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Chapter Four
Freedom
I grab everything I can from the small pharmacy selection available.
Everything.
How was I supposed to know he had a sensitivity to coconut? I mean, who actually gets the squirts from coconut? I pull out my phone, carefully juggling all of the over-the-counter products in my arms, and Google search coconut allergies. It’s actually quite rare, however a person can be sensitive to just about anything. Figures Samuel would be sensitive to one of my favorite add-on ingredients.
The young girl at the counter seems completely unfazed by my wide selection of products on the counter and slowly starts to scan. This is also the time when I hear our flight announce the pre-board process is about to begin over the intercom. I grab two bottles of water from the cooler beside the counter, ignore the astronomical dollar amount on the small cash register screen, and swipe my card. The girl throws my products in a bag and I take off, almost leaving our luggage behind.
I juggle my way quickly to the bathroom where I left Samuel and wait. They announce the boarding of our flight, beginning with first-class passengers. No way in Hell’s half acre could I ever afford a first-class ticket. No, I’m stuck in coach. In the back. The way back.
Watching our gate, they start to call the next series of passengers to board. I’m getting a little nervous we’ll miss our flight when Samuel finally appears. He’s gray and sweating a bit, but he’s alive. I’d feel really bad if I killed my best friend’s hot older brother the day before her wedding. “You okay, champ?”
Samuel doesn’t say anything but reaches into the bag for one of the bottles of water. He chugs it swiftly, almost draining the entire bottle in one long gulp. Just as he goes to reply, a little boy comes running out of the bathroom, his dad hot on his heels. “Mommy! The baffroom smells willy bad!”
I watch as Samuel’s face turns beet red. He reaches for his carry-on bag, which is wrapped up in my arms, and starts to head away from our gate. “Hey, where are you going? Our flight is boarding.”
“I’m going home. I can’t fly like this.”
“You can’t go home, Sammy.”
“My name is Samuel,” he grounds out through clenched teeth. I fight the smile, because, well at least he’s well enough to give me shit for calling him by his nickname.
“Sorry, Samuel,” I say, drawing out the word like it has fourteen syllables. “You can’t go home. Your sister needs you.”
That makes him pause and slowly turn my way. “My stomach is a mess, Freedom. I’m not fit to fly.”
Reaching for the white bag, I start to pull out some of the over the counter products I purchased for him. “I have stuff. Lots of stuff. Surely something in here will help your stomach calm down. Oh, here! This one!” I yell, pulling the package of DiaResQ and waving it in his face. “This one says it addresses the issue of diarrhea, not just the symptoms.” I ignore the fact it just cost me almost twelve dollars for this one-dose package.
Someone snickers as they walk past.
“Final boarding call for American Airlines flight 4382, nonstop service to Las Vegas. Please make your way to gate twenty-three at this time for takeoff.”
“Shitballs, Sammy, let’s go,” I holler, grabbing his hand and all of our stuff and dragging him behind me toward our gate. Fortunately, it’s just down the corridor, so we’re there within a minute.
At the gate, I hand him the box of medicine and the last bottle of water. Then, I dig in my purse for my boarding pass and his travel bag for his. He grumbles as I move all of his stuff around, probably because he knows I’m wrinkling the extra set of underwear he no doubt carries in his bag, in case his luggage gets lost.
“Found it!” I holler as I pull his paper from the side of his bag. “Let’s get on this plane and get your tummy settled. I found crackers,” I state, pulling out a sleeve of wheat saltines from my bag.
The woman scans our passes, trying to hide her smile, while Samuel mumbles something about jumping from the plane without a parachute. “Enjoy your flight,” she adds before grabbing the door, clearly ready to secure the walkway once we step inside.
“Thanks, love!” I chirp, heading down the chute toward the awaiting jet. I know he’s behind me. I can sense his presence. That and smell his cologne. It’s like an aphrodisiac. I actually went on a date with a guy months back because he wore the same stuff. He was nothing like Samuel, though.
Samuel isn’t married.
The plane is already packed to the gills when we make our way to the small aisle. “Jeez,” he mutters behind me, his body very close to my backside that I can feel his heat. I have our bags in front as I push my way through the aisle. Everyone is already seated, their carry-ons stowed in the overhead bins, and noses stuck in their electronic devices.
Finally, I spy my seat in the very back of the plane. It’s not a coincidence the final remaining seats are right next to each other. “We’re here, Sammy,” I state, trying to shove both of our bags in the very tiny space left in the overhead bin. It doesn’t work.
“I’ll just put my bag under my seat,” he says, reaching around me and taking the bag from my hand.
“Get buckled in. The crew is preparing for takeoff,” the flight attendant says politely, closing the bin without my bag inside. She hands it back to me to put under my seat.
I glance at the gentleman sitting in the aisle seat, waiting for him to get up. He’s a tad on the larger side, and there’s no way I can slip past him without crawling all over him like a jungle cat. I’m totally prepared to do it, but I can’t envision Samuel following suit. The man finally sighs and unbuckles his seat belt.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Then I glance over my shoulder and ask, “Window or middle?”
