“We might miss the flight.”
Tom nods, then lifts my hands to his lips, blowing warmth onto them. If the wink unsettled me, the brief brush of his mouth against my fingers nearly knocks me sideways.
“We probably will. Which seems about right, though, doesn’t it? Why would things start going right for us now?”
I study him for a moment. “Why aren’t you freaking out?”
“Oh, I am,” he says with a small smile. “I’m very much freaking out that we’re going to die here, buried in the snow, your butt frozen to that guardrail in your ugly underwear. That’d be a nice bit of karma, wouldn’t it? Us buried side by side after all?”
I know he’s trying to lighten the mood for my sake, and yesterday, I might have let him. But that was before I saw the ring.
“Tom. Why aren’t you freaking out?” I ask softly. “Your briefcase is in that truck.”
His lips part in surprise, and I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. I know he hears what I’m not saying.
Your ring was in that trunk. Soon to be Lolo’s ring.
His eyes close. “How long have you known?”
“Not long. Last night. When you showered, I snooped. Saw the ring.”
His eyes open again, and there are about a dozen emotions swirling in his gaze, but I can’t seem to identify a single one of them.
My hands are still pressed between his palms, and I slowly pull them away, then shove my hands in my pockets. The relative warmth is a poor substitute for Tom’s palms.
“Can I ask you something?”
There’s a wary beat of silence. “Sure.”
“Why isn’t it Evelyn’s ring?” I ask.
Tom inhales, then crosses his arms, putting his hands in his armpits. He leans forward, staring at his shoes.
“Never mind,” I say quickly. “Not my business—”
Don’t want to know.
“It didn’t feel right,” he says, his toe tapping against the wood stake of the guardrail.
“Really?” I ask softly. “Because I always thought it was a family tradition. One that was sort of important to you.”
He exhales. “Right. Well. Actually, on the note of family traditions, there’s something—”
The crunch of tires on snow captures my attention, and before Tom can finish his sentence, I tap his shoulder repeatedly in excitement. “Oh my God, shut up before you jinx the one good thing to happen to us. Tom. It’s a car.”
THIRTY-TWO
TOM
December 24, 9:15 a.m.
We miss our flight.
And let’s just say, this airport is not equipped with options. If a tumbleweed came cruising down the runway, I suspect it would qualify as a traffic jam at Eugene Terrien Regional Airport.
And you know what? I can’t even muster the energy to be surprised by the turn of events.
Katherine, on the other hand, digs deep and finds not only surprise but outrage, which she directs at the elderly airport employee.
“You don’t understand,” Katherine explains to the sweet, if befuddled, woman. “We have to get to Chicago. This is life or death.”
The woman’s eyes go wide, and she shoots me an alarmed look. I shake my head to reassure her. No.
The older woman relaxes slightly and then turns to Katherine with an admirably patient smile. “I understand this is difficult, dear. It being Christmas Eve and all. But we’ve only got the one to Chicago each day, and it left thirty minutes ago.”
Katherine bangs her fist on the counter. “Unacceptable.”
“Alright,” I murmur, touching Katherine’s arm. “Let’s not take out our troubles on . . .” My gaze drops to the name tag. “June.”
“Well, June isn’t being solution oriented,” Katherine says with a mutinous scowl.
“What do you want her to do?” I ask. “Arrange for a hot-air balloon?”
“Yes! See, now there’s some solid problem-solving!” Katherine looks at June. “You have a hot-air balloon?”
“Katherine,” I say, keeping my tone mild. “You’ve got to get a grip.”
“But we were so close,” she says, her voice sounding as desperate and frustrated as I feel.
Were we, though? We have no passports, no driver’s licenses, no credit cards. Even if we’d made it to the airport in time, being allowed on the plane would have been a long shot.
Katherine rubs her forehead as Nat King Cole croons in the background about being home for Christmas. He’s basically mocking us at this point.
June is not unsympathetic to our plight because she leans across the counter, nudging a bowl of peppermints our way with a kind expression. “Listen, loves. I know it’s hard to be away from family at Christmas, but at least you have each other, and that’s something.”
“No, actually, we don’t,” Katherine says, never ceasing her forehead rubbing, which seems to have more to do with weary resignation than the concussion. “Not anymore.”
There it is again. That tight feeling in my chest has been present more often than not in the past twenty-four hours.
“Hey,” I tell Katherine quietly. “Listen. We’ll figure something out.”
“Like what, Tom?” Her head snaps up, her eyes blazing with temper and something else. “What will we figure out? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not a whole lot going on at this hopscotch course they call an airport.”
I shoot June a silent apology, but the older lady bats it away. “Holidays are stressful. You know, if you two have nowhere to go, I’m due over at my son and daughter-in-law’s. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind squeezing in two extra spots at the table . . .”
“We appreciate that,” I say before Katherine’s Grinch side comes back out. “But we couldn’t possibly intrude on your family. And if you need to get going, we’ll understand completely.”
Katherine makes a grumbling noise but thankfully keeps her mouth shut.
“Well, I do need to be heading out. I have to stop by home and pick up my famous cheese ball.” She pulls on her coat and hoists a huge poinsettia into her arms as she frowns at us. “You’re sure you won’t come?”
“Positive. But thank you.”
She shakes her head. “Well. Okay. The airport stays open twenty-four seven. There’s a vending machine, and the security guard if you need anything.”
“Yes, we need something. An airplane—”
I put a hand over Katherine’s mouth and smile at June. “You’ve been very helpful.” Katherine bites my finger, and I push my palm more firmly. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you as well, dears. I know it seems like the pits now, but trust me, it’s always the things that don’t go according to plan that you end up remembering!”
Isn’t that the truth, I think with a sideways look at Katherine.
“Hey, June?” Katherine calls after the departing woman. “Is it okay if we use the phone?”
“Of course! Just be sure to set it back to voicemail after. Big blue button.”
“Will do. Merry Christmas,” Katherine says.
I nudge her with my shoulder. “Look at you, Scrooge! Showing some personal growth and Christmas spirit.”
“Yeah, I’m practically Mrs. Claus,” she grumbles, pulling the phone off the desk and up onto the counter.
“Who are you calling?”