9
Annemarie
Our tickets back were for Monday, but I should have known better than to think that would be enough to stop Bruce. He stalks up to the airline counter and demands a private flight back to New York. I wonder stupidly if I could just make a break for it, but that’s ridiculous. For better or worse, I need Bruce to get back to the States because I could never afford a ticket using my own meager funds.
The woman at the counter seems hesitant, but it’s clear from my boyfriend’s tone that he means business, and with a few clicks of the keyboard, she quickly changes her spiel. Then, Bruce is stalking back to me with two boarding passes. Pure rage continues to illuminate those fierce blue eyes, and it’s enough to make me cower when he shoves my ticket into my hand before wordlessly starting for security.
I’ve finally stopped crying by this point, but I’m miles away from having my emotions under control. I must look like an absolute mess, thanks to the fact that I’ve been nervously pulling at my hair since we left. But at least I’m able to keep my head high as we head through a metal detector and make our way to our gate. The silence between us is so cold that an ice cube would freeze, and I sit like a wooden board in the hard plastic seat of the lounge.
Bruce doesn’t look much better. He’s staring straight ahead, his brows furrowed in an intimidating scowl, and it seems like he’s making a point to not even glance in my direction.
Not that I blame him. How would I feel if I discovered I had a son or daughter out of the blue? Yet, he has to understand. I didn’t have choices back then, and for some reason, even now, I feel like my hands were tied. Yet, he won’t let me explain.
Then, my mind fills with fear. What is he planning? What is he going to do after we return? Will he kick me to the curb? Even worse, what if he tells City Girls what happened and gets the agency to fire me? Then what will I do to make money? Take Riley back to my parents and look for a part-time job? The more I think about it, the more impossible the situation seems, and that only makes me spin out further.
We’re stuck waiting at the gate for what feels like forever, the bustling of the airport drowned out by my regret, despair, and panic. I should have told Bruce about Riley the moment I first saw him in that bar, so why didn’t I? Why did I think it would lead to anything other than disaster? The guilt eats away at me and my mind whirls hopelessly with no answers. Bruce must think I’m a lying bitch, and the worst part is that I’m not sure I blame him.
But I can’t bring myself to speak up. Instead, I just sit there as stiff as a board, my eyes glassy and hot as I stare straight ahead. The announcements drone overhead unheard, and neither of us move a muscle. Then, one of the gate agents calls for Bruce over the intercom, and he springs up without a word. A small plane has pulled up to the gate, and it looks like we’re the only ones who are going to be boarding.
Slowly, we head down a tunnel and onto the tarmac where a private jet waits, its cylindrical body narrow and gleaming white. In another life, I’d be oohing and ahing with pleasure, but all I can do right now is to blink back tears.
Bruce hands our bags off to the single flight attendant as we climb up the shiny metal stairway and I follow silently. It’s surprisingly roomy inside, with four plush leather recliners that look more like La-Z-Boys than airline seats. There’s a vase of flowers on one side, securely fastened to a tabletop, as well as a narrow galley kitchen in the front and a door that leads to private chambers in the back. Bruce takes a seat by the windows and sits down, his handsome features dark and forbidding.
I hesitate for a moment, swallowing hard as I debate what to do, before squaring my shoulders and creeping into the seat across the aisle from him. He never looks my way. A fresh wave of tears threatens to spill out of my eyes, but I somehow fend it off, not wanting to cry in front of the stewardess, who’s now approaching with a bottle of champagne in hand. Good, I think despairingly. I need all the alcohol I can get.
The flight crew does their takeoff preparations, and the next thing I know, we’re racing down the runway and then lifting into the air. Outside, the Icelandic landscape quickly shrinks into the distance before disappearing entirely. All hopes of resolving this in any kind of reasonable manner dims, and I feel completely helpless as we soar through the sky.