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“You’re sure about this?”
Ava reached over and patted Quinn’s knee. “I’m sure. I need to do this. I’m not running away, but I do need to get away. I need to clear my head and be away from things for a little while. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“I suppose,” Quinn sighed. “Though I’m not sure I can understand you wanting to be that far away from my signature Mango Martini.”
“I can,” said Ava, wincing at the memory of the hangover she’d had just last weekend. “And I’m going to adopt some healthier habits. Less drinking, more running. I’ll come back a whole new me.”
“Right,” Quinn said. “In the meantime, is it too early to open a bottle of wine?”
“It’s half past one.”
“So… is that a yes or a no?” asked Quinn innocently.
“It’s a ‘get your ass in gear and help me pack up these books before the storage guys come to get them’ and then maybe we can open a bottle.”
Quinn groaned but got up and started packing anyway and Ava loved her for it. She couldn’t help but wonder though just what she’d done to deserve losing her whole life and to be left sleeping on someone’s couch at the grand old age of forty three.
THE AIRPORT SMELLED of cinnamon rolls and expensive perfume and Ava’s hand was sweating around the handle of her suitcase.
“You’re sure?” Quinn said for about the millionth time.
“It’s a little late to back out now,” Ava said, eyes scanning the departures board.
“It’s not. We can grab a Cinnabon and hop on out of here. There’s a revival of Cary Grant movies playing at the Westfield Theater, we could hit that up and then scout for Cary Grant look-alikes at the bar after.”
“I’d prefer a Katherine Hepburn,” Ava said, locating her flight number on the board.
“Since when have you turned down female Cary Grant lookalikes in suits?” Quinn said, sticking her tongue out. “You shouldn’t be so limited in your thinking. As you keep reminding me, it’s the twenty first century. You don’t have to be male to impersonate Cary Grant.”
“All things of which I’m very much aware,” Ava said, gently steering them both toward the correct check-in line. “However, I paid a fortune for this ticket and I’m getting on this plane. And even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t be picking up Cary Grant impersonators in a bar. Male or female.”
“Still too soon?” Quinn said, looking vaguely sympathetic.
“Too soon,” Ava said, not at all sure when it wouldn’t be too soon. In her heart she thought it would probably always be too soon. She was forty three already, maybe she should just give up, devote herself to her students.
“Maybe when you get back?” Quinn said, stepping forward to join the line just as a young man in a baseball cap swooped past her, almost tripping the both of them.
“Excuse me,” Ava boomed. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
The man turned back, a look of anger on his face, but saw Ava, heard the tone in her voice, and promptly swallowed back whatever he’d really intended to say. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, stepping aside to let Quinn go first.
“I wish I could do that,” Quinn whispered.
“It’s all in the voice,” confided Ava, though after twenty years of teaching high school it was second nature to her.
“Teach me your tricks, oh wise one.”
“Hush,” Ava said as she stepped up to the desk to take her turn.
The check in process was fast and efficient and a couple of minutes later Ava was pulling Quinn to one side.
“Smuggle me in your suitcase?” Quinn said plaintively.
“Too late, my case is checked already.”
Quinn took a breath and looked toward the sliding door. “I suppose I’d better go then before the car gets towed.”
“I suppose you’d better,” said Ava, trying to sound a lot lighter than she felt.
