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“Hey, thanks for coming. I’ve got everything packed and ready right through there.” I point down the short hallway that opens to what once was my living space.
“Here’s the key. It goes to the front desk when you’re finished,” I remind him, placing them in his open palm.
“You got it. Say, where you headed?” he asks.
I swipe the last of my mail off the counter. “London.”
“Wow. That’s amazing,” he remarks as if I’ve said something fantastical. “Oh, hey. Don’t forget your hat.”
I thought I put that back in the box…
Taking Kate’s hat, I roll the bill and place it inside the inner pocket of my messenger bag, then stuff the mail into the outer pocket to throw away later.
“Thanks,” I grumble. “Don’t forget about the keys.”
“Sure thing. Enjoy your trip.”
It’s hot as hell in LA during the late summer, and traffic is equally as hellacious on the way to the airport. I’m sweating in the backseat of the cab, willing time to pass and the sun to set, but my mind keeps flipping back to that damn island and the woman I wish wouldn’t haunt me.
I grab for my bag and search for anything to distract myself from thinking of her, but I come up short with nothing but a handful of mints and the mail I took from the apartment earlier.
Patting the side pocket, I check that my phone is still secure. After a brief scroll through social media earlier this morning and seeing mass amounts of vacation pictures with beaches, I stuffed the fucking thing into my bag and forgot about it altogether.
“How much longer?” I ask the cab driver.
“Won’t be long now. Maybe fifteen minutes.”
I spread my knees and slouch in the seat, dozing off for a while.
My bag topples over when we take a sharp turn up the ramp, and with it goes the mail.
Gathering the mess from off the floorboard, I happen to notice a single white envelope. There’s no return address or a name, just an unlabeled gold seal on the back.
“Here we are,” the cabbie says as we pull up to my terminal.
“Thanks.” I cram the blank envelope into my back pocket and hurry for the entrance.
Inside LAX, I’m greeted by a madhouse of people transitioning between flights, racing to terminals, and rushing for coffee. My single carry-on ambles quietly behind me as I check the flight’s app to make sure the terminal hasn’t changed and we’re still on time.
Right outside of my gate, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans wafting from a coffee shop beckons. The flight to London is about eleven hours, and the only way I’m going to survive is with copious amounts of caffeine.
When I reach for my wallet, the envelope falls to the ground with a quietsnick. I glance around before bending over and picking it up.
Strangers scurry past me toward their gates as I stand in the walkway and pop open the seal. The card I remove from inside is thick and printed with an image.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sudden sight of Kate’s scrunched nose and cheeks, or the glow of the dress I’d bought her draped over her beautiful body.
In the image the event photographer took of us our last night in Topica Bay, she squeezes me tight, and like a sucker punch straight to the groin, I almost double over from pain.
I’m wound tightly in her arms while securing her to my side. My eyes crease around the edges, giving me a youthfulness I haven’t seen or felt in ages, and there’s a fondness in my smile that brings color to my cheeks.
More startling than that is how undeniably in love I appear.
Blood pounds in my ears, muting the woman now calling for boarding.
My hands begin to shake when I flick my gaze up from the picture of me and Kate, and I force myself to blink to be sure I’m not dreaming.
Just feet away from where I stand is the unforgettable woman herself.
