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Helen snorted. “Yeah, I liked the other stuff too.”
Annie rolled her eyes, trying not to let her own embarrassment immobilize her. A car behind them honked, and she opened her door.
“It’s good that we got it out of our systems,” Helen said.
That felt like a kick to the ribs, and Annie tried not to flinch.
“Merry Christmas, Helen.”
“Travel safe, honey,” she said, reaching out and squeezing her forearm.
Annie closed the car door, being careful not to slam it. She forced herself not to look back.
She spent the first flight trying not to think about the night before but failed miserably. She could still feel Helen’s mouth on her, drumming up echoes of that spectacular orgasm. She shifted in her seat. And then she felt stupid because Helen was merely getting something out of her system and Annie, conveniently living in her garage, was just the girl she was doing it with. The midlife crisis. The rebound. The student.
She got off the plane in Salt Lake City, famished and feeling the first throbs of a headache. She bought a muffin and chocolate milk at a newsstand, then found the monitors showing arrivals and departures. She pulled out the yellow envelope that had been delivered to her mailbox at school. She looked up at the flights leaving: Albuquerque, Atlanta, Boston, Charlotte, Cincinnati, Cleveland.
Two monitors over gave her what she was looking for: San Francisco, Toronto, Washington. She checked her ticket and then looked back up at the screen to make sure the flightnumbers matched. She arrived at her gate with just enough time to eat her muffin, drink her milk, and then pee before boarding.
She slept a little on the plane, though it wasn’t restful. The plane was packed and noisy.
When she finally landed at Dulles, she was exhausted. She waved down a taxi and gave the driver the name of the airport hotel provided in the envelope. She asked the driver for a card to get a ride in the morning.
She had arranged for a late check-in, and the desk clerk was waiting for her. He gave her a room key on a bright orange keychain. “There’s no room service, but the restaurant over there is open for another hour and a half,” he said.
She ordered a hamburger, fries, and a slice of chocolate cake and took the food to her room. She ate sitting on the bed, then called her mom.
“I’m good,” she said. “Just packing up. Can’t wait to see you. I’m sorry I get in so late tomorrow.”
“It’s all right. We’re just happy you’re coming home! Your father will pick you up, no matter the hour.”
The envelope contained the plane ticket, including the one that took her back west to Ohio, the hotel information, an address, and a time. Nothing else. But she knew the address well enough. She used to work there, after all.
She didn’t think she’d sleep, but she drifted off easily, tired from traveling and the lack of sleep the night before. When she first got into bed, she thought about calling Helen but decided against it. She knew better, dumb as she was. At least she was smart enough to know she was dumb.
Chapter 12
She checked out of herroom and called the taxi the next morning, but they sent a different driver than the one from the previous night. And even though she told them over the phone where she wanted to go, the driver still grumbled about having to drive anywhere so early, as though he were doing her a favor. It would be a twenty-minute drive, half an hour if they hit traffic, so she ignored the complaining, digging deep for her manners.
She held her duffle bag on her lap, clenching the purse strap in her hand.
The taxi driver smoked, leaving the window cracked, so it was freezing in the back seat, and she snugged deeper into her jacket. Washington DC in December seemed much colder than she remembered it. How quickly she’d acclimated to the mild California climate despite having spent several years in DC and then in Eastern Europe, where the cold burrowed so deep that Annie had slept in a ski cap and gloves.
The radio was tuned to the news. The broadcaster was talking about the upcoming inauguration, making fun of the Clintons—his accent, his wife’s stiff demeanor, their preteen daughter’s looks. Annie felt bad for the girl, having to live in the national spotlight at the most awkward time of her life.
Annie cleared her throat and told the driver where to turn.
“Ah,” the man said in a heavy Middle Eastern accent. “I did not know they let little girls be spies!” He laughed at his own joke.
“Here is close enough,” Annie said and reached into her purse to pull out the exact fare. She handed him the money through the center window. “Next time if you want a tip, maybe don’t call women little girls.”
She closed the door on his swearing and walked toward the security gate that was barely noticeable behind a copse of trees.
It took time to get through security. The guard searched her duffle thoroughly, pawing through her bras, her stick of deodorant, and even flipping through the pages of her books before issuing her a visitor’s badge and directing her to the main building where they were waiting for her.
It was a cold walk, the wind cutting right through her, and she regretted not renting a car for the day. She hurried to get to the main building, then waited for someone to show up and take her to the meeting room. She was hurried down the hall and then waited for nearly forty-five minutes for someone to actually appear. After all of the hurry up and wait, Frank Clifton’s secretary finally arrived to take her to his office three floors up. She barely looked at Annie, even though she had known her since she was twenty-three.
“Thanks, Shirley,” he told the woman with a fake warm smile. “We’ll be busy for at least the next hour.”
