Page 61 of Broken Chords

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Common time:indicated with a C on the staff, means that there are four beats per measure and the quarter note equals one beat

Damian

We take an Uber to the airport so we don’t have to pay for longterm parking. My car stays in Charlie’s driveway, where it’ll probably be safer than on the street in front of my house. She and Lauren live in a nicer neighborhood, even though it’s not that far from me.

Charlie surprises me by asking the check-in agent if there’s room in first class and paying to upgrade both of our seats. When I start to splutter out a protest, Charlie turns and kisses me. “Merry Christmas. I promise I can afford it. It’ll make the flight much more enjoyable.”

“Okay.” What else can I say?

The agent smiles politely as Charlie hands over her credit card, processes the upgrade, and hands us new boarding passes. After checking our suitcases, we head for security, making it through the line in time to get something for breakfast before we board the plane.

“I’ll get this,” I say quietly in Charlie’s ear. “You upgraded our tickets, so it’s the least I can do.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

I wrap my arm around her and give her a squeeze. “It is to me.”

Two breakfast sandwiches and coffees plus a puddle jumper and two and a half hours of plush first-class service later, we get off the plane in the Santa Barbara airport. A man in a suit is holding a sign with our names on it in the baggage claim area. Our ride to the resort.

“Ms. Baxter. Mr. Ramirez. Did you have a nice flight?”

We both nod, and he tucks the sign under his arm. “This way, please.” He reaches for Charlie’s suitcase and leads the way to the exit. He takes us to a sleek, black sedan, pops the trunk and loads our suitcases before going around to open the door to the back seat. Charlie climbs in and scoots over like this is something she experiences every day. I follow behind her, settling into the plush gray leather seats and ample legroom behind the passenger seat.

The driver smoothly navigates out of the airport and into the surrounding countryside, the road noise and bumps of the country roads minimized by the luxury car we’re privileged enough to ride in.

“This is a really nice car,” I whisper to Charlie.

She grins at me. “Yeah, it is. Did you expect them to have us picked up in a beat-up old Honda Civic or something?”

I chuckle. “No. I didn’t really think about it I guess. I expected maybe a hotel shuttle or something more along those lines. A uniformed driver with a sign and a luxury sedan wasn’t anywhere on my radar.”

She offers me a tight smile, that neutral shutter she’s so good at pulling over her features, and I’m not sure why. Is she used to this kind of thing? I know her parents run some kind of touring management company or something, and she worked with them before coming to Marycliff. Maybe she is used to this level of luxury. More so than my solidly middle-class existence with three siblings, where we bought used cars and my mom clipped coupons all throughout my childhood. We never lacked anything essential, and my parents put us all through a variety of lessons and sports, but the tradeoff was skimping on higher-priced lifestyle luxuries like wearing brand name clothes.

But if Charlie’s parents own a major business working with big name bands and popstars, I guess it makes sense that this is her frame of reference. Look at how her and Lauren’s house is decorated, after all. Matching furniture. New. Not thrift store finds and Craigslist castoffs like my house. She must’ve made good money while working for her parents too. Otherwise how could she afford that house, that furniture, and upgrading our tickets today?

I want to ask, but I know she doesn’t like talking about her family or her life before coming to Marycliff. And from the stories she’s told me about her hyper-controlling mother and doormat father, I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to relive that either.

Instead, I reach across the back seat and thread my fingers through hers. If this is how she’s used to living, will she want to come back to this eventually? Is her time at Marycliff just a lark, a way to irritate her parents? She’s said more than once that going to college is her big youthful rebellion. It always comes off as kind of a joke, but at the same time, it’s not.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. She’s at Marycliff right now. We have the rest of this year and all of next to figure out what might happen after I graduate. Now’s not the time to worry about that far in the future.

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