Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (95 page)

After I waved good-bye to my father and we’d pulled away from the curb, I left the problems of home behind me. Being in a limo would normally have been exciting, but the experience didn’t fully resonate because my thoughts were already in Washington D.C. with Russ. At home I didn’t wear the spiral ring he’d given me, because my parents would question it, but now I felt comfortable taking it out of my bag and slipping it onto my finger. I tilted my hand underneath the sunlight coming through the limo window, and smiled at the way the gem stone glistened. Russ’s words about the spirals echoed in my memory:
symbolizing our interlocking lives and our never-ending love.
Our interlocking lives and never-ending love. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

The plan was that I would be flying from Milwaukee to a second airport, and from there taking a connecting flight. Once I’d landed in D.C., I’d be escorted by a PG official, but in the meantime, I was on my own. My Dad had said that they'd apologized for the flight arrangements. Ideally they'd have given me a nonstop flight, but since it was so last minute this was the best they could do. I didn't care. As long as I made it in time for the Bash, that was the important thing.

The first flight was uneventful. It wasn’t until I got to the second airport that things fell apart. Once I disembarked, I pulled out my boarding pass to see the time difference between flights. Two hours. Plenty of time to find my gate, and once I was there I could grab something to eat. The next flight would be shorter. And then I’d be on my way to Russ.

That was the plan anyway.

When I got off the plane, I found an open seat where I could watch the monitor above the desk to be sure my D.C. flight was still listed as being on time. And it was on time, right until it wasn't.

“Attention passengers of Flight 1709,” a woman's voice said over the loudspeaker. I looked up to see a perky young woman talking into a microphone behind the counter. “Due to extreme weather conditions, all flights have been cancelled. Your luggage can be picked up on carousel four.”

All around me other passengers grumbled and muttered profanities. I think I had my mouth open for about three minutes because I was totally in shock. Weather conditions? How could that be? All of us collectively wondered what in the world she was talking about. The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows told us it was gorgeous outside. Sunny with a light breeze. At home the weather had been the same and I’d heard birds chirping while I got a whiff of my neighbor’s freshly mown grass. It was the kind of day where flowers smiled while woodland animals helped a Disney princess dress for the ball. It was definitely not the kind of day where a flight would be cancelled because of extreme weather conditions. Please. Around me people gathered up their things and began to line up at the counter to find out their options. All of us had somewhere we wanted to be and it wasn’t here.

As the line inched forward people relayed information to the others in line saying that the reason for the cancellation had nothing to do with the weather where we were, and everything to do with the weather in the flight path. Dangerous wind currents or some crap like that. If it made us feel any better, we were told that all of the flights in the airport, not just ours, had been cancelled. It didn't make me feel any better.

When I got within earshot of the desk, I heard each person making a case for getting on the next possible flight. One man was going to his brother's wedding, another guy would be seeing his girlfriend for the first time in months, and an elderly woman was taking her little granddaughter to see a doctor, a specialist. The little girl, cute as a button, but obviously thin and sick, with a scarf over her head, had a rare form of cancer. "The doctor fit us in," the grandmother wailed, wiping away tears with a tissue. "He usually has a three month wait for an appointment, but he worked us into his schedule because her case is so serious. We can’t miss our appointment." The airline representatives (now there were two behind the desk) tapped on their keyboards, looking for options. For the grandmother I think they made a special exception because I saw the employee lean over the counter and whisper something the rest of us couldn't hear.

I had a bad feeling that my excuse—a student trip to D.C.—wasn't going to cut it. Bit by bit the line moved forward. Each person dragged their bags or moved them ahead with a shove of their foot. I had my backpack slung over my shoulder. I held it there until my muscles ached and I was forced to put it on the floor.

When it was my turn at the counter, the woman didn’t even look up. Her head was tipped down so far her chin seemed to be pinning down the jaunty red scarf looped around her neck. “Flight 1709?”

“Yes,” I said, putting my boarding pass on the ledge. “I need to get on the next available flight. It’s really important.”

She still didn’t meet my gaze, but her eyes crinkled in amusement. I had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. She tapped at the keyboard, “The next available flight is on Sunday at two o’clock.”

“Sunday at two o’clock?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. “No way.”

She looked up. “That’s two o’clock in the afternoon. You’re arrival time will be 3:57.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I said putting both hands flat on the counter and leaning forward. “I can’t fly on Sunday. I have to be in Washington D.C. as soon as possible.”

“Believe me, I do understand,” she said gently. “All of these people have to be there as soon as possible.” She gestured to the line behind me, which snaked back as far as I could see. “But you have to understand that we only have so many flights. We’re working to get everyone to their destinations as soon as possible. If you want, I can refund your money and you can make other arrangements.” Her frustration and weariness rolled off her in waves. I knew she was having a bad day, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t having such a great time myself.

“I don’t want a refund. I want a flight out of here.” Why did other people get what they wanted while I had to struggle for everything? I wanted to cry but I wasn’t going to. For years I’d been Nadia the one who never protested, the girl who just went along with what other people wanted, but today I was pulling out a reserve of strength I didn’t even know I had. Love could do that to a person. “I understand that you have to accommodate everyone but you seem to be able to make exceptions. How come you found a way for that little girl and her grandmother to get to Washington D.C. today?”

She looked up now and I saw that the red scarf around her neck was knotted in the front. She leaned forward and whispered. “Yes, we made an exception for that woman, but it was a matter of life and death.” Her eyebrows narrowed in irritation. “A child’s life.”

“Well I’m legally a child, and my getting to Washington D.C. is a matter of life and death too,” I said. “So I need for you to make an exception for me too.”

Russ

The Praetorian Guard decided that I needed to get together one on one with Layla Bernstein one more time and since she had a gap in her schedule this morning and I was already up, Dr. Wentworth said I could go right from the hospital to the White House. “Carly’s going to wonder what happened to me,” I said.

“Don’t worry about Carly.” Dr. Wentworth guided me down the hallway with her hand against my back. “I’ll fill her in later this morning.”

She said it so nonchalantly it was clear she was clueless about how angry Carly would be when she discovered they’d taken me somewhere without her. I wouldn’t want to be Dr. Wentworth during that conversation. At my house, Carly’s wrath was legend.

“I’m not sure why I have to get together with Layla again,” I said. “I mean, we’ve already talked and she thinks we met in Miami.”

“The Guard feels it’s important to cement your relationship.”

"There's really no relationship," I told Dr. Wentworth, as we approached the elevators that would take me topside. "I'm just her date for the evening of the Bash. We did dance lessons back home, so that’s covered, and I know how to make small talk. I really don’t get why we’re doing this.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to do it?”

“Well, of course I’ll do it,” I said. “I just don’t think it’s completely necessary.”

“I know, Russ, and I agree,” she said. "But it's really not up to me. If it makes you feel any better, we all have to do things we don't want to do for the benefit of the greater good.”

“It's not that I don't want to get together with Layla,” I said. "I just don't think it's the best use of my time.” I was tired too, something I hated to admit. I'd just come from doing a healing session at the hospital and it had worn me out. Not that it wasn't worth it to save the president, but it did come at a personal cost.

“I think you can spare a few hours,” she said dryly, pressing the button for the elevator. "You know, a lot of guys your age wouldn't find spending time with Layla to be such a hardship.”

"It's not a hardship. It’s just…”

“What?” The elevator doors opened; she held it with one hand.

“The last time we got together she was really pushy.”

“What do you mean? How so?”

I was starting to regret even mentioning this. “I mean physically pushy.”

“She pushed you? Like an attack?”

“No, the opposite.” How to put this? “She was encroaching on my private space.”

“Like making moves on you?” Dr. Wentworth’s eyebrows raised in amusement.

I nodded. “I think I’m going to have to tell her I have a girlfriend.”

Dr. Wentworth barked out a laugh and patted my arm. “Oh Russ, you’ve totally made my day.”

She was still chuckling as the elevator doors closed and I dreaded the thought that she’d be sharing this story with the rest of the staff. I wished I’d had the chance to explain that it wasn’t that I couldn’t handle Layla’s advances. I could. It’s just that I didn’t need her stuck barnacle-like to my front while I was trying to scope out a banquet hall looking for Associates. Not only that, but I wasn’t attracted to her that way, although I had a feeling that under certain circumstances my body might respond as if I were attracted to her that way, which could be really embarrassing.

I tried thinking about things that were not sex all the way to the White House and even while waiting in the same sitting room that Mallory, Jameson, and I had been in the last time I’d been there. I sat opposite the oil painting of the gray-haired woman in a bonnet, the one who’d stared down disapprovingly at Jameson. She didn’t look like someone who’d ever had sex or took much pleasure in anything, for that matter. Yes, as long as I had the image of that old woman in my mind I’d be in complete control.

When Layla walked in, I was ready to fight off her advances, but I shouldn’t have worried, because from the look on her face, she wasn’t interested in romance. Barely through the door, she skipped a traditional greeting and said, “We need to talk.”

I stood up. “Okay, what about?”

“Not here.” She beckoned with one finger and turned around.

I obediently followed. “Are you planning on telling me where we’re going?” I asked. She was a tall girl who took long strides, and I was right on her heels. She moved at such a fast clip that the purse hanging off her shoulder swung as she walked.

“Breakfast.” She shot this word over her shoulder and kept going.

We went into an empty dining room with yellow walls, a blue and yellow rug, and a large chandelier. Layla said, “This is the Family Dining Room,” and kept going. She pushed through a swinging door and I followed her into a long narrow work area comprised of white walls, cabinets, fluorescent lights, and chrome counters. I felt the electricity in the walls powering industrial sized refrigerators and other appliances. There was a lot of power in this room, and not the presidential kind. Two women dressed in white shirts stopped talking as we walked in. One was folding napkins, the other putting away a rack of glasses. “Good morning, Miss Layla,” they said in unison.

“Good morning,” she said. “My friend and I are going to be eating here for the next hour or so and we’d like some privacy please.” She pointed to a chrome counter fronted by three red vinyl covered stools. The same style as those in Rosie’s Diner back in Edgewood.

“We’ll be out of here in a second,” the woman said, and true to her word, they finished up what they were doing and left almost immediately.

As if on cue, an elevator door opened on the other side and a man in a bow tie, white shirt, black jacket and trousers, came out and placed a tray of food on the counter in front of us. “Good morning.” He nodded to each of us, then raised the covers of the plates revealing omelets and fresh fruit. Besides the food, he’d also brought each of us a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, and a glass of orange juice. The coffee smell was strong, like walking into Starbucks in the morning. “Can I get you anything else, Miss?” he asked cheerily.

“No, this will do fine,” she said, depositing her purse on the counter next to her plate. “Thanks.”

When we were completely alone, Layla said, “You’re probably wondering why we aren’t eating in the dining room.” She spooned some sugar into her coffee and stirred before looking up to meet my eyes.

“Well no, this is rather…” I looked at the open garbage can next to me. On the top of the heap were coffee grounds and orange peels. A nearby counter held an open notebook with a list like someone had been taking inventory of the contents of the refrigerator. “…cozy?”

She laughed. “Nice try. This is the Butler’s Pantry. I wanted to go someplace where we wouldn’t be overheard. This is as good as it gets. We probably have about an hour before they’ll need this space.”

“Okay.” I took a sip of my orange juice. “You were saying we needed to talk.”

“Yes we do, Russ Becker. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

I tried to read her face. Clearly she wasn’t happy with me which was a huge change. The last time I’d seen her she’d looked at me like she’d been waiting her whole life for a caramel sundae and I was a perfect caramel sundae. “Okay. What do you want to know?” Despite my curiosity I was suddenly really hungry. I dug into the omelet, watching as she pulled a book out of her purse.