Baggage Check (14 page)

“You went to UAB?” Rebecca asked.

“For a couple of years. But I got a little sidetracked,” he said, with a grin.

“Oh? How so?”

“It's a long story,” he said. He looked down at his basket of fries in silence.

Rebecca sensed his discomfort and fished around for something to say. It came from overhead: not the voice of an angel, but of her friend Dylan Burke.
“
Baby, this is where Country Rules…”

“Hey! I know this guy!” She realized she sounded a little too eager and starstruck.

Alex looked around. “Which guy?”

“This song,” she said. “This is my friend Dylan.”

“Dylan Burke? You
know
Dylan Burke?”

The impressed tone in his voice pleased her. Normally she didn't publicize her relationship with Suzanne and Dylan, but this seemed like a reasonable time. “Yeah, he's engaged to one of my good friends.”

He whistled. “Well, I don't know if I know any celebrities that big,” he said. “I'll just have to win you over with my charm.”

Now it was her turn to stare down at her food.

“So what are you going to do next?” Alex asked.

“I don't know,” she said. “I need to go home, to Atlanta, at least to get some clothes and water my plants. Dad is supposed to be back late tonight, so I guess I'll check out of the hotel in the morning and talk to them on my way out of town.”
Them.
Sonia would certainly be there when she went by. Would this woman she barely knew be part of the discussion about her mother? Rebecca didn't want to think about it.

Kevin brought the check, even though she still had half a sandwich and most of her fries left. Alex waved away her hand when she reached for the bill to pay her half. Now she had to say something.

“Listen, Alex, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, and for my family, and it's been great to catch up.”

“But?” he said, tossing a credit card down on the bill.

“Yes, there's a ‘but,'” she said. She could feel her face reddening as she went on. “I'm not sure what happened between us last night, but I don't want to lead you on. I am not looking for any kind of relationship at this point in my life.”

“Which point is that?” he said. The words were challenging, but his eyes were friendly.

“Well, I don't even know, to be honest. I have no idea when I'll be back or how long I will stay if I do come back here. But my life is in Atlanta, and anyway, I'm sort of tied up right now, emotionally.”

She was ashamed of it as soon as it came out of her mouth. It was half a lie, which was bad, and the kernel of truth was even worse. There was no taking it back now, though. He was still smiling, but a bit of the light had left his deep brown eyes. “I understand,” he said. “Of course I do.”

“Besides, we don't even know each other. I know you have wonderful memories of Cory and football and everything, but he and I were always very different. It was so long ago.”

“It's okay,” he said. “If you don't come back, you don't. I'll live. But if you do, I'd like to think we can be friends. It's not often I get the privilege of meeting someone who hobnobs with celebrities and parties in the big city. I'll finally have something to put on my Facebook page.” His Southern accent was extra thick now. He was mocking her, she realized. Worse, she deserved it.

Rebecca threw her napkin into the basket and excused herself to the restroom. She was washing her hands and examining her falling ponytail when the door opened and Tanya Boozer stood next to her.

“Hi, Becky. You're still in town?”

“Hi, Tanya. I'm still here. Probably heading back tomorrow.”

“I guess you probably won't be gracing us with your presence again anytime soon then.” Tanya wore a smile so broad Rebecca could almost see her molars, but the tone was less than friendly.

“I'm not sure yet,” Rebecca said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Alex sure seems happy to see you.”

“It's been good to catch up. With all of you.”

Tanya looked down and swung a black-booted foot back and forth across the tile. “Well, yeah. But Alex, I think he'll be better off when everything is back to normal.”

“Normal?”

“Yeah, you know, everybody back where they belong. You in the big city with your rich friends, and us here.”

Years of sparring with Marci had given Rebecca incredible self-control in these situations. She kept her expression neutral, friendly even, and turned to face Tanya.
This isn't the high school locker room anymore. You have no idea who you're dealing with now, girlie.
“What are you trying to say, Tanya?”

“I'm just saying I consider Alex a friend. He's been through a lot, and the last thing he needs is to get involved with someone who's not going to be around for him.”

Rebecca had no intention of getting involved with Alex, but saying that outright would be admitting defeat. “Don't you think Alex can decide that for himself?”

“Of course he can,” Tanya said, her smile wavering just a fraction. “I just wanted to let you know that we all look out for each other here. I don't know how y'all operate in Atlanta, but that's who we are.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Rebecca said sweetly. “It's nice to know things haven't changed in my hometown.”

She rested her fingers lightly on the bathroom counter and waited, wearing her best “is there anything else I can do for you?” smile. Compared to some of the catfights she'd mediated in the sorority house, not to mention your average cranky first-class passenger, this was nothing. Tanya hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it again. She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

“Nice chatting with you,” Rebecca called after the stylist.

“Yeah, you too,” Tanya said.

Rebecca let the door swing shut and redid her ponytail before leaving the bathroom, hoping to give her old classmate time to cool down. When she walked past the bar on the way back to the booth, Tanya was absorbed in conversation with a man in a white shirt and tie and did not look at her as she passed.

“Tell you what,” Alex said, when she slid back into the booth. “I'll make you a deal.”

“A deal? I'm intrigued.” She noticed he had ordered another round while she was in the bathroom.

“Since we don't know each other anymore, you can ask me three questions the next three times we meet. Anything you want, and I'll answer truthfully. I figure after nine questions we'll either be friends or you can decide you don't want to know anything else.”

“You're assuming we're going to meet again. What if we don't?”

He shrugged. “If we don't, the deal is irrelevant.”

“And you'll be asking me questions, too?”

“It only seems fair.”

“I don't know. You have an advantage. I don't go fishing with your family.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Okay, how about this: for every three questions you ask, I only get one.”

“Can I decline to answer?”

“The one question? When I'm giving you three? No way.”

She laughed. “Fine. But I go first.”

“Clearly.”

“Starting now?”

Alex looked at his watch. “Sure. I don't have anywhere to be, do you?”

Rebecca fished for a question. It was harder than she'd thought it would be. “You said you went to UAB. What did you study?”

“Ah, a softball to start with. Thank you very much. Civil engineering. I wanted to build cities.”

She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. “So … why aren't you doing that now?”

“That's number two. Well, I was on a football scholarship my first two years, but then I blew out my knee doing something stupid. I wasn't even on the field at the time,” he said, shaking his head. “My parents couldn't afford to pay for my college, and I hadn't exactly been a model student, so I joined the army to pay for the last two years. I ended up coming back here when I got out—my dad was sick—and I just never went back.”

“So how did you end up a sheriff's deputy?” she asked. She wasn't really thinking about the questions anymore; she was just curious.

“I knew Grier from football—he's a couple of years older than I am, but he kind of looked out for me back when I was just a skinny kid who was afraid of the ball. And my background in the military makes me a good fit for law enforcement. It's not what I ever pictured myself doing, but I really do enjoy it.”

Rebecca was about to ask if he ever thought about going back to finish college when Alex went on. “Okay, my turn. What's your least favorite thing about being a flight attendant?”

“You're starting with that?” she said. “It's so negative.”

“Hey, I only get one question a day. I want to get to the juicy stuff quickly.”

Rebecca thought about it. There was so much about the airline industry people complained about: the hours, the food, all the off-the-clock duties outside of the flight hours for which she was paid. But those things didn't really bother her as much. “This is going to sound weird,” she said, “but I miss seeing people say goodbye at the gate. That was always my favorite part of flying when I was young. I always watched people saying goodbye at the gate—parents sending their kids on a first big trip, or off to college, people dropping off family members after a visit, couples saying goodbye.

“I remember one time this young couple at a gate next to mine held on to each other until the final, final boarding call, when the girl got on the plane, blowing kisses to the guy all the way down the jetway. I could tell the attendants were annoyed with her, rolling their eyes and everything. But I thought it was kind of sweet. And once she was on the plane and they closed the doors, her boyfriend stood there for the longest time and watched out the window. He waited until the plane had taxied away, even though he couldn't see her anymore and she couldn't see him and he was probably paying five bucks a minute for parking. I thought it was so sweet. You don't get moments like that anymore, because after 9/11 people have to say goodbye at the security gate, where it's all hectic. By the time people get to us, they're numb already and just want to know when the beverage cart is coming through.”

“So I take it you have never seen anyone chase someone down to profess their love and tell them to stay like they do in the movies?”

“Never,” she confirmed. “It's kind of disappointing. Seriously cuts down on the potential for dramatic romantic moments.”

Suddenly, a catchy teenybop song rang out between them, and Alex looked embarrassed as he reached for his phone. “Ah, it's my daughter. She picked the ringtone,” he said, rising from his chair. “Excuse me for a minute.”

“You have a
daughter
?” Rebecca said, incredulous.

“You already used up your three questions,” he said, grinning. As he walked away, she heard him say, “Hey slugger. How was school?”

Rebecca ate more fries than she intended, waiting for Alex to return to the table. When he slid back into the booth, he grinned at her. “You forgot to mention that you had a daughter,” she said.

“I did? Sorry. I have a daughter.”

“How old?”

“She's fourteen, going on giving-Daddy-a-heart-attack,” he said. “Her name is Honey.”

“Honey,” she repeated, still unable to process the information fully.

“Shall we go?” He stood and extended his hand. Then he held the doors for her on the way out of the restaurant, and again getting into the car, whistling “Don't Go Breaking My Heart” as he went. But they said nothing else until Alex pulled up in the parking space directly in front of her hotel room.

“Can I walk you to the door?” he asked. He did not reach to unbuckle his seat belt, however, and Rebecca was relieved.

“No, thanks, I've got it. Thank you again for dinner, and for … being a friend.” She said it hesitantly, apologetically, but the word felt good in her mouth. There was an absurd impulse to hug him, something she rarely felt for anyone, but she sensed it would not be well received. He would probably feel insulted, since it was fairly clear his intentions went beyond friendship. She knew people sometimes saw her as condescending, and she did not want to make that mistake with Alex. She liked him, despite the awkwardness of their beginning and his overzealousness. He had kind eyes. He listened to her. No one had listened to her like that in a long time.

She waited with the door half-open and one foot hanging out.

“You're welcome,” he said. “I'm a good friend. You'll see.”

“Okay.” She stepped out.

“Wait!” he called, before she could swing the door closed again.

She leaned in. “What?”

“You keep saying we don't know each other. I do know you, and not just your driving record. You came to almost every football practice we had for two years, except never on Tuesdays. You had piano or Beta Club or something on Tuesdays. Cory tried to act like he didn't care if you were there or not, but if you came late, he couldn't focus until he saw that you were in the bleachers. You always had a dog-eared book on your lap.
Little Women
was your favorite, I think, because you had that one the most. I tried to read it once. Not my thing, at least not when I was seventeen. On the warm days, you wore ratty jean shorts and those white Keds with scuffs all over them. Those were the best days because I could see your legs. I used to dream about those legs.

“Then when it got colder you'd wear jeans, or you had this long black skirt you liked. It always got dusty when you came down to the field, which made me like you more for wearing it anyway. You put your hair up a lot our senior year; you were a sophomore then, if I remember correctly. When the defense was on the field, I'd take an extra water break because from the cooler I could see the sun on the nape of your neck. I waved at you a couple of times—you probably don't remember.”