Page 61 of Old Flames

See invoice attached.

Al Gordon

Your Happy Handy Helper

22

This is the final boarding call for passenger July L. Jones. Please proceed immediately to Gate 7G. The doors will close in approximately five minutes. Thank you.

They’d been about to board their flight when she’d realized her laptop was missing. “The coffee shop!” she cried. “I must have left it there.” They’d stopped at the first place they encountered after clearing TSA. They checked emails over coffee, killing an hour before heading to their gate. “I’m going back for it,” she said. “I don’t have a choice. My entire life is on that laptop—the manuscript, edits, everything!”

Vicky pointed out, rightly, that everything would be backed up to the cloud and easily retrievable. Jules wouldn’t hear of it. “I can’t leave it behind! I’d never sleep tonight.”

“If someone turns it into lost and found, the airport will ship it to you,” Ayesha said.

“That’s a big IF,” Jules said.

“Not really,” Vicky said. “I left a tablet at LaGuardia and—”

“I’ll be just a sec!” Jules said, interrupting.

“That’s so far away! You’ll never make it back in time,” Ayesha said.

Jules had to try. She grabbed her carry-on case by the handle and made a run for it, ditching Ayesha and Vicky and with them any real chance of ever catching that flight. The coffee shop had a ’50s diner vibe. The staff wore white aprons over red-and-white-striped uniforms. Their waitress greeted her with a wide grin. “Oh, hey there! Figured you’d be back!” She pointed out the manager who’d locked the computer away for safekeeping. He asked for a minute and returned in fifteen.

Laptop finally secured, Jules raced through Gates 7A, 7B, 7C, nearly tripping over her feet at 7D, then straight through 7E and 7F . . . Gate closed.

Fuck!

“Too late,” the gate agent said flatly. “Let’s find you a seat on another flight. Give me a minute. The system is slow.”

The waiting area was empty. Earlier, the space had been crammed with all the usual suspects—chatty families, drowsy solo travelers, disoriented seniors, and disaffected teens. Jules, Vicky, and Ayesha, with a row of seats to themselves, had prepared for a crash landing into the world they’d left behind. Ayesha called her husband and made plans for dinner. Vicky searched flights on her iPad, scheduling her next trip. She and Matty would link up soon enough, but her immediate plan was to visit her grandmother in Arizona. Jules sat between them with no one to call, no plans to make, and nothing to do except replay the last seventy-two hours in her mind. She was cold, cranky, and couldn’t stop thinking of Leo. She hadn’t met his eyes when they last said goodbye in the lobby among group hugs, group photos, and promises to keep in touch. She simply couldn’t. Every emotion he evoked in her was expressed in its purest, most intense, form, which was terrifying. That was something she’d have to examine. And she was exhausted. How Vicky and Ayesha kept going was a mystery. They’d stayed up past 3 a.m., huddled in Ayesha’s room, to catch Aurora on her own terms. It didn’t work. No one knocked, and Jules lost the final opportunity to slip out to the garden. At dawn, as they sped away from The Aurora, Jules fought back tears. She’d screwed up, turned left when all signs had pointed right. There was nothing to do but go home, draw a bath, and cry about it. Oh, right, her apartment was uninhabitable! She was homeless for the week.

Jules had snuggled into her hoodie and dozed off, hands clenched, jaw tight. Vicky gently shook her awake when it was time to board. She got up and gathered her things as dread churned in her stomach. By the time she’d realized her computer was missing, it would be a lie to say her mind wasn’t made up.

Now her phone buzzed in her pocket with calls and texts from Ayesha and Vicky. She sent them a quick, upbeat message to calm them down.

Jules: Found it!

Vicky: Great! But you missed your flight!!!!!

Jules: I’ll catch the next one.

Ayesha: Text us your flight details.

Jules: Yes, Mom.

Catching the next flight was a mathematical impossibility.

“We don’t have anything until morning,” the attendant said, “and that’s on standby status.”

“Don’t love that,” Jules said.

“Spring break,” the attendant said by way of explanation. “We’re booked solid through Tuesday. The best-case scenario is Wednesday at noon.”

“How’s Monday looking?”

“A week from today? Wide-open.”