AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Queenie
Evangeline
The plane’s wheels hitting the pavement jars me awake. The cabin is still dark, and when I look out the window, all I see are low brick buildings shrouded in darkness. When I move my arms to put my seat back upright, I notice a blanket covering me. I can tell it’s not a regular airplane blanket because of the soft, beautifully woven fabric. Across from me, Darren is resting in his seat, his suit jacket draped over his chest. When our eyes meet, he looks away, adjusting his seat to gather his things.
I’m pretty sure Darren was the one to put the blanket on me. I want to say something but the words feel stuck in my throat, and the plane coming to a stop forces them back down.
Looking out the window one more time, I can see there’s a hint of the rising sun through the midnight-blue sky. Raising my arms above my head, I take a big stretch and find my body still stiff. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours, but everything protests when I unclip my seatbelt and stand up.
“Welcome to Virginia, Mrs. Walker,” the stewardess’s voice interrupts my thoughts as she smiles at me. It takes my brain a few moments to recognize the name. Fidgeting with the dice ring on my finger, I can’t help but chuckle a little remembering the look on Darren’s face when he realized he’d forgotten rings. The ring’s a tad too big for my finger, it slides easily around, allowing me to use it as distraction. I smile at her and grab my purse but notice Darren smirking at me. Embarrassed that he’d caught me reminiscing about the ring, I lift my middle finger to him.
The stewardess shows me to the door where we disembark, but when I look back to make sure Darren is behind me, I see he’s folding the blanket carefully before he leaves it on the seat.
A black sedan idles next to the plane. When we get to the car, Bailey opens the door for me, and I realize he must have disembarked before us. Darren slides in next to me, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes. I don’t think he got much sleep on the plane, not that the few short hours I got did any good for me. I almost feel worse, and though my body craves sleep, it craves caffeine even more.
“My luggage?” I ask, looking around to see who’s taking care of it, because I don’t even know where it was being stowed.
“Taken care of,” he says quietly, crossing his ankle over his thigh, leaning back into the soft leather seat.
Everything seems to run so stealthily, from Bailey embarking and disembarking without being seen, to the stewardess showing up to provide something I didn’t even know I wanted, to the waiting car we’re sitting in. My luggage seems to have been swallowed up in this magic trick where everything appears just when you need it.
The car pulls away from the plane and out of the airport. I look out the window as dawn crests the horizon, a bright orange that bleeds into the sky like a watercolor painting. Darren tips his head back, and a soft sigh escapes his lips as if he’s releasing all of the tension he’s been holding onto the whole plane ride. In his lap, he plays with the gold watch on his wrist in the same way I fidget with the dice on my finger.
The watch doesn’t even work. The large hand is stuck at twelve when I know it’s almost morning. I look back up at his face and notice his eyes are closed, long black lashes barely cresting the top of his cheeks, but he’s not sleeping because his thumb still brushes over the face of the watch.
I turn again to look out my window and see the outline of a city I've never been to as we cross the Potomac. I’m ashamed to admit to myself but I’ve looked up the Washington neighborhoods on the map so that I could see what the streets and the houses looked like, and now that I’m here, crossing over into Washington DC, my skin feels like tiny ants are crawling over me at the wrongness of the situation. I have the overwhelming urge to run, but I can’t – I can’t run, because I want to know – I want to see the house where Kerry Walker lived.
The car pulls through a sleepy neighborhood lined with maple trees that look as though they’ve caught fire – deep golds and reds on display like the rising sun. Rusty red-brick Federalist style houses appear, set far back from the sidewalks with deep, lush lawns. We stop in front of a large home with a white pillared front porch.
Bailey opens my door, and Darren meets me in front of the walkway, but he doesn’t go in right away. Instead, he stands there looking at the door as if he expects someone to open it and greet him.
I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind, and I shouldn’t care, but I try to lighten the mood by asking, “What? No staff to open the door for you?”
He snaps out of his trance and a smile spreads across his face. “I’m not as pretentious as you think, Queenie,” he replies while we walk up the steps.
“I doubt that,” I tease back as he unlocks the door and opens it while I trail behind him. “Queenie? As in what Emerson called his second wife?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t like it.”
He smiles. “All the better.”
Bailey walks in behind us, rolling our luggage into the foyer, and then he disappears before I can even say thank you.
“Are you thirsty?” he asks.
I hadn’t realized I was until he asked. “Yes.”
Darren grabs our luggage and walks past the stairs and towards the back of the house.
“My parents…” he pauses, taking a minute as he collects himself. “They always have water stocked in the fridge.”
I follow him further into the house, passing by artwork and framed family photos on the white walls, admiring the beautiful wainscoting, something that reminds me of pictures in an architectural magazine. There’s a formal living room, and across from it, there’s another room with a grand piano and fireplace. I wonder if any of them played, or if it was just for decoration.
The home looks old, its history carefully preserved but updated to fit modern living. I pass a large staircase with a light wood railing which I presume leads up to the bedrooms.
Darren enters the kitchen, where white-veined marble countertops and immaculately clean appliances look as though no one has ever cooked in this house. On the counter is an expensive looking espresso machine that looks like it belongs in a trendy coffee shop instead of someone's home. Darren looks at it with trepidation but then opens the refrigerator, grabs two water bottles, and hands one to me.
