Page 37 of Christmas in Watch Hill
THIRTEEN
IAN
It was crazy.
Most people wouldn’t take this kind of risk. They’d take the safe route, and keep doing what was working, even if they didn’t love it. Staying in DC would mean a career that made plenty of money and kept me moving in the social circles of people who had the power to potentially make history. But would it really make me happy?
No. It won’t.
I knew that in my heart.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for choosing North American Airlines for all your travel needs,” the flight attendant at the front of the plane said over the loudspeaker. “We are so happy to have you on board with us today. Now that we are above ten thousand feet, our Wi-Fi is available, along with a selection of in-flight movies and entertainment on the NAA mobile app. Soon, we will be around to offer a choice of complimentary nonalcoholic beverages and snacks. Alcohol is available for purchase and we accept only major credit cards. Thank you for flying with us.”
A ding reverberated through the cabin, and I stood up right after it ended. Now was the chance to fire up my laptop and implement stage two of my plan. I took my briefcase from the overhead compartment and pulled out the computer. Then I crammed myself back in my seat, fired up the mainframe, and paid for the Wi-Fi.
Over the next hour, I crafted a four-paragraph email, one that was arguably the most consequential one I’d ever written. I hit send just before the flight attendant said we needed to stow our belongings for final approach.
Decision made.
When the plane landed, I hurried from the terminal to the passenger pickup area. I ordered a car on my phone and jumped inside when it arrived. I couldn’t explain the rush—but I wanted to get there quickly. Now that I’d put my plans in motion, I didn’t want to stop moving until I’d achieved my final goal.
“Already Perked,” I told the driver. “Do you know that place? It’s in Watch Hill.”
“I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it on the main square in that little shopping center?”
“That’s the one.” I settled into the black leather seat, my laptop bag on the seat next to me and my carry-on resting on the floorboards behind the driver seat. “It should still be open when we get there.”
“We’ll be there soon.”
As the driver guided the car from the airport to the highway, I took advantage of a chance to close my eyes. I was exhausted and overwhelmed but committed. Maybe it was the craziness of the holiday season that had put me over the top, I wasn’t sure.
“You okay?” the driver asked just before we crossed the I-71/75 bridge into the downtown Cincinnati area.
“I will be,” I said. “I will be.”
