Within seconds the woman was back with a plastic cup filled with ice water and a napkin. Reaching for the drink, Natalie thanked the attendant and turned to Dexter. “It was my wish and you granted it? So you are my fairy godfather?”
He took the napkin dangling from her fingertips, ran the soft white paper over his palm, before placing it on the armrest between them. “I’m too young to be your father. Go ahead and drink your water. As for the rest, it’s a long flight and many hours before we reach our destination.” He leaned back.
From Natalie’s view, she caught Dexter Smithers’s profile—his protruding brow, high cheekbones, and chiseled jaw as well as the concentration in his stare. The way the muscles in his neck and cheeks flexed as if he were clenching his teeth, as if he were mulling over some serious matter that required his utmost concentration. Despite his lighter complexion and coloring, the look was hauntingly familiar, a focused expression she’d witnessed many times.
After she took a swallow of her water, the plane began to move. She turned his way. Dexter’s eyes were open, yet she had the feeling he wasn’t seeing what was visible—the back of the seats in front of them, the small screen, and pocket of traveling supplies reserved for overseas flights.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
He turned her way. With the cabin lights now dimmed, his eyes were darker than before, more aqua blue, the shade that grows darker in the ocean’s depths. “I was thinking about what you said. You mentioned history.”
“Yes, I’ve always found European history interesting. American, not so much.”
“So things that happened in your own country, even closer to home, don’t interest you?”
Natalie shrugged. “Not as much as the royals and dynasties of the past.”
“I’ve found the old adage to be true.”
“Which one is that?”
“Those who don’t learn from history are destined to repeat it.”
Chapter Three
Neither comprehension nor learning can take place in an atmosphere of anxiety.
~ Rose Kennedy
Traveling east as Natalie was doing, away from the sun and into the future, caused the loss of time. Hours disappeared with each mile in the figurative rearview mirror and with each kilometer through the windshield. Different units of measurement couldn’t explain the phenomenon. The time in Boston and Munich was never the same. Hours were forever lost, fading into obscurity like the faint cloud of exhaust left in the plane’s wake.
Caught within the confines of her first-class cabin, in seat 2A, time accelerated. Nat’s body may only have aged six hours, yet the clock ticked faster, progressing twelve hours. As she left Boston behind, reality, too, slipped away.
Natalie watched what happened around her, touched, tasted, and even smelled it. She was never alone. She had help, ever-present, omnipresent assistance. With each tick of that clock, Dexter became more attentive as her comprehension lessened. His hand covered hers reassuringly. He helped her order her meals, even ordering wine.
Natalie wasn’t old enough to drink, not legally, in the United States. That didn’t mean she never had. She’d had the occasional glass of wine at family dinners and parties. She’d attended parties at school. Yes, even Harvard had those kinds of parties.
Even so, she’d never over-imbibed. She’d seen friends stumble and slur their words. She’d helped some back to their apartment and put them to bed. She’d even assisted with the obligatory ponytail hold. Yet she’d never been the one who lost time, never been the one to wake and ask what she’d done. After all, while her parents were complacent about certain things, other things were unforgivable.
An unforgivable sin was impairing appearance. There were always people watching. A person was never completely alone. That was true of fellow students with phones that could instantly transmit a picture over social networks reaching hundreds, thousands, or more people. That was also true of fake-news organizations that would jump on the story depicting the youngest daughter of a renowned businessman behaving poorly in public. It was even true in her own home. The cameras were for security, but surveillance never stopped.
It always was. Natalie’s mother accepted it. Her siblings had done their part to fight it, but it continued. Like the rising and setting of the sun, it was beyond her reach.
Why fight what you cannot change?
That was something her mother told her more than once, something Natalie had taken to heart. It was what it was—learn to accept it. Perhaps it’s the reason she accepted her failure at Harvard. Could she have changed it?
As they approached Munich, nearly seven hours after leaving Boston, Natalie couldn’t answer that question. It wasn’t the only question she was incapable of answering. Simple equations, her favorite color, the name of her first pet…
Basically, everything was slightly beyond her comprehension and thoroughly beyond her articulation. All of the information was just out of reach…as if she were watching instead of participating.
After helping her back to their seats from the bathroom, Dexter reached for her boots from under the seat ahead of them. “Nat, it’s time to get ready to disembark.”
The boots sitting in her lap were hers; she recognized them. Why were they in her lap?
“I-I…”
He shook his head disapprovingly. “Dear, don’t tell me that little bit of wine still has you this confused even after your rest?”
Dear? Rest?
Her eyes narrowed. “I-I don’t know you.” The words were thick and her tongue sticky.
“Sir, is everything all right?”
It was the woman in blue. Maybe she could help Natalie understand. Yet before Natalie could speak, Dexter spoke. Nat couldn’t make out their words though their lips were moving. The woman smiled and nodded. Nat turned to Dexter; he was doing the same.
The woman leaned down to Natalie. “Congratulations. You’re a lucky woman. I’d be celebrating too.”
Natalie’s head shook but words didn’t form. Not at the necessary rate for conversation. One person spoke and then the other. Long pauses made for uncomfortable silence.
Finally, when Dexter squeezed her hand, Natalie thought to smile—wordless communication. It worked. The woman left.
Wait, was that what she wanted?
“Let me help you,” Dexter said, lifting her legs over the center armrest until both of her bootie-covered feet were in his lap. Tenderly, he removed each paper covering, the ones provided by the airlines, and slipped each foot into her black boots. Once they were zipped, he gently placed her feet back upon the floor.
“Thank you,” she managed, “…but why?”
“Let me get your bag in case you want to freshen up.”
She remembered his blue-green eyes, long legs, and smile. She liked it when the smile reached his eyes. Why did that matter?
Dexter opened her messenger bag, the one she always used for traveling, and ruffled inside. She wanted to stop him, to remind him about privacy, yet the connection was still missing. The words were in her head but they wouldn’t move to her tongue.