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“Danke,” I said. “Vielen Dank.”
A grunt of acknowledgement and then he was gone.
Cut off from my anchor, I was adrift in a sea of black sound. A storm battered me; people standing too close, speaking words that meant nothing to me; no way to orient myself, no memory to rely on. This was insanity and I felt less than sane, standing in the hub of all that chaos.
For Charlotte. You’re doing this for Charlotte.
The thought calmed me a little. I inhaled deeply several times, concentrating on my breathing, letting the people part around me like a rushing river around a stone. Having no way to identify my bag, my grand plan was to wait until the crowds thinned. After everyone else had grabbed their luggage, I’d see if I could feel what remained, or find an airport worker to help me before they put my bag in the lost luggage jail.
After about ten minutes of standing in the overpopulated blackness, trying my damndest to look casual and not panicked or pathetic, a soft hand touched my arm.
“Are you waiting for your bag?” A woman, an American. She laughed sheepishly. “I mean, of course you are. We all are.”
I smiled wanly. “I’m waiting for the crowd to thin out a bit.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that! I can help. What does it look like?”
“It’s blue and kind of big. The rolling kind.”
The young woman went silent for a few moments, then, “Maybe this?”
I heard her struggle and bent to help. Together, we hauled a bag over the side of the conveyor.
“Here’s a tag…Noah Lake. Is that you?”
“That’s me. Thanks, very much.”
“Sure thing,” she said and cleared her throat. “Do you have someone coming to pick you up?”
“No, but if you could point me in the direction of a taxi stand, that would be awesome.”
“I’d be happy to help,” she said brightly, and it didn’t escape me that the tone of her voice had changed to one I remembered well from my past life. The light, feathery sound of flirtation. And then I felt her hands on me, as she gently turned me around.
“Straight ahead are automatic doors. Go out and turn right, past a little café, and it’s right there.”
The vagueness of her directions made my teeth ache, but this woman must have seen my hesitation.
“You know what? Let me take you there myself. We can stop at the café…I’ll buy you a coffee?”
In my past life, I would have taken her up on that. And beyond. To my hotel and a mid-morning roll in the sack, maybe. Then a late lunch, more naked gymnastics, and finally a smoothly executed getaway that left no hard feelings or attachments. I marveled at how easy it all had been…and how far away I was from that guy. I only wanted Charlotte, would onlyeverwant Charlotte. My love for her ran so deep, it left room for nothing else, not even curiosity.
“That’s kind of you to offer, but I have to get going,” I said. “Thanks again.”
I gave the woman what I hoped wasn’t a dickish smile and followed her instructions toward the cabstand. Or tried to.
Before I left New York, Lucien and I had debated what I would need to bring to survive and not bog me down as I traveled. I brought the barest minimum of clothing to wear for every day, but for Charlotte’s shows, I’d had to bring something nice. Lucien tried to talk me out of it, but my overriding need to not look like a fucking schlub won out. I had to bring a suitcase large enough for two suits and added finding dry cleaners in every city to my quest.
But that fucking luggage. It took me exactly 3.2 seconds to determine it was going to be the bane of my existence. Rolling it behind me with one hand and holding my cane in the other made me feel like someone had chopped off my left arm. My shield arm. Plus, it was heavy as hell, and I tried not to think about what it was going to be like dragging that thing on trains or buses, from city to city.
I exited the airport, felt the carpet under my feet turn to cement, and headed right. Slowly. Christ, I was slow. Not just slow.Timid.The controlled chaos of the airport morphed into an untamed wilderness of a strange city. The sounds of cars alone—so many cars—filled me with dread. I had to remind myself that they were just cars pulling slowly to the curb to let people in, and not death machines driven by crazed maniacs.
I moved forward until my tapping cane struck an obstacle. I hoped it was the cabstand sign, but it was someone’s heel.
“Eh?”
“Sorry. Taxi?”
“No, no, dieser Weg. Kommen.”
