Checked Again (21 page)

One.

Two.

Three.

I
make contact with the floor. But I can’t feel anything…because these socks are
REALLY thick…and because I think my feet are numb.

I
repeat the whole foot-coming-out-of-shoe process for my right foot. As soon as
I make contact with the ground…the probably dirty, germ-cover—

CALLIE!

Mandy
leans over and grabs my shoes. Then she rips off her own shoes, throws both
pairs into another dark-colored bin, puts her arm around me, and somehow
manages to drag all of our stuff and both of our bodies to the next open
security station. She places the dark bins on a conveyor belt and then gives me
a little push, getting me through the metal detector (which,
Thank God
,
doesn’t beep). She then walks through the metal detector herself, saying a
couple of fuzzy-sounding sentences to the security officer at our station. Moments
later, she drags me (and our stuff) over to a nearby counter.

She
helps me balance as she takes off my socks and returns my heels to my nyloned
feet. It isn’t until after she’s thrown out my socks…after she’s again wiped
her hands with an antibacterial wipe…after she’s gathered our belongings and
returned the bins…after she’s started to lead us to a new section of the
airport…that I can think clearly enough to realize that she shouldn’t be here.

I
look over at her as we walk toward…well, presumably where I’m supposed to meet
Dr. Gabriel.

I
open my mouth and get out some words. “I know I’ve never flown before…but there
is no way that you should be this far into the airport without a ticket.
Right?”

Mandy
looks over at me as she walks, shaking her head and smil—

“Wait.
I don’t even have a ticket. How—”

“Callie—of
course you have a ticket. The link to it was in Dr. Gabriel’s email file. I
printed it last night.”

Oh
. We keep
walking.
But that doesn’t explain
—

I
cut off my thoughts and say them aloud—before I waste all kinds of time
thinking about them first.

“But
that doesn’t explain how you’re here.” I pause to give her a pleading look.
“Mandy, I really can’t have you getting on a plane for me.”

Mandy
looks at me sadly. “I wish you’d stop thinking that way, Callie.” She pauses.
“But stop worrying. I’m not going with you.”

I
look at her questioningly.

And
now she smiles. A huge smile. She’s obviously going to bring up Dr. Blake
again. “The hot doctor pulled some major medical strings…or therapist strings,
I guess, to get me a pass to escort you through the airport.”

Oh
. I’ve heard of
airports granting passes like that…normally for parents who have young children
flying alone...

I
wonder what Dr. Blake had to say about me to get Mandy a pass.

Probably
just the truth, Callie. Probably—

Mandy
stops walking. I stop beside her.

“Callie,”
she starts hesitantly, “this is where I need to leave you if you don’t want Dr.
Gabriel to see me…if you don’t want him to know about my, um, special pass.”

I
nod my head slowly. My throat tightens. My chest tightens. I close my eyes to
try to push back what I know is about to come out of them.

Mandy
whispers now, “Callie. Are you sure you don’t want me to come? I can just go
try to buy—”

Eyes
still closed. I shake my head back and forth blindly. Blindly but emphatically.

Mandy
whispers again, “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

I
know, Mandy. I know. But—

A
microphoned voice interrupts my thoughts. I listen as a woman politely asks all
passengers to begin entering a certain gate to board a certain plane. A plane
with a destination of Florida.

My
plane. My gate. My time to move. I know it.

I
keep my eyes closed, but there is no point; closing them isn’t holding back
anything—my face is pretty much a crying mess.

And
now arms are circling around me. Mandy is holding me against her, rocking me
slightly back and forth. Just like Mom would have done it if she was here.

Mom.
Dad.

If
the plane has a malfunction and crashes, then—

CALLIE.
STOP. STOP. STOP.

Without
counting, I yank myself out of Mandy’s comforting hug. I push open my wet,
dripping eyes and work to put somewhat of a grateful smile on my lips.

Mandy
nods in understanding. I think…I hope she understands that I can’t speak right
now…and understands that I appreciate everything she’s done for me this morning…

She
nods again and again, but she looks miserable. Her—

The
announcer lady starts talking again…essentially telling passengers not already
at the gate to get moving.

That
means me. I have to go.

Mandy
is still nodding. She slowly takes my travel bag off of her arm and places it
securely over my shoulder.

My
throat is still too tight…too out of commission to allow me to speak, but I
quickly mouth two phrases to Mandy.

“Thank
you” comes out first and “Be careful” follows shortly after.

Mandy
continues to nod, an anxious, deflated, resigned look covering her face. She
hands me a piece of paper (my ticket?) and points ahead…presumably to where I
need to go. Where I have to go.

Okay,
Callie. Okay. Okay. One. Two. Three.

One.

Two.

Three.

I
move my legs and body around, turning toward the direction of my gate…the one
they’ve announced twice now. It takes me about thirty-six medium counts of
three to carefully make my way through the people around me to get up to the
counter where—

“There
you are, Calista.”

Dr.
Gabriel is right behind me.
Please don’t touch me. Please don’t notice the
makeup that must be running all over my face. Please don’t mention it if you do
happen to notice…

One.
Two. Three. I turn around slowly, looking down. Before I even make it the whole
way around, he grabs the plane ticket out of my hand and moves to walk ahead of
me.

Then
he starts talking, but not to me. “Okay, Miss. She’s here. Miss?”

The
twenty-something blonde standing behind the counter turns to face us. Her head
morphs into two heads and she starts speaking in slow motion and her voice
sounds like a fire alarm and—

And
perhaps that’s just in my head. I clench my eyes shut for a moment to try to
clear my vision. I then open them back up. Now everything is even worse.
Everything is spinning.

The
next few minutes pass in a hazy blur…the blonde asking to see my ID, me digging
it clumsily out of my purse and holding it up for her to see…Dr. Gabriel
leaning way too far over the counter as he talks to the blonde…me putting my ID
away, taking a moment to be grateful that she didn’t touch it…me looking down
and picking up one foot…picking up my other foot…picking up the first
foot…picking up the other foot…and following Dr. Gabriel
{while at the same
time listening to the echoey voice in my head as it repeats Abby’s favorite
childhood story: Dr. Seuss’s
The Foot Book
}.

Every
step gets us closer to boarding the plane. Every step makes my travel bag
heavier. Every step makes my throat close up a little more…makes my eyes
wetter, fuzzier. Or is it more fuzzy?

Fuzzier.
Step. More fuzzy. Step. Fuzzier. Step. More fuzzy. Step. Fuzzier. Step. More—

Dr.
Gabriel’s feet slow in front of me. My head and eyes move up as my body starts
to cave into itself. Arms slouched forward. Chest and stomach pushing down,
pressing me into the floor. So much pressure.

In
a blurry haze, I watch as Dr. Gabriel steps onto the plane. A cold sweat breaks
out all—

“Calista?
What’s wrong? Come on.” Dr. Gabriel says his words authoritatively, somewhat
impatiently.

Afraid
that he might see my mess of a face…more afraid that he might try to grab my
hand or something, I count to three and somehow…somehow…somehow…step onto the
plane.

And…people
are everywhere. Close together. In seats, in the aisle. So close together.

I
scrunch myself into myself as much as possible, pulling my travel bag and purse
even closer to my body.

Please
don’t let me bump up against these people. Please don’t let these people
accidentally spit…or sneeze…or anything…as I walk past. Please just help me get
to my seat.

I
walk behind Dr. Gabriel, almost shivering now as my body accumulates layers of
cold sweat under my damp clothes.

Just
keep walking, Callie. Keep walking. Keep walking.

Please
let someone be checking the plane. The engine. The gears. The fuel. Please
don’t let us crash. Please don’t make this be it. Please—

Dr.
Gabriel stops in the aisle and motions to two seats on our left. Two cushy
looking seats. My head falls down as I feel a piercing burn in my eyes, a throb
on my forehead.
Please don’t let there be any needles in my seat.

Somehow,
I take a few careful steps and place myself in the tiny space between my seat
and the back of the chair in front of me. Clutching my purse and travel bag.
Not touching anything else.

“Calista,
let me put your bag up.” Dr. Gabriel is holding out his arms, waiting for me to
let him touch my travel bag. With his hands. His hands that have been all over
how many different—

His
hands are moving closer to me. And closer. And clo—

I
bring up my arms and tear the travel bag off of my shoulder to give it to him,
trying to keep my head down and—

“What’s
wrong, Calista? You look awful.” He sounds impatient again. I’m pretty sure
he’s mad at me for riding with Mandy to the airport. And I don’t care…

I
push my head down further and manage to spit out a few words. “Bad allergy
day.” My throat catches as I talk, but Dr. Gabriel doesn’t seem to hear it, or
he just assumes it’s an allergy symptom, or…I don’t know.

What
I do know is that I probably have to sit down soon. In the cushy airplane seat.
With the hidden needles. And then the plane is going to take off. And crash.
And—

Tears
are now just streaming freely from my eyes. Over my cheeks. Landing on my lips,
my chin, my neck. I turn away from Dr. Gabriel, who is now talking to a
short-skirted flight attendant.

Head
down. Down. Down. Down.

Please
let—

No,
Callie.
My head is so far down that I really shouldn’t be praying right now. I know my
prayers won’t possibly go where they should go.

But
I can’t look up…not right now…

But
I need to pray or else the plane will probably crash and…

But
I can’t pray right now and—

{At
the exact same time, Imagine Dragons begins
“
Demons
”
and Jewel
starts
“Who Will Save Your Soul.”
They—}

My
purse is buzzing. My phone is buzzing.

It
might be
him
.  

I
don’t waste a second. I move my hand directly to my purse, directly to my
phone.

I
pull it out and look and—

And
it is him. A text from him.

No
patience for counting. Open text.

Do
you want me to come?

Do
you want me to come?

Do
you want me to come?

No
time wasted counting. No time spent thinking. Reply.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Send.

Chapter
14

plane
ride

PLEASE
WRITE BACK. PLEASE WRITE back. Please write back. Pl—

My
phone buzzes again.

Open
text.

Okay. Then sit down.
I’ve already checked the seat and seatbelt for you.

Wait.
What? He was here?

He
was here. He was here. My seat is fine.

An
unexpected…rather foreign at this point…surge of relief comes over me. I sink
myself down into my seat.

I
relax my head against the headrest, my back against the cushiony fabric of the
chair…where his hands just were.
He was here. He was—

Wait.
Wait. WAIT. What if he
is
here?

I
lean up in my seat and start to look around. I see people in seats and people
struggling to put luggage in the overhead compartments. I glance at Dr.
Gabriel, who is still talking to the same skinny flight attendant in the tiny
little skirt. He’s blocking the aisle and making it really difficult for other
passengers to get around him. He doesn’t appear to care, though.

My
eyes continue to wander, searching faces, searching eyes. Eyes of excited
children, eyes of tired adults, eyes of busy businessmen. Eyes and eyes and
eyes. No sight of those miserable blue eyes, though.

Feeling
stupid, I lean back once more in my seat, clutching my purse. I close my eyes
and press into the chair…trying to imagine that I’m somewhere else…trying to
tune out the flutter of noise around me…trying to feel the remaining warmth
from his hands on the fabric beneath me.

He’s
coming soon. He’ll be at the conference. He’ll—

Wait.
I never responded to his last text.

I
look down at my lap. My hand sits in front of me, still clenching my phone. My
fingers get to work.

Okay.
I’m in my seat.

Or
does he already know that? Is he watching me? If—

A
dinging noise comes from overhead, and a male voice begins to talk about things
I’d rather not have in my head right now…words about how we all should be
seated and ready to leave soon…safety tips for flying…instructions to turn off
our phones.

I
hit send quickly. Then I scrunch as far over in my seat as I can…as far away
from Dr. Gabriel as I can…as he starts to sit down beside me. He sits, but he
continues to talk to the flight attendant, saying something about a collection
of art he has in his home. He talks loudly. He wants me to hear…to hear him
interacting with another female.

Miss
Flight Attendant seems to be focusing on his words, nodding and offering
frequent “Uh-huh” noises.

Blech.
Shouldn’t she
be working?

I
glance past them, looking right through the window on the other side of the
aisle. The window that soon will be out in the open air.

I
turn my head the other way, to the window right beside me. The shade has been
pulled, so I can’t see out of it…won’t be able to see the tiny people and
buildings and water that will soon be below us. Won’t be able to see what is
going on as the plane suddenly begins falling toward those tiny people and
buildings and water…as it starts to crash…all of us falling to our dea—

CALLIE.

Even
though it’s probably pointless…even though it won’t save me, I fasten my
seatbelt around me. I vaguely hear Dr. Gabriel saying goodbye to his flight
attendant. Before he can turn to talk to me, there is another ding from
overhead, a ding that can only mean that someone is about to tell us that we
are going to take off in a couple seconds.

I
don’t hear the announcement. I hear ringing. I hear buzzing. I hear plane crash
noises. My eyes are open, but I can no longer see the back of the seat in front
of me. I see a plane on the ground enveloped in fire. I see scattered bodies
and lifeless limbs. I smell—

I
feel movement. Forward movement. Wheels underneath of me rolling, moving,
speeding up.

My
stomach starts to gurgle.
Don’t throw up, Callie. Don’t throw up. Don’t
throw up. Pass out instead. Just pass out. Toward the window…away from Dr.
Gabriel. Just. Pass. Out.

My
eyes get all fuzzy. My body sways as much as a body can when seatbelted into a
seat. But I don’t pass out. I’m not given that luxury. At least I’m not
throwing up. It’s not like I’ve put anything in my body
to
throw up.
But—

Callie!
Stop thinking about it. Stop—

The
plane lifts beneath me, angling up.

Oh
my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

I
clench my fists on my lap, tightening my arms around my purse and squeezing my
eyes shut.
Please don’t crash. Please don’t crash. Please don’t crash.
I—

Something
is nudging up against my elbow. Repeatedly.

I
keep my eyes closed, imagining some kid with slimy fingers poking at me,
getting snot or spit or something all over my sweater. Or—

A
throat is cleared behind me. A short, unnecessary-sounding cough. A meaningful
cough.

His
cough. I know
it. 

He’s
here. Right behind me. With me. For me.

Wait.
That means that it’s him at my elbow.

My
eyes open. My hands unclench. Without moving my head, I slide my eyes over to
Dr. Gabriel. I only see the back of his head. He’s looking the other way.
Thank
the Lord.

I
slide my eyes now to the other side of me…the elbow-nudging, shaded window
side. And now, sitting on my armrest, is a yellow spiral bound notebook. It has
CALLIE
written across the cover.

Trying
not to move too much, trying not to catch Dr. Gabriel’s attention, I move my
left hand and grab the notebook. I slide it up over my lap so it rests right on
top of my purse. I stare at the letters on the front. C-A-L-L-I-E. My name. In
his handwriting.

I
rub my thumb over each letter in my name. After I get to the “E”…well, then I
can’t wait anymore. I open the notebook.

A
silver pen, his pen, is clipped at the top of the first page. As I reach up to
unclip it, I see his handwriting once again.

Hi.

My
mouth starts smiling. With just one word.

I
write on the next line.

Hi.

Then
I reclip the pen and close the notebook. I use my left hand to push it back
through the space on the side of my seat while my eyes again sneak over to Dr.
Gabriel.

He’s
still not looking this way.
Excellent.

The
notebook is grabbed from my hands. By him. Right behind me.

My
mouth continues to smile. A lot.

When
I feel the notebook again nudging my arm, I look over at Dr. Gabriel once more.
He’s still looking the other way, looking down the aisle. For the flight
attendant? Maybe. I have better things to think about right now, though.

Open
notebook. Unclip pen…which is still warm from his hand. Grip pen tightly
against chest. Read.

I’m
guessing you don’t want Gabriel to know I’m here. No babysitters allowed, if I
remember correctly.

More
smiles. I can’t stop.

Pen
on paper.

No—no
babysitters allowed. Well, no visible babysitters.

I
think about stopping there, but the pen keeps writing.

Thank
you.

Pen
clipped. Notebook shut. Notebook passed back. Eyes on Dr. Gab—

Wait.
Instead of just seeing Dr. Gabriel, I once again see the super skinny flight
attendant.

She’s
back? Seriously? What is wrong with this girl? She is going to get herself in
trouble or fired or something if she keeps not working…and for what? Dr.
Gabriel? Seriously?

Maybe
she thinks that he is going to whisk her away from her job…make a life for her
by selling his art collection or—

Another
nudge comes from behind me. My eyes leave the little couple.

Grab
notebook. Open notebook. Unclip pen. Read.

Why
does he keep talking to that girl? What is he doing?

Pen
on paper.

I
think he’s trying to do her.

Pen
clipped. Notebook closed. Notebook back.

I
don’t bother looking at Dr. Gabriel this time. I can hear him now talking about
his university classes.

A
light laugh comes from behind me.
His
laugh. An adorable laugh.

I
close my eyes and try to picture what his face must look like right now…is it
as relaxed as he sounds? Or is the tension there?

It’s
hard not to just turn around and find out. So hard. Somehow, though, I will my
body to stay in my seat. Facing forward. Waiting to see what he writes next.

A
new nudge comes only seconds into my waiting. This time, the notebook arrives
sideways, coils on the bottom. When I open it, something falls onto my lap. A
granola bar.

Rolling
my eyes at, well, no one who can see me, I look down to read my new message.
His new message.

I’m
guessing you haven’t eaten in at least 24 hours. You need to eat…more than
this, but this is a start. Only 120 calories.

I
shake my head and start to write back.

I
can’t eat yet. Not yet.

Granola
bar and pen back in notebook. Notebook back sideways.

I
swear I hear a little groan a second later. It’s such a quiet noise, though.
Maybe I’m just hearing things.

What
I do clearly (and unfortunately) hear, however, is Dr. Gabriel. He seems to be
exchanging phone numbers with his flight attendant. He—

Another
nudge from behind me. Notebook right side up this time. No granola bar…which is
good…even though my stomach is starting to eat itself a little. No eating yet,
though. No fuel for throwing up (beyond, well, the plane, Dr. Gabriel, my upcoming
stay at—)

Focus,
Callie.

Okay.
Open notebook.

How
about tonight? Dinner? Just us…no Dr. Don Juan.

Just
us. Just us. Just us.

My
hungry stomach feels warm all of a sudden. And not because I may be making
plans to feed it dinner.

Before
I can lift the pen to write the three little letters I want to combine for my
response, I hear Dr. Gabriel say goodbye to his flight mistress. Guess she
actually has to work now.

Shit.
Now it’s going
to be difficult to—

Out
of the corner of my eye, I see Dr. Gabriel pull a tiny pillow out of his little
carry-on bag.
Excellent.

I
pretend to be busy writing something important in my notebook, his notebook, in
the hopes that my fake busyness will discourage Dr. Gabriel from trying to talk
to me. It doesn’t really work, though.

“Writing
an assignment for one of your classes?” Dr. Gabriel adjusts his pillow behind
his head, speaking in my direction.

“Mmmhmm,”
I lie quietly, continuing to pretend to write (really, I just draw some
squiggly lines in the margins of the page).

Dr.
Gabriel fidgets a little in his seat. Trying to get comfortable? Almost ready
to go to sleep? I hope so. “Don’t work too hard—we are heading right to our
first pre-conference session as soon as we arrive. There won’t be any time to rest
once we get there.”

“Okay,”
I mumble, praying that he falls asleep soon…and that he doesn’t somehow
projectile drool on me or something.
{Chamillionaire rolls in with
“Ridin’”
and Krayzie Bone joins him.}
I scrunch further into my seat, further away
from the hopefully trying to sleep Dr. Gabriel.

Holding
up the yellow cover of the notebook, just in case Dr. Gabriel decides to look
over at me...at what I’m writing, I begin to write my response. I move the pen
up to put the letter “Y” on the page.

But
my hand doesn’t make the letter.

Because
I shouldn’t be having dinner with him. Because I shouldn’t be getting close to
him…shouldn’t be getting attached to the idea of him…of us.
You are already
attached, Callie. You are beyond attached…whatever that is…