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I settle onto a bench, cross my legs, and wait. Sally will help me––she's so nice! If she buys me a ticket home I'll pay her back as soon as possible. I'll sell whatever I own to do it. Or maybe she knows somebody in Rome I can stay with until the flights get cheaper.
Half an hour goes by. I check my phone, frowning.Where is she?
Getting nervous, I send her a text.
No response.
After another hour I call her. She doesn't pick up.
It's now 6 in the morning. My jetlag is off the charts––I'm ready for bed. If I wasn't in such a panic I'd pass out on the bench. Instead, I return to the employee lounge,putting my forehead to the glass and squinting. No sign of Drew or Sally.
The ball in my guts grows.
Did sheleavewithout coming to talk to me? Why would she do that? I don't know if she was supposed to work the same flight as me next, that stuff changes so much. It's possible she's not in Rome anymore and she didn't even give me a heads up.
Dejected, I fumble in my pocket. My phone is dying, do I have a charger on me? My fingers brush something hard––I pull it out. My heart thuds.
It's the business card Marco gave me.
I stare at the card, my mind racing. My options are limited and my resources are almost nonexistent. Maybe Marco can help me. I take a deep breath and make the call.
My heart nearly pounds out of my chest waiting for him to answer, and nearly explodes when he finally does.
"Hello?" His voice is groggy, as if he just woke up.
"Marco, it's Filia. From the plane."
There's a short pause before he responds. "What's going on?"
Licking my lips, I consider how to begin. I go right for it, too tired to think straight. "I got fired from my job and I can't afford a flight home. I don't know what to do."
"I see. Where are you right now?"
His tone is soft but demanding.
"I'm at the airport in Rome, I never left."
"Okay. I'll come pick you up."
I'm taken aback. "What? Really?"
"Yes. I'll be there in half an hour."
I can't believe it. Marco, a complete stranger, is willing to help me out. I don't know what he wants in return, but at this point, I'm willing to do anything.
Half an hour later I'm waiting outside by the curb. It's busy as people arrive from all around the world, or are dropped off to rush toward their gate. I realize I don't know what Marco's car looks like. I feel silly for not asking.
Suddenly, a sleek black car pulls up in front of me. Marco steps out and greets me with a warm smile.
"Get in," he says, motioning to the passenger seat.
I slide into his car, noticing how clean and modern it is. It must be new. It still has that new car smell, which is nice but not quite as amazing as the smell of Marco as he slides in and sits beside me. His hand lingers on the gear stick between us for a moment.
"So, do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks quietly.
I glance down at Marco’s hand, his fingers splayed wide, just an inch from my thigh. His skin looks soft and I have the urge to reach out and touch him, to gently lay my hand over his. But that would be ridiculous. I don’t even know him, not really.
I take a deep breath and launch into my story as Marco shifts into gear and we smoothly leave the curb.
