Revived Spirits (3 page)

“I just think maybe it shouldn’t be in my suitcase—that’s all I’m saying,” he whispered, his fake smile looking worse than none at all. “What if it doesn’t go right through security? This stuff drives me crazy, and I don’t ad-lib well under pressure.”

Anthony grinned and clapped Cal on the shoulder as if his friend had said something witty. Sitting in the rear seats of the van, they could talk without being overheard by the grownups in front, but they could be seen, and Cal looked on the verge of losing it.

Liv sat in the middle row with Anna. She grabbed the baby’s sandal and began playing with the toes in it. “This little piggy went to market—it’s going to be okay, Cal.”

“Yeah?  Should I say it’s a gift if they ask me about it?”

“This little piggy stayed home—they won’t ask you, Cal.”

“Are you sure the rubber band around it will hold? Maybe we should have taped the whole thing shut.”

“This little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none—the rubber band looks like we have nothing to hide. Taping just the drawers shut was enough.”

“What if our luggage gets lost? Then what?”

“And this little piggy cried, ‘Wee, wee, wee, all the way home!’” She replaced the first foot. Anna stuck out the second one. “That’s what we’ll do, I guess. Cry. Now, look happy—my parents are watching in the rearview mirror!”

Ten weeks to get through without choking Cal. It was going to be a long summer.

The artificial winter in Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport blasted from vents above their heads, belying the June Atlanta heat. Liv, Anthony and Cal had been instructed to walk up the jetway and wait for Mr. and Mrs. Wescott while they reclaimed Anna’s stroller from gateside baggage check.

The connecting flight from Adelaide Village had been uneventful. The box had breezed through security, swaddled in Cal’s socks and underwear, right in the center of his suitcase. So far, so good.

Even Anna had posed no problems. Just a bit fussy from air pressure changes while the plane gained altitude, she’d taken a drink from her sippy cup, smiled, and gone right to sleep on her dad’s shoulder. With Anna refreshed, the rest of the journey was sure to be interesting.

Now that Liv was used to the idea of going, she found herself looking forward to the trip. Mr. Harper had been surprised but agreeable when Liv suggested debates by email, and had complimented her on a creative solution to the team’s scheduling problems.

Her father had made arrangements for her to practice piano at the home of Mr. Havard, a barrister he would be working with in London. “Two grand pianos in their living room—can you imagine?” her mother had said.

Soccer was going to have to take care of itself, but Liv could jog in Kensington and Hyde Parks to stay in shape while Mrs. Wescott walked with Anna in the stroller. And Mr. Havard had another suggestion.

“He says,” her dad had related with a twinkle in his eye, “that if you’re any good, there are always people playing soccer in the parks, and someone would probably let you join in their game. I told him you weren’t good, you were outstanding.”

It was true, and she had the trophies and ribbons to prove it. But knowing her dad, he would have been just as proud of her if she were a complete klutz, as long as she tried. She never felt pressured to excel to please her parents. No, she was driven because she was Liv.

But right now she could enjoy herself. Things were under control, just the way she liked them, and the pace of the huge airport made her pulse quicken.

The group reunited and proceeded along the wide corridor, following the signs to the international concourse. Mrs. Wescott led the way with the empty stroller, and Mr. Wescott followed close behind with Anna on his shoulders. Liv, Anthony and Cal walked single file, three abreast—whatever the human traffic tide allowed.

Liv was absorbed by the passing parade moving in all directions, dressed for destinations of work or play. Business types spoke in serious tones on cell phones, passing and dodging as they talked. An elderly couple chatted with the driver of their motorized cart, while a little girl in braids with motion-activated light-up shoes hopped from terrazzo square to square with both feet.

And the stores—dozens of them. Most made sense to Liv: luggage, books to read on the plane, DVD rentals, souvenirs. But perfume? Who would open a whole store just for perfume in an airport? If she were running a store here, she’d sell stuff that everybody needed, or at least wanted.

Down the escalator they went,passing by the waiting train and choosing instead to tunnel their way through the underground region on the moving sidewalk. They stood single file on the huge conveyor belt.

Anthony looked up and down the expanse of rubber. “This must be what it’s like for a jar on an assembly line.” He circled his arms in front of himself. “You travel down the belt, a big funnel opens up, and before you know it you’re full of mayonnaise, or cocktail onions or pickled anchovies.” He staggered under the imaginary weight. “A pair of giant tongs comes down and twists a lid on you.” He jerked his head sideways. “A hand reaches out and sticks a label on you.” He slapped his stomach. “Then they pack you in a box.”

He hopped off the break in the moving sidewalk and made his way toward the middle area where the floor was just a floor. Liv and Cal followed, and the three of them powerwalked. They chugged their arms like locomotive engines, then slowed down to let Anna and her parents beat them, cheering for her while her dad held her aloft.

Emerging from the up escalator, the group made their way toward their assigned gate, stopping only once when they realized they’d lost Anthony. Liv spun around.

“There he is, in front of the glass exhibit. I’ll go back for him and meet you at the gate.” She sprinted back.

“Didn’t know you were a Chihuly fan.” Liv put her arm through Anthony’s, admiring the luminous pieces in the display case. Anthony was rooted to the floor. His eyes fluttered closed, and he inhaled and exhaled a long, luxurious breath.

“I think I’m in love—Shh. . .”

He pointed upward, where a syrupy female voice flowed from unseen speakers, admonishing travelers to “. . .please ruh-fra-ain from smoking.”

“She’s probably forty years old and a chain-smoker, Anthony. Let’s go.”

“Ugh, thanks for the image. Give me a second to poke out my mental eye.” He stuck his finger in the center of his forehead and let his sister lead him toward the gate.

Liv smiled at her brother, the only romantic in a family of overachievers. “Hey, she breaks your heart, you let me know. I’ll beat her up.”

They arrived at the seating area of their departure gate to find almost no one sitting down. A young woman, her mass of auburn curls lacquered into perfect submission and her navy uniform stiffly starched, leaned toward a microphone and spoke in cordial tones: “Now that our first-class passengers, as well as platinum, gold, and silver, persons needing assistance, and those traveling with small children have boarded, we invite passengers seated in zone three to come forward.”

Liv wondered how anyone could be left in the airport after all that, but a substantial crowd remained, and the “pardon me”s began. The cluster split like an asymmetrical amoeba. Zone Three surged forward, narrowed and elongated into a single-file line. The larger part of the amoeba remained behind, swirling and churning as passengers checked their tickets and determined where they should be in the mass.

As the starched young woman called more and more zones until the gate area was almost deserted, the elder Wescotts hung back. They answered the call for Zone Nine with quiet nonchalance. “They’ve shifted to Get Anna Settled mode,” Liv explained in hushed tones to Cal as she picked up her backpack and tucked it under her arm. “If we start helping her wind down now, she may sleep her way across most of the ocean. Don’t talk to her much or play with her, okay? And don’t act excited.”

“I can’t help it—I am excited. I’ve never been so far away from home, to someplace so different.” Cal’s voice was low-volume but animated. Liv laughed and shook her head.

“Am I still not calm enough?” he asked.

“It’s not that, Cal. I was just thinking—you’ve been captured by a pirate, saved lives, traveled to worlds that aren’t supposed to exist. I’d call that far away and different. It’s cool you can be thrilled about a trip that just crosses an ocean. Good for you. Now, walk behind Anthony, copy him, and you’ll be fine.”

The plane was nearly full when they boarded. The auburn-haired lady had glided from microphone to ticket scanner in the terminal and now stood in the cabin, directing traffic as passengers stepped inside. “First class to the left, please, coach to the right.”

“Riff-raff to the right—that’s us, team,” Mr. Wescott joked. It was fine with Liv. Who wanted to march past plush leather seats and yards of legroom before folding yourself up into a pretzel? They moved forward, claimed their seats and settled in.

It was time for Liv to give up the window seat. She’d begun the flight at the aisle, with Anthony in the middle and Cal by the window. The plan was to shift every hour until lights out, sleep where they landed, then renegotiate at wake-up time.

So back to the aisle for now, the perfect time for a restroom break. She left Anthony and Cal resettling and advanced to the set of water closets at the front of the coach section. Both occupied. Liv stood, wondering if she’d be in the way when the doors opened.

The three bulkhead seats at the right window were all empty, so she lifted the armrests out of the way and stretched across, feet up and pointing toward the aisle. Somber navy drapes prevented peeking into first class.

Remembering that Cal’s mom had advised the three young people to stand up every thirty minutes during the flight so they wouldn’t get deep vein thrombosis, she felt a wave of sympathy for Cal. No wonder the kid could be neurotic sometimes. But... what if his mom was right? Liv lifted her feet and flexed her ankles, one at a time, then grasped an ankle and held it at shoulder height with bent knee. By the time she had done both legs, she had an audience.

The person looking at her had passed through the first class curtains and was about to enter the restroom, just in front of her. Their eyes met and Liv looked away, embarrassed to be caught doing something so goofy. She leaned forward and pulled a travel magazine from the holder on the side of the bulkhead, pretending to be interested in the table of contents and conscious of the fact that the man had seemed even more eager than she to turn away.

As if he didn’t want to be seen. As if he were displeased at her for looking, and with himself for letting her look. It happened so fast that Liv wondered if she’d imagined the irritation on his face. Maybe he was just grumpy because the fancy toilets in first class were full.

If her senses hadn’t been heightened by self-consciousness, she might not have taken in that the man was of medium age, height and build, with wavy brown hair pushed away from a pale face punctuated with a mustache. His dress shirt, slacks and silk tie were in neutral colors, quietly expensive.

Liv replaced the magazine and looked across the aisle. Why worry about it? When the man came out, he would look away if he didn’t want to be seen.

A click was followed by the folding of the thin door, and from the compact space emerged a completely different person. Gone was the mustache, and a tanned face matched tanned arms and legs, newly revealed by a short-sleeved, crewneck cotton shirt tucked into khaki shorts, accompanied by well-worn Tevas.

Straight, lighter hair was parted on one side and gelled into place. One hand carried a rolled-up safari hat, while the other steadied a soft leather case suspended on a worn shoulder strap— identical to the case the first man had carried in.

Liv couldn’t decide which to believe: that the man could have pulled off the transformation, or that he had left and someone else entered the restroom right in front of her unseeing eyes. Well, men were quick. Maybe Dark Hair had finished, and Light Hair had slipped in, all during the time she’d had her nose buried in the magazine. Possible.

Light Hair turned and reentered first class, and Liv made her way to the restroom. Bright lights and a deafening exhaust fan popped on as she slid the lock into place. Nothing looked peculiar. If there had been any evidence, he would have it with him in his travel case.

Liv’s eyes scanned the pocket-sized stainless steel sink bowl— wiped perfectly dry. Certainly more tidying-up than you’d expect of the average passenger. No, wait. A few medium-brown beads of water clung to the metal behind the faucet. Liv checked the mirror. Spotless in the center, but at the corners, more medium brown.

So he could have had light, naturally straight hair that a quick rinse had revealed. It would be easy to put instant fake tan on his face, with arms and legs already darkened beneath his long pants and sleeves. Stuff clothes into the leather case, and, presto, you’re someone else. But what would the flight attendants and other passengers say?

Letting curiosity override caution, Liv folded open the door, stepped out and parted the first class curtains just an inch. There he was, two rows ahead, slouched in an aisle seat, with the safari hat covering his face. Pretending to be asleep. If the attendants thought he was sleeping through the rest of the flight, they might forget hours later what he had looked like before.

The other passengers paid no attention to him except for one, a strikingly handsome, fortyish man on the opposite side of the aisle. While Liv watched, Handsome Man rose from his seat, took an airline blanket and reached down to cover the sleeping Dark Hair-Light Hair. They must know each other. Was Handsome Man that caring, or was he covering up his friend’s new look?