“Oh.” she nodded, absorbing it. “Understood. Would you like me to call for a wheelchair?”
“No.” I adjusted Aurora’s weight then started walking. “I got her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lavender fell into step on my left, matching my pace though her legs were way shorter.
“I need you to handle her luggage,” I commanded.
“Yes, sir. I already coordinated with baggage claim. Ms. Rodriguez has… multiple items.”
“Multiple, huh?” I repeated. “How many?”
Lavender cleared her throat. “Thirteen checked bags. Twenty-six garment boxes. Five hat cases. One… pet carrier.”
I paused mid-stride. “Pet carrier?”
“Yes, sir.” Lavender flipped a page. “The dog’s name isChewy. Breed listed as—” she squints “—‘Pomeranian poodle mix’.”
I stared forward. I forgot about the fucking rat.
Lavender hesitated, then offered, in her most helpful tone, “I packed an extra lint roller.”
I looked at her and I couldn’t tell if she’s joking or dead serious. With Lavender, it could go either way.
“Mr. Sinclair, would you like me to… take her?”
“You?” I glanced at her little arms. “With love, Lav—no. This may be too much for you to handle.”
She nodded quickly. “Correct. Yes. That’s—yeah. No. That makes sense.”
We reached the baggage claim entrance and the automatic doors slid open.
Getting the bags was a slow, humiliating movie.
Aurora was awake enough to blink now, but not awake enough to hold herself up. I left her draped across a chair.
Lavender stood beside the carousel with her clipboard, counting bags as the attendant slid them into the cart.
“Nine… ten… eleven…” she murmurs.
I rub my forehead. “Why does one person need thirteen bags?”
Aurora lifted her head slightly. “Because I’m just a girl.”
No way that little concoction on the plane had her acting like this.
Lavender whispered to me, “She’s still drowsy, sir.”
“I can see that.”
“Should we offer her water?”
“You can try, but she’ll decline,” I said. “Make sure some are in the car, anyway.”
She noted that on her clipboard.
Finally, the pet carrier gets wheeled out. I heard the dog before I saw it.
