was all he put out.”
The plane was rolling now and I could see the airport moving past the windows. I tightened my seatbelt and then I caught a glimpse of Mr. Gowan. He was also staring out the window and he looked miserable, but he wasn’t speaking up to defend himself. There was no reason for me to defend him, either.
“Actually, we’re working on a very important project,” I said. “Mr. Gowan is in charge of the revamp of the Junior Woodsmen.”
“You mean the development league team?” the redhead asked. The tall one, who hadn’t yet spoken, was involved in finishing his drink, and Shorty looked bored. “Why would you bother with that?”
“He recognized that it’s an overlooked revenue opportunity. He’s remodeling their facility, brainstorming ways to boost attendance, developing merch, and reworking their marketing. It’s a huge undertaking that also has a huge upside—Judas Priest.” The plane had suddenly started to move very, very fast and I gripped the arms of my seat. It felt like we were out of control.
No one noticed my near-panic. “Good for you, Beau,” the third guy said, finally breaking his silence. They switched to talking about football and I switched to quaking in terror. We had lifted off and were now rising up into the sky, into the clouds I’d seen—we thumped and I went rigid. None of the other people seemedto notice, but how could they have missed it? It had felt like the plane got hit with something…could that have happened? Did we get hit? I looked anxiously at the wings but nothing seemed amiss.
I was like a duck, and I could let all this slide right off. I was the duck.
I had brought a book and other things to amuse myself, but I stared at a page without seeing any words. The plane kept bouncing haphazardly, and I couldn’t even tell if we were flying straight. It started to feel as if we were pointing downward but the clouds were so thick outside the window that I couldn’t tell where the ground was.
The other four passengers riding with me weren’t distressed in the least. They kept drinking and having snacks, which they didn’t offer to share. Not that I could have eaten anything, since my stomach seemed to have tied itself in a knot. I put in my earbuds and was about to start some distracting music, when I heard the name “Celestine.” That was Mr. Gowan’s wife, or ex-wife, and she was none of my business.
I was interested, though. I kept my gaze averted and listened as they talked about fighting in court and things not being finished, and then the redhead mentioned something about moving on.
“Good for you,” the short one encouraged. I heard glasses clink, but Mr. Gowan didn’t respond. “Who’s the new girl?”
The new girl? I hoped they weren’t looking in my direction but I didn’t want to check to see.
Mr. Gowan answered something about it just being convenient and—Judas Priest, the plane really started bumping. A voice spoke quietly through the speakers above my head, letting us know that there would be some turbulence and to make sure that our seat belts were fastened. I tightened my lap belt to the point of pain and turned to see if there were other straps that I could put over my shoulders. The plane bumped hard, again.
The four guys hardly seemed to notice the terrible trip but I spent some of the worst hours of my life. There was nothing I could do—everything about this was completely out of my control. I couldn’t steer or force us to land. I couldn’t scream in front of my boss, the one I’d bamboozled into letting me onto this flight, and I absolutely couldn’t cry in front of any of them. I put away the book because my hands shook too much to hold it and then I sat stiffly for the rest of way Utah. The worst part was when the clouds cleared but we passed over some giant mountains. The plane shook as if it would fling into pieces and then one of the guys, the tall one who’d been mostly silent as he swallowed drink after drink, started throwing up.
I had been through terrible situations before and I knew that I had to keep reminding myself that this would also end. Somehow. It all just had to slide off me. Either we would land or we would die, but it would be over.
We landed. We taxied for a while and then the four men jumped up as soon as one of the captains came back to open the door, allowing fresh air to blow into the cabin. It had smelled terrible due to the vomit but the guy who’d thrown up didn’t even bother to take the plastic bag he’d filled.
“Ok, hope you had a good trip,” the captain said to me.
I was still in my seat with the belt fastened, and I was having trouble making my fingers unclench enough to undo it. “Ok,” I echoed. “Good trip.”
He stared at me and his pasted-on smile faded. “Are you all right?”
I nodded and I forced my hands to release the seat belt. I got my bag and made my way to the top of the steps, but my legs were stiff and my muscles refused to unclench too much. Mr. Gowan and the other men were long gone by that point but the employees there were very helpful and I got a car. Fortunately, the driver didn’t want to talk, either.
I let Ronan know that I had touched down and he sent back a message that he was on the team bus on their way to the hotel, after doing a walk-through at the stadium.
“We should get there about the same time as you,” he said, so when I arrived, I waited in the lobby. I saw a fancy bus pull up, the kind that was called a “motor coach,” and large guys started to emerge from it. I waited until I saw the one I knew.
“Hi,” he called when he saw me, too. “How was your trip?”
My legs seemed to be just as stiff as when I’d tried to get off the plane. I stumbled a little as I walked toward him and he lost his smile.
