Stranded in Paradise (4 page)

He knew Carl was right. He'd been working so hard for so long he wasn't even sure he knew
how
to unwind. But the truth was, rest was exactly what he needed. He'd been on “automatic” for too long. And it wasn't an emotional recharging he'd been lacking. He'd transferred his work habits to his spiritual life. He'd been going full-tilt doing “the right things” but not taking time to just be with God—this was the wakeup call he needed and he knew it. Now he only had to think of where he would go to find the sun and privacy he wanted. Hawaii—the thought came to him. He'd never seen the island and now was the perfect time. What he needed was a good book, a couple packages of Oreo cookies—chocolate crème peanut butter—and complete solitude for the next two weeks. He could pack everything he needed into a couple of bags. Sun, sand, a hotel with room service, and he was set to go—to regenerate.

2

Jan. 16, 5 A.M.
Denver, Colorado

A yellow cab slowly inched its way along snow-packed Pena Boulevard Tuesday morning. Rain had turned to snow and the worsening weather was brutal. Traffic to Denver International snarled onto the exit road.

“Will I be able to make my seven o'clock flight?” Tess asked anxiously as she stared out the back window, her warm breath frosty in the cab's arctic air.

“I'll have you there in twenty minutes.” The driver peered over his shoulder. “Sorry, the heater's on the fritz. It was working fine an hour ago. Can't imagine what could've happened to it.”

She sighed. She'd been in the backseat for the last forty-five minutes of that hour. Why shouldn't the heater fall apart?

The taxi driver peered at her through the rearview mirror.

“Um . . . Miss? Are you all right back th—”

KAABOOMMM!

Tess's heart shot to her throat as she instinctively ducked at the sound of the sudden explosion. Briefcase and purse toppled to the floor.

“Ho, boy!” The driver fought the steering wheel and finally managed to ease the cab over to the side of the exit road. “I think we've got ourselves a flat tire.”

After bringing the crippled taxi to a halt, he turned halfway around in the driver's seat. “Now, don't worry. I'll get you to your flight on time.”

She wanted to
scream.

As soon as she'd gotten home last night the white stuff had started to fall. Every snowplow in Denver had been working nonstop for the past ten hours. Travel had slowed to a crawl. Six-foot-high drifts made finding a clear spot to pull off the road impossible, but the cab driver managed to get the vehicle off the main thoroughfare. Now an endless string of frustrated motorists inched past the disabled cab, often leaning on their horns as if that would somehow even the score.

“I'll have the tire changed in a jiffy,” the driver promised as he got out.

She inched lower in the backseat. What difference did it make? She was going to miss the plane anyway. She would be stuck at the terminal for hours. Why did Len have to do this to her? She ran her hands through her hair, and a clump of strands clung to her hands.
Great,
she thought,
what else could happen?

No, she wasn't going there; she was going to Hawaii for a nice vacation with her best friend. She would not give Len Connor the satisfaction of ruining her good time.

She was going to relax, consider her options, her career. And she was going to think about it in a lounge chair with a cool fruit drink in her hand in the land of pineapples and grass skirts.

While the driver changed the tire, Tess sat in the frosty silence of the cab, watching snow drift past the car window. The swirling flakes were hypnotic, and she let her mind float back to Len's office and that awful afternoon six days ago. What had happened? She had been so certain that she finally had life under control—

She rested her forehead against the cold windowpane and she laughed humorlessly.
Well, Bee Gee, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into, inviting this nutcase to your house.

She'd tried to call Beeg a couple of times again last night to confirm their plans but she'd gotten a busy signal. She'd try again the moment she landed. She should have tried to reach her this morning, but because of the three-hour time difference she'd decided to wait. Besides, Beeg had told her to come.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the cab driver climbed back into the cab. Snow crusted thick on his heavy coat and eyelashes.

“All fixed,” he said.

Tess nodded. She had a little over forty minutes to check in and make the gate.

With her luck she would set off the metal detectors, be searched and questioned. She'd miss the flight and have an eight
-
hour wait before the next one.

“Can you step on it?” She asked. “I'm never going to make my flight.”

“Even if I have to make this taxi sprout wings, I'll get you there!” The cabby promised. “I've never caused a passenger to miss a flight yet.”

Yes, but you've never had me in your cab.
True to his word, the cab driver delivered her in front of United Airlines with thirty minutes to spare. She tore through the crowded terminal, dodging the throng of travelers. The check-in line moved swiftly; she got her boarding pass and made it past security. She had ten minutes left before takeoff time.

As she breathlessly neared the gate, a slow-moving elderly gentleman ahead of her dropped his boarding pass and stooped to retrieve it.

Bags flying, Tess skidded to a stop, gasping in pain when she felt her right ankle give—the same ankle she'd broken in a skiing accident three years before. Fighting the hot sting of wrenched muscles, she bent and collected her briefcase and purse.

The elderly man turned around, apparently oblivious that he had been the cause of her injury. “You okay, little lady? Looks like you had a little tangle.”

“Fine.” She gritted her teeth against the white-hot pain. “Just dandy.”

She straightened. Her ankle throbbed.

“Shouldn't be in such a big hurry. Folks got to learn to slow down. Everyone's in such an all-fired hurry,” the man complained as he proceeded slowly on down the corridor, his words of wisdom trailing behind him.

“And ‘have a good day' to you, too,” she muttered.

She deftly tested her weight on the injured ankle. The ache was awful. She would have to swallow the anguish and hobble on if she was going to make the flight.

She managed to board seconds before the Jetway detached from the plane. Sinking gratefully into her assigned seat, she reached for the seatbelt and fought against the unfamiliar urge to cry. Tess Nelson did not cry. If Mona had taught her one thing it was that a Nelson was in charge of her own life—she and she alone was responsible for herself and her actions. Only whiners and losers cried.

As the 767 roared down the tarmac, she reached to rub her swollen ankle. The pain had turned to a constant ache. She wondered if she would be able to get her boot back on if she took it off during the flight. Deciding some relief from the pressure was worth the risk, she warily pulled off the footwear and examined her ankle. It was puffy but maybe with luck it wouldn't get any worse. Suddenly aware of the guy setting next to her, she lifted her gaze and met a pair of amused artic blue eyes. A grin hovered at the corners of his tanned features as his gaze dropped to her Nerf-ball-size foot—certainly not her best feature.

Snapping around in her seat, she clicked the belt in place and pretended interest in the in-flight phone. If he said
one
word she would strangle him.

Dropping her head against the headrest, she closed her eyes and felt the familiar tug in her stomach as the plane lifted off and soared into the void of swirling snow. Right now all she wanted to see was a hole open up and swallow the passengers.

“Predicted to add up to fourteen inches before it's over,” the radio announcer said. “But we're the lucky ones. Over there in the Pacific, trouble is brewing. A tropical depression has developed. . . . Sustained winds from twenty to thirty-four knots, that's twenty-three to thirty-nine miles per hour, for us lay people. It could turn into a doozy before all's said and done. Stay tuned for further updates.”

She tuned out the radio and the teenage boy who wore it. His head bobbed in time with some sort of rap music that she wished was anything else. Even country would've been better. As she returned her tray to the upright position, the “fasten seat belt” sign came on and she settled back to await final descent into Kahului Airport.

At precisely 3:37 P.M., Maui time, the Boeing 767 landed. Heavy trade winds gusted through the open walkways as Tess followed the throng of wary fliers to the baggage claim terminal. By now her ankle had swollen to nearly twice its normal size. She had pulled and strained to force her boot back on, groaning aloud in agony. The hunk beside her had looked more than a little awkward at her state, and yet what could he have done? Pushed her bulging ankle from the other side?

Her ankle ached as if a bull had kicked it. She couldn't zip the boot, so the top flapped open, snagging her hose. Her eyes searched the concourse for signs that she was actually in Hawaii. No one met her with a flowered lei, and she didn't spot a single hula girl. Swallowing an odd sense of disappointment, she limped on. Maybe Don Ho was waiting for her in the baggage claim.

I'm in paradise,
she thought.
I'm going to relax, bake on the beach, and forget about Len Connor.
She wondered if he'd figured out the new 401(k) deductions they'd worked on with the new investment broker. No doubt
Chuck
would have it all buttoned down in no time.

As she approached baggage claim an energetic preschooler throwing a full-blown temper tantrum caught her attention. He was screaming and kicking his feet on the floor as his nervous-looking mother pled in a mousy voice, “Now, Tommy, you won't get any gum that way. Please be a good boy for Mommy.” Tommy bounced back up and bolted away from his mother . . . straight at Tess.

Suddenly paralyzed in the face of the oncoming disaster, she tried to sidestep the human missile but Tommy must've had a homing device because he changed course with her.

The sudden impact knocked her breathless as she threw her weight solidly on her sprained ankle. She bellowed at the sheer agony that shot up her leg as her purse and briefcase went flying. Again.

At precisely the same moment, her right eye blurred. She slapped a hand over her eye to save the dislodged contact but it was too late.

“Thomas Lee! You stop this moment!” The child's mother marched over to take the little imp by the scruff of the neck from where he lay sprawled at her feet. Tommy's mother turned the child toward her. “What have I told you about running?! Say you're sorry to this nice lady for bumping into her!”

The harried mother turned to Tess who by now had dropped to her hands and knees and was crawling frantically around on the floor of the terminal, desperately groping for the missing contact lens.

“It's all right,” Tess muttered. “I'm sure Thomas didn't mean any harm—” Where was the thing? It couldn't have gone far!

She was as blind as Mr. Magoo without her contacts. She smiled gratefully when other blurs she assumed were people paused to offer help with the search. Soon four other travelers were on their hands and knees scanning the multicolored tile.

The contrite mother had a firm grip on her young son now. The boy stood rooted to the spot as Tess crawled around on the polished floor.

“I'm so sorry about your contact,” the mother repeated.

“Don't worry,” Tess assured her. “I have my glasses with me.”

The boy crossed his arms and looked up at his mother. “Sowwy,” he finally managed.

She smiled at the blurred image. “It's quite all right— but don't run anymore. You'll hurt yourself.”

The mother ushered her son through the crowd as she gathered her personal belongings and thanked her co-searchers before limping steadfastly toward the luggage carousel.