Her tears turn to hysterical sobs, and she relents, pouring her grief into my neck and chest.
Clare seems lost for words for a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she finally says, patting my shoulder awkwardly.
I glance at her hand on me. “Remove your hand from my shoulder. We’re not friends. You’re just a girl from the airplane who had too much to drink and decided to make wild accusations.”
The officer clears his throat as we approach his office. “Unfortunately, because I removed you from the plane, I have to write up a report and will need to investigate. This will all go smoothly if we can remain calm, and all of you can be on your way shortly.”
* * *
It isn’t the least bit short or quick. And remaining calm isn’t easy, either.
One officer gathers Clare’s statement while Amelia is kept with me in a separate room. There are no windows to the outside, only a one-way mirror.
I’m not a terrorist.
I didn’t kidnap my daughter.
This is absurd.
After the officer confirms that Amelia is legally in my custody, I’m told I can leave. He brings my backpack and carry-on into the room, which apparently has been searched without my permission.
I rezip the compartments. “Not even an apology.” I’m disgusted by their treatment and the baseless accusations.
“You can file a complaint with—”
“Oh, I plan to, along with suing your asses,” I say. I slide the knapsack over my shoulder and lift Amelia into my arms. “It’s time to go home, kid.”
I lift the telescoping handle and drag the carry-on behind me.
Amelia is back to being silent. How could I expect anything else after my outburst earlier in the airport? I had tried so damn hard to keep my shit together, but suddenly, having a kid thrust onto you is heavy as hell. And I’m not talking about the weight of carrying her.
We’re escorted out of the back rooms and into the main area of the airport. We don’t have any additional luggage, so I grab my phone from my pocket and call my driver, Douglas, letting him know that we’re ready.
He’s probably waiting in the nearest cell phone lot to pull up and pick us up. He’s been instructed to purchase a specialty car seat for a five-year-old girl. Douglas has kids of his own, so I expect he knows what type of car seat to purchase, whereas I’m clueless. There are too many out there to figure out which one is the right one to buy.
I hang up the call, shove my phone into my pocket and catch sight of Clare heading for the same exit.
“You again,” I seethe.
Her eyes are bright and heavy, the color of seafoam, a bluish green. “I’m sorry,” Clare says, not that it helps.
“It’s too late for your apology.” I remove my coat, wrapping it around Amelia as I carry her outside. It’s the best I can do on such short notice. The weather in Chicago is warm enough for early October that I didn’t think twice about bringing a jacket. But now it’s late at night, and the air matches my mood—chilly.
I shuffle the backpack on again and keep Amelia nestled up against my chest. Between our body heat and the blazer, she’s at least warm enough not to shiver. Thankfully, it’s not the middle of winter yet.
Clare walks outside with me. “Listen, I really am sorry about that back there.”
“I get it. You were looking out formydaughter.”
“Yes,” Clare says. “She didn’t seem like she was comfortable with you. It never crossed my mind that it might be because of … what happened.” She’s tiptoeing around the words, since I’m holding Amelia in my arms. “I am so sorry, sir. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you. I swear I was just looking out for her best interests. You hear about children being kidnapped or trafficked, and I just wanted to help.”
“Apology not accepted. You tried to have me arrested,Airplane Girl. What did I do to warrant your baseless accusations?”
Clare sighs heavily. “Nothing. I’m the one to blame. It’s my fault.”
“Yes, it is your fault,” I say, pinning her with my stare. “And I thought, wow, this girl really knows how to interact with kids. Shame on me for falling for your ‘poor me, I’m going to be homeless’ speech.”
“My what?”