Page 10 of Veiled Fantasies

She snapped herself back to reality. Erik. Luggage. Stockholm.

Right. She plastered a smile on her face and forced her chin up a millimeter. “Stockholm. Got it.”

“Really, if it’s too much trouble…”

“No problem,” she said, summoning new resolve. She tucked his papers into the inside pocket of her backpack and laced the zipper tabs together, then threw it over both shoulders and cinched it close. She assumed the cold, distrusting attitude that worked so well in London. The one that kept vendors, panhandlers, and pickpockets at bay. Just like the expression she wore to the starting line of every race she ran. Attitude. She’d show them, and show him, too.

He cocked his head at her as if reaching some conclusion, then nodded. “Thank you again.”

“Sure. Well…I’ll see you later.” She took off down the hall with the stride of a tough, don’t-shit-me New Yorker. Inside, though, she was turning tail and fleeing like a panicked rabbit. Whether she was running from him or reality, she wasn’t sure.

“See you later,” his voice echoed in the hall behind her. Seemed like not just his voice following her; it was a good ten steps before she heard his door click shut. She could picture him there, shaking his head in disbelief.

She slumped against the back wall of the elevator and closed her eyes in tandem with the doors. So much for first impressions.

* * *

The airport echoed with hushed voices, a startling contrast to the previous day’s chaos. Apparently, the flood of incoming passengers had been stopped until flights to Europe resumed. Stranded passengers were now waiting it out in hotels around the city. The departure boards didn’t paint a rosy picture, nor did the strained expressions on the faces behind the counters.

Jill saw a few familiar faces, people from her flight, some trying to talk their way onto fights that didn’t exist, others resigned to their fate. The plain-clothes policeman brushed by her, too—one of the two escorting the Russian-speaking criminal. Apparently, their luggage had been lost, too. She imagined a neatly packed suitcase with rows of undies beside fresh handcuffs, all of them languishing somewhere on the other side of the world. Meanwhile, the prisoner and his guards had nothing. A true nightmare for them. She briefly wondered who was guarding the criminal now. Was it just the two policemen, or did they have back-up? Surely they must have help through the consulate or local authorities.

In any case, that was no concern of hers now. With any luck, that was the last she’d see of the surly criminal and his unfortunate guards.

She waited in line after line, tapping her foot on the sand-colored tiles, counting stamps of all the places Erik had been. So many that he’d need a new passport after only three years. How did Mrs. Perfect feel about his busy schedule? The photo page revealed exactly what Mrs. Perfect found solace in—that face. And he did seem to be a genuinely nice guy.

The line inched forward. Jill forced herself to slap his passport shut when she rounded the final bend of the snaking queue. Reality called.

Luggage still missing.

Volcano still erupting.

Flights still canceled.

Try back tomorrow.

At least she would have the brief pleasure of reporting to Erik. His bag had been recovered. She nearly burst out laughing when she spotted the business class tag attached to it.Quick Transfer,it read. So much for that. She rolled the compact suitcase toward the exit, feeling slightly comforted by the feel of luggage in her hand. So what if it was someone else’s? The good news was no flights meant that Erik would be her neighbor for at least one more day. Surely the man would emerge to eat a meal at some point. She could stake out a table in the courtyard all day and casually invite him over.

Right. She would probably just knock over the salt shaker, or worse, knock a drink into his lap. Of course, then she could reach in with a napkin and an apology and mop it up. Now that was a thought…

A pathetic one. She wanted Erik to notice her because she was interesting, not because she was a klutz–or worse, a conniver. A man as handsome as he must get hit on a lot. No, she was Jill and no one else. And if that wasn’t good enough for him, which of course it wasn’t, then she’d still have him in her dreams.

And when it came to dreaming, she was a champ.

* * *

She was on her way to the courtesy bus stop when she heard muffled sobs from the right. The wheels of Erik’s suitcase slowed along with her step.

A huddled mass of small bodies clustered around a woman in an agonizing sort of Madonna scene. The woman was slumped in a seat near the exit door as if she’d tried to stage an escape but had been thrust back by a high voltage wire. Jill recognized the mother of three from the flight. The toddler was asleep across her lap; the older two children were petting their mother, trying to console her.

What was going on? Surely they had someone to help them? Jill scanned the area, but no one seemed to take note of the family.

She walked over, a little stiffly, and squatted in front of the woman. “Uh…can I help you?”

The woman was an absolute wreck. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes hollow. She sniffed and took a deep breath, only to break out in more sobs, choking out words in between. Jill couldn’t help but touching the woman’s shoulder as she strained to pick through the northern English accent. The woman was on the way home after visiting a sister in Australia. She was alone because her husband had no vacation time—and now this. The airline had run out of hotel rooms. She’d spent the night in the airport with three kids and no luggage.

“But—how could they just leave you?” Jill looked around the echoing departure hall. No, it just couldn’t be. A mother with three children had been abandoned? By the airline? By everyone? “There must be some mistake.”

With that, she strode over to the airline counter—only to be told there really were no more hotel rooms. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” was all the airline attendant could offer.

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