Page 51 of Shared By the Pilots

“No, but I think you don’tknowwhat you saw. Or I think there’s a simpler explanation.”

“There’s only one explanation, if you ask me.”

I sighed. “What are you suggesting? Because I don’t understand how your theory about drug smuggling explains a bag shifting a little bit.”

She waited until I glanced over at her in the passenger seat before saying, “Human trafficking.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?”

“They’re traffickingpeople. Maybe even children.”

“Wow. That’s certainly a theory.”

“You don’t think it’s possible?”

“Sure, anything is possible,” I replied. “It’s possible that a supervolcano erupts tomorrow and destroys all life on earth. It’s possible that I find a winning lottery ticket on the ground when I get home. It’s possible that every person in America writes in Shaquille O’Neal on their ballots and he wins the 2024 election. Just because something ispossibledoesn’t mean it’s likely.”

“You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?” I shot back at her. “Because I don’t understand why you’re so insistent about this.”

“AndIdon’t understand why you don’t believe me. You’re acting like I’m crazy.”

“Because you’re acting crazy!” I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You’re taking very small pieces of data and extrapolating it into a wild conspiracy, first involving drugs, now involving human trafficking. Bernie had to sit you down and tell you not to harass the passengers. You’re lucky he gave you a warning instead of firing you.”

She stuck out her chin stubbornly. “My job isn’t the most important thing here.”

How can you be so selfish?

“What about my job?” I said, growing more frustrated with her. “I’ve been doing this for six months. I rely on this income. If you keep making waves, I might get fired alongside you.”

Veronica looked at me. I could see tears welling up in her eyes. “How can you focus on your job when people might be getting trafficked?”

I groaned. “This is ridiculous.”

“I can’t just sit back while something like this happens right in front of me. I have to do something.”

“Then make an anonymous tip to the DEA, or Homeland Security,” I suggested. “But let the experts handle it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window for the remainder of the drive home. I parked in front of her house, but didn’t turn off the car.

“I think it’s best if I just went home,” I told her.

“Good. Because I wasn’t going to invite you in. I don’t sleep with men who call me crazy.”

“And I don’t date women who actively try to get me fired!”

She got out and slammed the car door. I watched her walk up her driveway and go inside, then waited until the lights came on inside the house before driving away.

But I couldn’t help wondering:did we just break up?

28

Veronica

I think we just broke up.

I considered myself a strong, independent woman. That was part of why I was a picky dater: I knew my self-worth. Part of that meant I would only date men who respected me. Not just as a woman, but as aperson.

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