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‘You. Anthony. Jasmine. Jen. Hugo. Adrian.’
‘Go on.’ Naomi added a rolling hand gesture to her request. ‘I get it.’
‘You’ve all sorted yourselves out before finding love. You have fulfilling careers and things you’re passionate about. All I could come up with was a stupid blog.’
‘I had my doubts about the travel blog only because it requires some financing and freedom to move about. Unless you plan to do all your travelling on weekends, it would be hard to sustain. The other idea I loved. You’re passionate about people. You want to know what makes them tick, what’s going on in their heads, and all of that good stuff. You ask questions and follow-up questions. You actually care. I’ve always loved that about you. Why not tap into that?’
Samantha moved aside a pile of folded jeans and made room for herself on the sofa. She nestled close to Naomi. Who knew when she’d have the chance again? ‘You don’t think it’s stupid?’
Naomi pulled her into a pity hug. ‘I think you’re stupid for belittling your ideas. You’re so bright.’
Samantha raised her head and studied her brilliant friend. ‘You never second-guessed yourself. How?’
‘What’s the worst that can really happen?’ she said. ‘We’re the lucky ones. We’ve got family and friends who love us and support us emotionally, and even financially, if it came to that. We can afford to make some mistakes.’
She couldn’t afford to quit her job and take off to Bali, like in the movies, to hone her craft. Tobago had given her the taste of adventure and opened her eyes to what her real interests were. The trick was to find a way to combine the two.
‘OK, my love, I have to spend quality time with my other little sister, Maya. Help me up, please.’
‘You’re not that pregnant.’
‘I’ve had to hide this pregnancy for too long. Now it’s time to milk it.’
Samantha got up and tugged Naomi to her feet. Then she gave her one last hug and whispered ‘thank you’ over and over again.
Naomi was weepy when she pulled away. ‘One last thing,’ she said. ‘We’re planning on having everyone over when the baby is born. A West Coast reunion! Save your paid time off for that.’
The happy couples boarded the bus two by two. Samantha flopped onto the first empty bench. They were all too tired to talk and the ride to the airport stretched out in silence. To pass the time, Samantha scrolled through the dozens of photos she’d taken the night before. Naomi and Anthony kissing in the water. Jasmine laughing hysterically as Jason paraded her on his shoulders. Jen and Chris spooning on the pool’s steps, sharing a private laugh. Maya and the twins staging a photo shoot worthy of an editorial. She could hear the laughter and the taunting and the cheers. Samantha swiped at a tear with such force she nearly scratched her eye. These were her people. These were the relationships that mattered and would last far longer than this other round of heartache.
It was a relief when they finally approached the airport. Samantha tucked her phone away and checked her passport and boarding passes. In reality, she was checking for Roman’s note folded within the pages of her passport. She ran her fingertips over its slanted letters. Then she tucked it back in its hiding place.
After the luggage was sorted, they handed their driver all their free bills and loose change, over six hundred local dollars in total. They travelled together to the international airport of Port of Spain. This was where they said their final goodbyes. Jasmine and Jason were flying to Toronto. Jen and Chris were headed to Los Angeles. Samantha was sticking with Hugo and Adrian to Miami, where she would catch a connecting flight back home. They made a big production out of it with group hugs, one-on-one bear hugs, tearful promises to keep in touch, and one last group photo with the aid of Adrian’s selfie stick.
At their gate, Hugo and Adrian swore up and down that they were fit enough to manage the emergency exit in exchange for seats with extra legroom. Samantha didn’t bother. There was a good chance Timothy’s seat would be empty and she’d have a row to herself.
It wasn’t until she boarded the plane and shoved her carry-on case into the overhead compartment that she noticed the woman in the window seat.
Petite. Curvy. Glossy black hair. Smooth almond skin. Sassy leopard-print face mask. A spool of knitting yarn on her lap.
Tara.
Samantha brought a hand to her mouth. Her disposable surgical mask scratched her cheek. Oh, God, she thought. There was no way she would make it to Miami alive.
‘Ma’am, please sit down.’
Flight attendants had no patience for passengers in the throes of nervous breakdowns.
Samantha looked around in search of a vacant seat. ‘Is there—’
‘No. The flight is full.’
Damn it.
Tara reached for a sweater draped over the armrest connecting their two seats and a magazine tossed on Samantha’s side of the fence. ‘This seat is free,’ she said, attempting to clear up any misunderstanding. ‘Here you go. All yours.’
She unleashed that same charming, self-deprecating humour which served her so well when she’d showed up at the reception the night before. By comparison, Samantha’s response was wooden and charmless. She lowered herself onto the seat before the flight attendant resorted to violence. Her bag slipped off her lap and her phone, lip balm and a pack of chewing gum scattered to the ground. Guess she wasn’t a baddie, after all.
Samantha caught her phone before it went tumbling down the centre aisle.
