Page 10 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

“So, you’re in a rush,” he said, his lips twitching into a fraction of that smile he’d given me yesterday.

“Understatement.”

We shared a knowing laugh and I felt like maybe he’d confessed something to me too. A bond of recognized misery. Was it wrong that I wanted so badly to know what caused his? I’d known him twelve hours.

I fluffed the hem of my skirt. “Anyway, I really want it.”

Nick seemed to consider that, consider me. Finally he smiled, showing me his perfect picket-fence teeth, and the truth one. “I bet you’ll have it then.”

My chest filled like a balloon. He didn’t know me either, but apparently Nick’s first impression of me was a girl who said she was going to do something huge and meant it. I liked that girl.

“Fuck,” Nick whispered. It was the third time he’d cursed on the small set of rollaway stairs we were climbing, boarding what the ticket agent had affectionately called a “puddle jumper.” Except the puddle we were jumping today was the Caribbean Sea.

Nick had let me go first, probably not out of chivalry, and he was a few steps behind me, muttering under his breath.

“I’m sure they fly this route all the time,” I said like I had any freaking clue how flight paths worked. I was mostly just trying to say something positive to put Nick’s mind at ease. “At least we won’t be jammed in between two people we don’t know. Unless you fly first class. I don’t ever fly first class. Come to think of it, I don’t ever fly. I mean, a few times, but not enough to say I have flight habits. Except maybe forgetting to pee before I board and being forced to use the plane bathroom. Which sucks, right? This plane probably doesn’t have a bathroom.”

He didn’t respond.

I plopped into the first seat I saw and watched him duck his head to come into the cabin. He tossed his bag on a seat and sat across from it. Then he thought better of it and pulled the bag onto his lap, wrapping his arms around it. I’d already told myself to quit imagining he was smuggling drugs in that thing, but he wasn’t making it easy to be a blind believer.

Although, a drug smuggler would probably be better about flying. Like that Tom Cruise movie where he was the pilot doing runs from Central America. They were on planes all the time.

I got up and took the seat his bag had given up. “This is like a bucket list item, right? Propeller plane over the ocean?”

“Sure.”

Nick’s phone buzzed from the pocket of his shorts and he pulled it out and frowned at the screen before typing out a message with his left thumb. Then he set it screen-down on the seat next to him and rubbed at the back of his head.

The muscles in his neck were like granite. I went to school for massage therapy for a little while. I’d never finished because my father had suddenly insisted I spend that summer at our house on the Cape and the commute was unbearable. I suspected that was his plan.

Sean had always raved about my shoulder massages, though. I’d offer Nick one, earn myself the Travel Companion of the Year award, but that would probably be inappropriate. Maybe the person on the other end of that text would think so too. I looked out at the water, ignoring the curiosity sparking alive in my chest.

The pilot climbed in and gave us a thumbs up. He pressed the button to make the engines come alive and I had to admit there was awhomp, whompsound to it that wasn’t entirely comforting.

“Nick,” I said. “If we die today, I feel like I should confess something.” The propeller offered a clicking sound to the Scary Noise Symphony as it powered on, and Nick’s fingers curled around his armrest. “Nick!”

“What am I? A priest?” he snapped.

Geesh.For all his pulling out chairs and complimenting me on my deepest insecurities, he sure had a prickly side. I studied his profile. From this side he did look kind of like a priest—somber, capable like he’d heard it all before but he’d still give a polite amount of gravity to your plight. He even had a small medallion around his neck that looked like the kind that had a saint engraved into it. I was pretty sure priests were only that hot on TV, though.

Whether he was prepared to take my confession or not, the way I saw it, we were either going to become best friends or die together. Might as well just blurt it. “I’m here because I skipped out on my wedding.”

That got his attention. Nick’s head whipped around, and he seemed to have forgotten the death rattle of the plane’s windows.

“You left someone at the altar?” He scanned my outfit again like he was wondering where I’d stashed my veil.

It was worse than that, though. I’d never planned on going through with it in the first place. I’d been playing a long game with everyone I knew and now with this three-fifteen thing, and missing the ship, I was starting to worry I was being punished by a larger force than just my father.

The pilot slipped on a pair of headphones, speaking in Spanish to a man in a flight suit and mirrored aviators. It felt kind of likeTop Gunbut with the reject planes.

Apparently, everything I knew about planes came from Tom Cruise movies.

“I didn’t leave him at the altar. I called it off before the actual day.” I winced. “A week before.”

Nick didn’t say anything. I’d known him less than a day, but I was sure he’d never reneged on a deal in his life. His tight jaw and stress-creased forehead said he took his responsibilities seriously—took everything seriously. Maybe that was why I’d hitched myself to his side. I was looking for a judge, an unbiased party who could tell me that I’d done the right thing, even if it took lying to my family, and I was exploiting the fact that he thought we were near death to get his truth. He’d given me a taste of it last night when he’d said he envied my peace, and now I was like an addict sniffing out my next hit.

“Anyway, I thought I should tell you because it’s possible I’m being punished right now and you’re going to be collateral damage.” More silence. I smoothed my skirt over my knees. “I mean, you missed the ship on your own, but this plane, it might be my fault.”

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