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“Really?” I hid a smile. There was no way Simon said any such thing.
“Yeah. I was behind you in valet parking too. I couldn’t help but notice how white-faced you were at the check-in counter. I worried that there might be trouble in paradise.” Ronnie snapped her seat belt shut.
“Nothing so dramatic. I’m a nervous traveler,” I lied readily.
“Your color is back now. That’s good. Did you guys kiss and make up? Maybe more than kiss?” Ronnie leered at me.
I was saved from having to answer when the flight attendant appeared with a bottle of champagne and two flutes.
“Thank you,” Ronnie said and lifted all three items off the serving tray. That would never have been allowed in cattle class but since I’d started flying with Simon, I’d learned there were different rules for different people.
I couldn’t help thinking that Ronnie might have bribed the flight attendant to get her a whole bottle, but I dismissed that thought as insidious thinking. Still, it was hard to trust someone with a reputation like hers. I eyed her warily as she filled a glass and gave it to me.
“To the bride and groom!” She toasted.
“Am I allowed to drink to my own marriage?” I asked before a sip.
“If you won’t, who will?” Ronnie chuckled and finished hers quickly. “What a coincidence we’re both heading to Montreal on the same flight, eh?”
“It is. This is the first time I’ve traveled alone since I met Simon. It feels odd.”
“But you’re not alone. I’m here.”
“That’s true.” The way she insinuated that she was a friend, a substitute for Simon, no less, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Where are you going?” Ronnie reached for the bottle.
“To see my family.”
“Wasn’t your mom just here for your engagement party?” Ronnie topped up both our glasses. “We had a nice chat. She was pissed that Maddy had copied your dress.”
I wondered how much Mom said about that to Ronnie and if Ronnie had heard about the incident with the red wine. I decided to ignore that issue and kept my voice calm.
“Yes, she was just here.” I picked up my champagne glass. “But, on her way home from the airport, she and my grandfather were in a car accident.”
“That’s terrible.” Ronnie’s eyes clouded with the appearance of empathy.
Even though I knew it was fake, her concern touched me. She seemed supportive.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I said to reassure myself. “I spoke to her briefly and they were keeping her in the hospital for one or two nights for observation. But my grandfather had a stroke.”
“Oh, Sadie, that’s so much worry for you at what should be the happiest time of your life. Look, I’ll give you my Montreal phone number, as well as my cell, and if there is anything I can do for you, anything at all—pick up your dry-cleaning, bring you takeout from Kazu—just call me. I’ll be there in a trice, whatever the hell a trice is.” She dug into her purse, brought out one of her embossed business cards, and wrote a number on the back in large sloping script.
“Thank you. That’s kind.”
“We Irish girls have to stick together, don’t we?”
“I’m only half Irish,” I said. “I’m half French-Canadian.” That was careless. Very few people knew who my real mother was. Before Ronnie could question that comment, I hastily added, “In my heart anyway. I think anyone who has lived inla belle provincecan claim that.”
“Ah.Parlez-vous français?” Her accent was Parisian.
“Not a word.” I smiled, happy to be back on relatively safe ground. “I have a tin ear for languages.”
“And you grew up in Montreal?”
“I did.”
“That must have been lonely.”
