Lost Distinction Page 14

  Rick stared at him, but said nothing.

  “One of the best ways to avoid certain Customs-related issues is to take a private jet. Now if you’ll excuse me, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. I need some rest. I’ll be in the back bedroom should you need me.”

  With that, the ambassador walked down the hall and closed the door. I glanced up at Rick. His brow furrowed and his cheeks turned a light shade of crimson. I reached for his hand, but he pulled away. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t know. I just assumed—”

  “I’m sure Mr. Cross knows that.”

  Before he could respond, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and saw a young man with spiky-blond hair and hazel eyes. He was dressed in black-cotton slacks and a white, long-sleeved collared shirt. In his left hand was a blue vest with a silver nametag pinned to the lapel. He grinned.

  “Morning! My name’s Connor and I’ll be your flight attendant. We should almost be ready for take-off so you might want to take your seats.” We walked over to two recliners and sat down as Connor put on his vest and buttoned it. He then closed the cabin door and looked around. “Uh, wasn’t there a third person? Some old guy?”

  “The ambassador is already on board and most likely in the back, Connor.” I turned toward the voice and saw the pilot leaning against the cockpit door with a stern look on his face. The pilot was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and deep brown eyes. His expression said more than he did audibly and it was clear he was furious.

  Connor cowered. “Oh, my bad.” He looked at us. “I’m sorry.”

  The pilot directed his attention to us and smiled. “Good morning. My name is Phillip Quinn. We will be taking off in the next few minutes. We’re just waiting for my co-pilot.” He looked at the door. “Why is that door closed?”

  Connor flew to the cabin door and unlatched it quickly. “Sorry.”

  Phillip sighed and shook his head. “Why don’t you see if they need anything?”

  “Right!” Connor exclaimed. He rushed over to us, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the process. Stopping suddenly, he asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Rick yawned. “No. I’m fine, thanks.”

  I looked up into Connor’s anxious eyes. It became quite clear the longer I looked at him that he was much younger than I originally suspected. He was no older than twenty and apparently very inexperienced. I smiled and shook my head. “No, I’m all right, too, thanks. Just need some sleep.”

  Connor’s eyes lit up and he raced down the hall. Moments later, he emerged with two white-cotton pillows and two light-blue wool blankets. “Here. All the seats recline.”

  I accepted the pillows and blankets and nodded appreciatively. Before I had a chance to reply, a sudden movement near the open door caught my attention and I instinctively turned toward it.

  Climbing the last few steps of the rolling stairs was a middle-aged, Vietnamese man wearing stylish eyeglasses. He met my gaze and nodded as he shifted the weight of his bag to climb aboard. “Good morning. I apologize for the delay. My name is Harold Nguyen.”

  “Hello,” I replied, smiling.

  “Forgive me for interrupting, Miss, but Harry and I need to get this plane off the ground. We’re already behind schedule. I know how the ambassador hates being late.” Phillip frowned as if recalling an unpleasant incident. Glancing at Connor, he snapped, “Now you may close the cabin door. And prepare for take-off.”

  With that, the two pilots hurried into the cockpit and shut the door behind them. Connor closed the main door and latched it securely before glancing at us. “We’ll be taking off shortly. Please make sure your seats are in the upright position and secure your safety belts,” he paused and glanced at the cockpit door. Speaking quietly he asked, “You guys have flown before, right?” I looked at Rick and we both nodded. “Do I need to explain the oxygen masks and floatation devices or are you good?”

  Connor’s method of addressing safety issues for a flight was unusual. Despite the monotony of hearing flight attendants recite the same boring precautions, it still provided one with a sense of security because their knowledge meant they could help should the unthinkable arise. While I considered Connor’s lack of professionalism and wondered if this inexperience extended to other members of the crew, he stared at us, waiting for a reply.

  When Rick said nothing, I offered, “I think we’re okay.”

  Connor grinned. “Sweet. Oh, in case we need them, they’ll pop out right there,” he offered graciously, slapping the console with air conditioning vents above each chair. “Well, I guess just stay in your seats and buckle up.”

  Rick winked at me as he walked over to the recliner the ambassador had occupied minutes earlier. Connor took a seat across from Rick and fastened his seatbelt. I chose the chair beside Rick’s and grinned as he nodded at Connor, shaking his head in disbelief.

  A deep voice over the intercom announced, “All right, folks, we’re cleared for take-off. Everybody get comfortable. We’ll get you to London as soon as we can. And thanks for flying with us today. We hope to make it your most pleasant flight yet.”

  I glanced over at Connor. Our flight attendant was lounging comfortably, flipping though a sports magazine. I suddenly remembered the ambassador and leaned closer to Rick as the plane began to move. “Do you think Mr. Cross is safe in a bed? Shouldn’t he be in a seat?”

  Rick crossed his arms and yawned. “He’s made this flight plenty of times. If he’s back there, it must not be an issue.”

  The plane turned and I lifted the shade on the window beside my seat. We were nearing the runway. Suddenly, the roar of the engines grew louder albeit they were still muffled by the well-insulated cabin. I felt the plane begin to move again and its speed increased.

  I leaned my head back against the headrest and braced myself. I felt the distinct sensation of lift-off as the sound of the wheels receding into the plane reached my ears. My ears popped twice as we slowly gained altitude. I glanced out the window. The plane was now at a forty-five degree angle and the longer I stared, the further away the ground became. The municipal airport, already tiny in comparison to Logan, appeared no bigger than a coin. Clouds enveloped my window, obstructing my view of the earth, now thousands of feet below.

  I exhaled slowly. Despite having flown all my life, my nerves were always their worst at take-off. For some reason, I always felt anxiety build within me before I was airborne. However, as soon as we reached cruising altitude, it completely subsided. Rick must not have shared my mild phobia about flying. He was fast asleep.

  The intercom popped and the captain said, “All right, folks, you are now free to walk about the cabin. If there’s anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask your flight attendant, Mr. White.”

  Connor glanced over and waved. He was no longer perusing a sports magazine but instead held a hardcover textbook. The title read, “The Willingham Anthology.”

  “What class is that for?” I inquired, motioning to his book.

  He stared at me, open-mouthed. “How’d you know it was for school?”

  Although I initially thought he was being sarcastic, it became apparent that he was genuinely in awe of my deductive reasoning. I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

  “Good one. It’s English.”

  “Are you a freshman?”

  “Well, uh, yeah.” He blushed. “Third semester. I, uh, didn’t do too good my first two times but I figured, hey, third time’s the charm!”

  I nodded in reply, touched by his genuine enthusiasm and utter cluelessness. “So what are you reading?”

  “Hamlet.”

  “Ah.” I thought back to my own studies on the tormented Prince of Denmark and shook my head.

  “What?” he asked, perplexed by my sudden melancholy.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking, that play was written over four hundred years ago, but people can still relate to the characters and what they went through.”
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  “Huh?” Connor’s face contorted with confusion. “How? This story’s wicked ancient!”

  I laughed at his response. “I mean betrayal by those closest to you, the people you trust. People who are supposed to care for you but end up betraying you for their own selfish motives.”

  I glanced at Rick. He was sleeping with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. I found myself wondering what could have transpired between him and the ambassador that would have led to such an irreparable falling-out.

  “You’ve been betrayed like that?” Connor’s question brought me out of my reflections.

  “Well, not like Hamlet, but yeah, I’ve been betrayed.” I thought about my ex-boyfriends, especially Greg, and shuddered. “Haven’t you?”

  Connor thought about the question. Finally, he replied, “Yeah, I guess I’ve been betrayed. Just last week, my friend Zack was supposed to hold this ticket to a Nashu concert for me, right? But the rat sold it ‘cause some guy he works with offered him twice the face value. Some freaking friend,” he frowned, banging his fists on the textbook containing the words of the Immortal Bard.

  “Yeah, that sucks,” I agreed, “but wouldn’t it be worse if your uncle murdered your father and then married your mother?”

  “What?” A disgusted look appeared on his face. “Ugh! That’s nasty! Whoa. Is that what this story’s about? Sounds like a freaking soap opera!”

  “Yeah, like, One Elizabethan Life to Live,” I joked. He frowned, confused by my joke. “Never mind. So is that what you’re going to school for? An English degree?”

  “Nah,” he shook his head. “Too much reading for that. I’m going for nursing.”

  “Nursing? Why not try for an MD?”

  “Too much work for that, too. Plus, as a guy in nursing, I’ve got the upper hand.” He winked.

  I was intrigued. “And how is that?”

  Connor leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice, as if he were about to reveal the secret of eternal life. “Well, there aren’t many guys in this field, right, so they want us. Bad. My GPA doesn’t have to be as high as a girl’s to qualify. Plus, ninety percent of my class is female so the odds are in my favor all around.”

  It was apparent that Connor White, the flight attendant, had put a great deal of thought into this plan. The only motive lacking was a real drive to help others—something that some would consider at least mildly important if you are working in the medical field. However, not wanting to dissuade someone so passionate about school, whatever his personal motives, I nodded. “Nursing is a fantastic field and you are definitely a, um, people person, so I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  He seemed pleased by my response and turned his attention back to the textbook. His brow furrowed as he read and a frown formed upon his lips. “I know this is English, but it sure doesn’t sound like it.”

  I smiled to myself, but the smile disappeared as I reflexively yawned. I shook my head, trying to fight off exhaustion. Blinking to focus, I asked, “Where are you exactly?”

  “Act One,” he replied. He turned the swiveling recliner toward me. “Listen to this: ‘Before my God, I might not this believe without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes.’ What? What’s a true avouch? Who the freak talks like this?”

  I reached for his book. “It’s not modern English as in our English. It’s early modern English. England was originally settled by the Angles and the Saxons and was called Angle-land and it later became England. The English language was originally more Germanic but over the centuries, it’s become what it is today.”

  I glanced up and caught him staring at me in disbelief.

  “How do you freaking know all that?” Connor demanded.

  “A lot of English classes required for my major.” I grinned. “Okay, so you’re at the scene where the two guards are discussing the now-dead king’s ghost appearing. Bernardo asks Horatio if he thinks what they’ve seen is real and Horatio’s like, ‘I swear to God, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.’ Sometimes you need to read it a few times to get it. Try analyzing the situation. That should help, too.”

  I handed him the book and unbuckled my seatbelt. Yawning, I walked over to the couch and stretched out. I fluffed the pillow Connor gave me earlier before resting my head upon it. Closing my eyes, I heard him say, “You sure you don’t want to read this with me?”

  Chapter 12

  I opened my eyes and was greeted by an annoying light flickering off dark-brown walls. I knew in an instant that I was not at home, but didn’t remember where I was. Suddenly it returned to me. I was on a jet heading for London in the hope of finding Rick’s missing cousin, Arthur Cross.

  I sat up slowly and rubbed my eyes. Yawning, I glanced around the cabin as the mental fog began to clear. In a chair several feet away, Rick was sound asleep. Across from him was our energetic flight attendant, Connor. He looked up from a magazine and his eyes brightened when he realized I was awake.

  “Hey, mornin’! Sleep well?”

  I ran my hand through my hair. During my nap, it had managed to become quite tangled. I reached in my purse for my hairbrush and while rummaging, noticed my phone was blinking. Looking at the screen, I realized I had two missed calls and one voicemail. They were all from Jon. I flinched as I considered listening to the voicemail and thought about the type of message he most likely left.

  I had a feeling it was going to be harsh since our last encounter hadn’t ended well. The most difficult part of my complicated friendship with Jon Riché was that most of his outbursts were the result of his concern for me, which made it hard for me to maintain even the most justified anger. I realized that Connor was watching me with a curious look on his face.

  “You all right?” Noticing the phone in my hand, he nodded. “Yeah, your phone rang. You two must be some freaking sound sleepers because that ring tone is really loud. And annoying. You know you can change that, right?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling my face warm. “I’m usually a light sleeper. I must’ve been really tired. Where are we exactly?”

  “I dunno.” Connor shrugged his shoulders. “Somewhere over the Atlantic. It’s, like, a seven-hour flight and we’ve been flying for, I dunno, four hours? I guess we have two and a half hours left.” He shrugged again. Sitting up and dropping the magazine on the table, he added, “You want something to eat or drink?”

  His inquiry was answered by my stomach, which let out a low growl. I felt my face flush again. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little hungry. Can I have some peanuts or something?”

  “Peanuts?” Connor scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re asking me for peanuts? You know this is a private jet, right?” He stood up, shaking his head, and called, “Be right back.”

  I watched him walk down the hall and enter the first room on the right. The sound of him banging around reached the cabin. Rick stirred. His head rolled slowly from the right to the left and he shifted his weight in the chair.

  Despite all that happened over the past weekend, Rick’s physical exhaustion somehow exceeded the concern he felt for his missing cousin and the apparent frustration he felt toward the ambassador. After letting out a deep sigh, he stopped moving.

  Moments later, Connor emerged carrying a blue plastic tray with a plate of pot roast, asparagus and red potatoes. He placed the steaming tray on the coffee table in front of me before returning to his seat. He had been seated for less than a second before he jumped to his feet. “Damn! Oh, crap. Sorry, I forgot your utensils. And your drink. What would you like? Merlot?”

  “Merlot?” I stared at him in disbelief. “In the morning?”

  “It isn’t morning over here.” Connor laughed. “Okay, no merlot. You want, uh, beer? No? Soda?”

  “Water’s fine.” I brushed my disheveled hair behind my ears as I stared at the rich cuisine. “I really wasn’t expecting all this. Thanks.”

  “Hey, no prob.” He winked. “One water coming up. And maybe while
you’re eating, we could discuss that Hamlet story again, huh?”

  Before I could reply, he was gone. I stared down at the plate. The food smelled delicious and it looked fresh. Before I had the chance to wonder who cooked such a feast, Connor raced back in the room and handed me my utensils, an off-white napkin, and a glass of sparkling water.

  He sat down and grabbed his textbook again. “So, Hamlet.” He grinned, waving the book high in the air for effect. “I tried reading it after you fell asleep, but I just don’t freaking get it.”

  I cut a tiny piece of roast and chewed it thoughtfully. The past thirty-six hours or so had been the most exhausting ones I had had since I investigated the death of Rick’s father nearly a year and a half earlier.

  I would have loved to help Connor White understand the tragic tale of Hamlet, but I was so tired I could barely find the energy to chew the most tender roast I had ever tasted. I took a sip of water. “Connor, I’d really like to help you but, honestly, I’m exhausted.”

  Connor’s smile faded. “Oh, I hear ya. Sorry if I bugged you. It’s just, well, you seem to know a lot about this crap, sorry, stuff. No biggie.”

  He closed the book and shoved it in a maroon backpack. He then grabbed his magazine and pretended to read. Although he had dropped the matter, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming guilt for letting him down. Luckily for me, my exhaustion, like Rick’s, outweighed everything else. I barely ate half the slice of roast before falling back to sleep.

  When I woke up, Rick was leaning over the couch, gently nudging my shoulder. I blinked several times before sitting up. “What’s going on?” I yawned.

  Rick smiled and sat beside me. He kissed my forehead lovingly. I looked into his eyes and returned the smile. “What’s that for?”

  “Nothing. You’re just adorable when you sleep.”

  “Ugh,” I cringed. “I don’t snore, do I?”

  “No.” He laughed. “You don’t snore.”