Page 14 of Dearly Departed

When we get to the row with my bag in it, I yank it into my hands. “Just let me⁠—”

Luckily, Jacob doesn’t need a detailed explanation of my plan. He stows his bag under the seat, then follows me to the plane’s bedroom. He stays at my side, keeping his hand comfortingly on my arm while I screw the tops on the jars of nuts shut tight and toss them into my bag. It’s my favorite bag of all the ones I’ve ever owned, and I’m offended all over again that an Hermès travel bag—a Kelly Voyage!—that Jacob got for me after a gift because he loved his travel bag so much should be involved in this.

Neither of us deserves this.

I might deserve some of it, a little, but the bag deserves nothing but the best.

The bags of pecan-and-almond granola go in, too. Two bottles of water, which is all that was in the bedroom. I feel like the honeymoon version of me is controlling my hands. The honeymoon version of Jacob might laugh at her for putting plane snacks into her bag, but he wouldn’t really mind, and he’d eat them with honeymoon-me in our bed at our honeymoon resort.

At least honeymoon-me is relatively collected. Freaking out wouldn’t help, so it’s a good thing she can keep my hands from trembling too badly and keep my eyes dry.

As soon as I’m finished, he takes my hand. Jacob gestures to the row I was sitting in. We’re in front of our seats when the plane changes directions and the upward shift sends us tumbling backward. Jacob catches me with an arm around my waist as if the plush leather seats can’t be trusted to cushion me.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” My voice shakes. “Why is he going up?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob says. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.” I give him a perky nod to convince him. Jacob drops a kiss to the top of my head and keeps his arm around me until my seatbelt is buckled. Then he stands, the calm in his expression radiating through his body. He gets our two steak knives first, tucks them into the pocket on the side of his seat, and moves on to the compartments.

He’s so good at faking it. I wish, for a few seconds, that I could be so good at pretending, but then…

The scratches on his sides. His too-sharp cheekbones. The way he said I hate myself.

The plane we’re on right now. The one that’s supposed to be carrying him to somewhere he can hide and pretend to be dead, because he thought I’d be better off without him.

Clearly, nobody’s been able to convince him otherwise. He was on his mission to apologize for all the things our fathers did for months before I had any idea. If he’d been worse at pretending, maybe I could have changed things.

It’s too late now.

Jacob does something to two of the other seats, and when he straightens, he has two bright-yellow life vests. He puts one in my lap, then takes his seat and fastens his seatbelt with steady hands. I wedge my bag closer to my side. Outside my window, the moon rolls around in the sky at nauseating angles.

Probably better not to look.

Jacob takes my hand in his. “Still all right, kitten?”

I take a breath to answer, and honeymoon-me decides to bail. “If we crash into the ocean, we’re screwed, right? Like…is there a lifeboat? Or do we have to hope someone notices we’re out here?”

“Yes. It’s under those seats.” He indicates two seats not far from ours that face the interior. “I don’t know how easy it will be to get out or inflate, but we do have one. This—” He pats my life jacket. “—goes over your head, and then you pull the tab to inflate it. I’ll help you if it comes to that.”

“What about—is anyone going to be looking for us?”

“There’s a transmitter in the baggage compartment as long as Harris didn’t think to rip it out. If it’s there, it should last for three days.”

“That’s—” Honeymoon-me plops down in my head again. One of us is embarrassed to have freaked out even a little about the lifeboat. I think it’s me. “That’s better than nothing.”

“Far better than nothing.” Jacob squeezes my hand.

“We should put that on a throw pillow later. The theme of our trip.”

“Multiple throw pillows, I’d say. One for every room.”

“How would we explain it?”

Jacob leans in, his breath warm on the shell of my ear. “We wouldn’t.”

It makes me laugh. If this were a freak plane crash and not attempted murder, I’d still only have Jacob. I’d still be here with my husband, facing it together.