RunAWay Love © 2009
by Cat Meyers
Successful business excutive Cassandra Adams was 35 years old when she ran away from home.
She didn't plan to run away. It started out as little get-away. A spur of the moment trip with a blast from her past. Just for a fun. What you should know about Cassandra is that she doesn't do "spur of the moment" and she definitely doesn't do fun--well, at least she hasn't for a very long time. Even Cassandra had to admit that this impulsive trip was out of character for her. Yet the longer she stays away, the more she realizes she has missing out on so much. Hiding behind her fortress of long hours, schedules and rules, shielded her from joy and fulfillment and...love. Ah, sweet love! It was love that finally lured out from behind her fortress. Will love drive her back into hiding?
She didn't plan to run away. It started out as little get-away. A spur of the moment trip with a blast from her past. Just for a fun. What you should know about Cassandra is that she doesn't do "spur of the moment" and she definitely doesn't do fun--well, at least she hasn't for a very long time. Even Cassandra had to admit that this impulsive trip was out of character for her. Yet the longer she stays away, the more she realizes she has missing out on so much. Hiding behind her fortress of long hours, schedules and rules, shielded her from joy and fulfillment and...love. Ah, sweet love! It was love that finally lured out from behind her fortress. Will love drive her back into hiding?
Sample Chapter
Prologue
The thunderous pounding she heard must have been the door. It certainly wasn’t her heart –surely that had died three days ago. And it couldn’t have been the throbbing temples from her massive hang over. She didn’t even have a hang over. She was numb enough as it was. Alcohol would have only made her nauseous. What was that pounding? Make it stop. Please, God make it stop! All she wanted to do was sleep. Keep her eyes closed and disappear. Fade away. But the pounding was making that impossible. It was a blatant reminder that she could hear, that she could feel and was, therefore, still alive. She didn’t know what that pounding was, but she did know that voice: “Enough is enough, Cassandra Adams. Now open this door or I’m calling the police!”
“Okay. Okay.” Cassie heard her mouth say. She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. Possibly because her throat was so dry from all of the wailing and moaning she had done over the past few days. Possibly because all of her hopes and dreams had been sucked out of her. Possibly because her face was still buried in the sofa. Cassie peeled her face from the beige leather cushion and sat up. The clock read 2:12 in the afternoon, but the gloom of the room made it seem like midnight, curtains pulled tight blocking out any trace of sunlight and cheer.
“I mean it, Cassandra. I’ve got my phone out. I will dial 911.”
“I’m coming!” Cassie whined, like a twelve year old being dragged off to church.
With each step she retraced the tracks of her tears that led her to the couch that day. Bare feet stepping gingerly on ivory colored invitations with ornate silver script. Bare feet striding over the white cardboard box strewn on the floor, which once held her veil. Bare feet stopping at the door where a two carat ring lay discarded, no longer the source of envy but of humiliation. Cassie took in a deep breath, braced herself and opened the door. The look on her mother’s face said it all: My daughter, the walking zombie.
Cassie didn’t say a word. She turned and trudged back to the comfort and security of her sofa. Darlene followed with quiet footsteps. As she walked, she studied her little girl. She almost looked like a little girl—a pathetic little girl—but a girl none the less. Frazzled hair, barely held together in a ponytail. Baggy, University of Pennsylvania gym shorts drooping off of her backside, and a tiny a white tank hanging off of one shoulder.
Cassie wrapped herself in her comforter and plopped back on to the couch. Darlene cleared off a space on the loveseat. When she sat, she crossed her legs and leaned her body away from Cassie, as if she was infected with an incurable disease --bad relationship-itus. Well, f I am infected, I got it from you. Cassie thought.
“So, how are you?” Darlene asked, cheerfully, after a moment of silence.
Cassie shrugged, then fumbled with her French manicured finger tips.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Cassie rolled her eyes and said smugly, “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about going over to the salon and getting a mani-pedi.”
Darlene’s face instantly became flushed. “Don’t sass me, young lady. This is not my fault.”
It absolutely was her fault, Cassie thought. Darlene was the one had who filled her head with all that junk. Made her believe in lies. Read bedtime stories to her, since before Cassie could speak. Stories of handsome princes, riding in on pretty white horses, to carry fair maidens off to their happily-ever-afters. Darlene was directly responsible for feeding Cassie a steady diet of the “Find your Mr. Right and all your problems will be solved” doctrine. Sure it was irrational thinking, but Cassie wasn’t interesting in being rational at the moment. But beyond that, she wasn’t interested in anymore drama either. She didn’t want to pick a fight with her mother. She would listen to Darlene, let her pretend to be the devoted mother for a couple of hours and then sink back into the beautiful misery she had found nestled deep with in the cushions of that old leather couch.
“No. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, yet.”
“It’s okay. No rush. It’s just, the caterer called and wanted to--”
“Mom. Please. Not now.
Darlene raised her hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push,” she said in her high-pitched “I’m not trying to be a bother” voice. She folded her hands and sat quietly, not sure of what to say now. Darlene looked around the room and resisted the urge to clean it. The place looked like a tornado had just blown through. A large white sack lay at the base of the sofa. She looked closer. That was no sack.
“Is that your…” Darlene gasped then scooped up the designer wedding gown and cradled it in her arms like a wounded soldier. The dress they had hired some big name designer from Los Angeles to create. The dress they had both wept over when they first saw Cassie wearing it. “This is a $20,000 dress. You can’t just throw it on the floor like an old sweat sock.”
“It’s not like I’ll be needing it.”
Darlene lowered herself back into the seat and said grimly, “So you have made your decision.”
“What choice do I have?”
“He’s not the first man to cheat, Cassandra.” Darlene pulled the bulk of the gown on to her lap and began smoothing out its silk bodice. “I mean, if we all threw away a man because he was unfaithful, the world would be filled with a lot of lonely ladies.”
“True. Or maybe the world would finally be filled with men who learned to treat women with respect.” Cassie shot back.
“So, no room forgiveness? No allowances for mistakes in your perfect little world?”
“I’d hardly call lying to me, so he could spend all weekend in the bed with the Double Mint Twins, a mistake. It all seemed pretty deliberate in my book.”
That made Darlene pause. “He didn’t tell me they were twins,” she said, and stared off for a second as if visualizing the whole scene, then quickly shrugged it off. “Regardless, Scott is handsome, successful, well respected at his firm—prime husband material! You want to throw all that away because he has one tiny flaw? That’s like refusing to buy a Rolls Royce because it has one tiny smudge in the interior.”
Cassie threw back her comforter in a huff. “Excuse me, but if I’m shelling out all that money for a Rolls, there better not be any smudges on the interior! I think I’m entitled to at least that much.”
Darlene’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. She folded her arms, causing her bracelets to clink and clank against each other. “All right, Miss Holier Than Thou,” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? The thing Cassie had been wrestling with on the couch for the past three days. For two years her future had been set. Her future was Scott. Two weeks from Saturday they would’ve been married. Three weeks in the Greek Isles for their honeymoon then back home to their happily little life as husband and wife. Cassie would putz around in her dad’s company for a couple of years until she was ready to have a baby, then quit. She would spend the next couple of decades being a loving mother: Mommy and Me, den mother, PTA, football boosters, prom chaperone. Her life would be devoted to caring for husband and their three children (two boys and a girl). And if she ever got bored, she could always go back and work part-time in daddy’s company. But honestly, how could she ever be bored with a life like that? Then when the nest was empty, she would take up photography, travel the world with Scott and spoil her grandchildren rotten.
Three days ago, her life was set. Then she got the bright idea to make a surprise visit to her fiancé’s house. Ha! She was the one who left surprised. She was the one whose jaw dropped. She was whose head was spinning try to figure out which direction her life would now take.
Now standing in the shower—forced to take a shower by her mother—Cassie let the warm water permeate her brain, flushing out all memories of Scott. She could hear Darlene in the living room, ripping open the curtains. Cassie imagined the blinding white light of sunshine flooding the room. By the time Darlene finished, the room would be sparkling clean and lovely and beautiful, as if no darkness ever dared invade that space. Good riddance.
Meanwhile, Cassie shampooed, shaved and sugar scrubbed until her body tingled. Tingles of possibility. It dawned on her: The end of Scott meant the beginning of Cassandra. When she really, really, really thought about it, she did have something to be excited about. She had a chance to remake herself. Looking at the face staring back at her through the steamy bathroom mirror, she did not like what she saw. Everything about her, even down to her wet blond lochs, screamed Scott (she was naturally a brunette, but Scott loved blondes, so she dyed it). Ridiculous. She might as well have had “Scott’s Girl” tattooed on her forehead. Never again would she allow a man to exert that much influence in her life. She would be her own person. Chart her own destiny. And if a man wanted to tag along for the ride, he would have to be the one to dye his hair blonde –or something like that. Bottom line, no more fairy tales. She would write her own happy ending.
A knock at the door. Before Cassie could answer, Darlene stuck her head inside and, in hushed tone, announced, “Um…Honey? Scott’s at the door.”
Damn!
The thunderous pounding she heard must have been the door. It certainly wasn’t her heart –surely that had died three days ago. And it couldn’t have been the throbbing temples from her massive hang over. She didn’t even have a hang over. She was numb enough as it was. Alcohol would have only made her nauseous. What was that pounding? Make it stop. Please, God make it stop! All she wanted to do was sleep. Keep her eyes closed and disappear. Fade away. But the pounding was making that impossible. It was a blatant reminder that she could hear, that she could feel and was, therefore, still alive. She didn’t know what that pounding was, but she did know that voice: “Enough is enough, Cassandra Adams. Now open this door or I’m calling the police!”
“Okay. Okay.” Cassie heard her mouth say. She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. Possibly because her throat was so dry from all of the wailing and moaning she had done over the past few days. Possibly because all of her hopes and dreams had been sucked out of her. Possibly because her face was still buried in the sofa. Cassie peeled her face from the beige leather cushion and sat up. The clock read 2:12 in the afternoon, but the gloom of the room made it seem like midnight, curtains pulled tight blocking out any trace of sunlight and cheer.
“I mean it, Cassandra. I’ve got my phone out. I will dial 911.”
“I’m coming!” Cassie whined, like a twelve year old being dragged off to church.
With each step she retraced the tracks of her tears that led her to the couch that day. Bare feet stepping gingerly on ivory colored invitations with ornate silver script. Bare feet striding over the white cardboard box strewn on the floor, which once held her veil. Bare feet stopping at the door where a two carat ring lay discarded, no longer the source of envy but of humiliation. Cassie took in a deep breath, braced herself and opened the door. The look on her mother’s face said it all: My daughter, the walking zombie.
Cassie didn’t say a word. She turned and trudged back to the comfort and security of her sofa. Darlene followed with quiet footsteps. As she walked, she studied her little girl. She almost looked like a little girl—a pathetic little girl—but a girl none the less. Frazzled hair, barely held together in a ponytail. Baggy, University of Pennsylvania gym shorts drooping off of her backside, and a tiny a white tank hanging off of one shoulder.
Cassie wrapped herself in her comforter and plopped back on to the couch. Darlene cleared off a space on the loveseat. When she sat, she crossed her legs and leaned her body away from Cassie, as if she was infected with an incurable disease --bad relationship-itus. Well, f I am infected, I got it from you. Cassie thought.
“So, how are you?” Darlene asked, cheerfully, after a moment of silence.
Cassie shrugged, then fumbled with her French manicured finger tips.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Cassie rolled her eyes and said smugly, “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about going over to the salon and getting a mani-pedi.”
Darlene’s face instantly became flushed. “Don’t sass me, young lady. This is not my fault.”
It absolutely was her fault, Cassie thought. Darlene was the one had who filled her head with all that junk. Made her believe in lies. Read bedtime stories to her, since before Cassie could speak. Stories of handsome princes, riding in on pretty white horses, to carry fair maidens off to their happily-ever-afters. Darlene was directly responsible for feeding Cassie a steady diet of the “Find your Mr. Right and all your problems will be solved” doctrine. Sure it was irrational thinking, but Cassie wasn’t interesting in being rational at the moment. But beyond that, she wasn’t interested in anymore drama either. She didn’t want to pick a fight with her mother. She would listen to Darlene, let her pretend to be the devoted mother for a couple of hours and then sink back into the beautiful misery she had found nestled deep with in the cushions of that old leather couch.
“No. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, yet.”
“It’s okay. No rush. It’s just, the caterer called and wanted to--”
“Mom. Please. Not now.
Darlene raised her hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push,” she said in her high-pitched “I’m not trying to be a bother” voice. She folded her hands and sat quietly, not sure of what to say now. Darlene looked around the room and resisted the urge to clean it. The place looked like a tornado had just blown through. A large white sack lay at the base of the sofa. She looked closer. That was no sack.
“Is that your…” Darlene gasped then scooped up the designer wedding gown and cradled it in her arms like a wounded soldier. The dress they had hired some big name designer from Los Angeles to create. The dress they had both wept over when they first saw Cassie wearing it. “This is a $20,000 dress. You can’t just throw it on the floor like an old sweat sock.”
“It’s not like I’ll be needing it.”
Darlene lowered herself back into the seat and said grimly, “So you have made your decision.”
“What choice do I have?”
“He’s not the first man to cheat, Cassandra.” Darlene pulled the bulk of the gown on to her lap and began smoothing out its silk bodice. “I mean, if we all threw away a man because he was unfaithful, the world would be filled with a lot of lonely ladies.”
“True. Or maybe the world would finally be filled with men who learned to treat women with respect.” Cassie shot back.
“So, no room forgiveness? No allowances for mistakes in your perfect little world?”
“I’d hardly call lying to me, so he could spend all weekend in the bed with the Double Mint Twins, a mistake. It all seemed pretty deliberate in my book.”
That made Darlene pause. “He didn’t tell me they were twins,” she said, and stared off for a second as if visualizing the whole scene, then quickly shrugged it off. “Regardless, Scott is handsome, successful, well respected at his firm—prime husband material! You want to throw all that away because he has one tiny flaw? That’s like refusing to buy a Rolls Royce because it has one tiny smudge in the interior.”
Cassie threw back her comforter in a huff. “Excuse me, but if I’m shelling out all that money for a Rolls, there better not be any smudges on the interior! I think I’m entitled to at least that much.”
Darlene’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. She folded her arms, causing her bracelets to clink and clank against each other. “All right, Miss Holier Than Thou,” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? The thing Cassie had been wrestling with on the couch for the past three days. For two years her future had been set. Her future was Scott. Two weeks from Saturday they would’ve been married. Three weeks in the Greek Isles for their honeymoon then back home to their happily little life as husband and wife. Cassie would putz around in her dad’s company for a couple of years until she was ready to have a baby, then quit. She would spend the next couple of decades being a loving mother: Mommy and Me, den mother, PTA, football boosters, prom chaperone. Her life would be devoted to caring for husband and their three children (two boys and a girl). And if she ever got bored, she could always go back and work part-time in daddy’s company. But honestly, how could she ever be bored with a life like that? Then when the nest was empty, she would take up photography, travel the world with Scott and spoil her grandchildren rotten.
Three days ago, her life was set. Then she got the bright idea to make a surprise visit to her fiancé’s house. Ha! She was the one who left surprised. She was the one whose jaw dropped. She was whose head was spinning try to figure out which direction her life would now take.
Now standing in the shower—forced to take a shower by her mother—Cassie let the warm water permeate her brain, flushing out all memories of Scott. She could hear Darlene in the living room, ripping open the curtains. Cassie imagined the blinding white light of sunshine flooding the room. By the time Darlene finished, the room would be sparkling clean and lovely and beautiful, as if no darkness ever dared invade that space. Good riddance.
Meanwhile, Cassie shampooed, shaved and sugar scrubbed until her body tingled. Tingles of possibility. It dawned on her: The end of Scott meant the beginning of Cassandra. When she really, really, really thought about it, she did have something to be excited about. She had a chance to remake herself. Looking at the face staring back at her through the steamy bathroom mirror, she did not like what she saw. Everything about her, even down to her wet blond lochs, screamed Scott (she was naturally a brunette, but Scott loved blondes, so she dyed it). Ridiculous. She might as well have had “Scott’s Girl” tattooed on her forehead. Never again would she allow a man to exert that much influence in her life. She would be her own person. Chart her own destiny. And if a man wanted to tag along for the ride, he would have to be the one to dye his hair blonde –or something like that. Bottom line, no more fairy tales. She would write her own happy ending.
A knock at the door. Before Cassie could answer, Darlene stuck her head inside and, in hushed tone, announced, “Um…Honey? Scott’s at the door.”
Damn!
About Runaway Love
Glam shot!
This was the first novel that I ever wrote; and in many ways it has been my labor of love. It so embodies my own fears and longings about love that I felt it too personal to share (though none of the events in the book reflect anything that ever happened in my life). Yet, I find myself coming back to this book and getting lost in it all over again. Over the years it has grown and evolved, as I have grown and evolved. Last year, I began to think maybe there is someone out there who can relate to Cassandra like I do. Someone who desires love and fears it all at once. If so, this book is for you.
But it does need some polishing. Over the next few months I will be posting other chapters, photos and other inspirations as I work to clean up RunAway Love and make it shine for you. So check back from time to time and see where I am. Feel free to share your thoughts as well on the book as you follow me on this journey. I've set a target date of December 2015 for the release, which is my birth month. What a fitting way to celebrate my birthday, sharing a story that I love so much with the rest of the world. -Cat
But it does need some polishing. Over the next few months I will be posting other chapters, photos and other inspirations as I work to clean up RunAway Love and make it shine for you. So check back from time to time and see where I am. Feel free to share your thoughts as well on the book as you follow me on this journey. I've set a target date of December 2015 for the release, which is my birth month. What a fitting way to celebrate my birthday, sharing a story that I love so much with the rest of the world. -Cat
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 5
A Flight to the Never Mind
A Flight to the Never Mind
“Everyone, meet Astrid,” Jax announced, after yanking open the door to the dusty blue van.
Astrid peered in. She saw three children, but only heard one voice reply, “Hi Astrid.”
The cheerful voice came from the little boy sitting in the back. He was about her age, small frame, with white blond hair and ocean blue eyes. “I’m Owen.”
She waived timidly.
Jax looked over his shoulder. He knew he didn’t have much time, but he didn’t want to scare Astrid any more than she already was by hurrying her along. “Go on, little one. It’s okay,” he said, kindly. “They won’t bite. I promise.” Jax held out his hands and Astrid raised her arms, allowing him to lift her into the van.
Now that she was fully inside, she could see the other two children. One, a girl—older, around ten. Painfully frail, with short bushy hair. The other, a boy Astrid’s age, round, plump with curly red hair. They looked miserably hot, like they had been riding around in that van for hours. And since neither of them had spoken to her, she decided to sit beside Owen. The only one who had said a word to her and the only one with a smile on his face.
She maneuvered her way to the back of the van, toward the boy with the beaming smile. His legs were really thin—too thin for the rest of his body. Just behind him, Astrid could see parts of a metal contraption that she assumed was his wheelchair.
As soon as Astrid sat down, Owen’s eyes turned dreamy. “You’re beautiful.”
“She looks like a boy,” the plump one said. “What’s wrong with your hair?”
“Shut up! It’s trendy,” snapped Owen. “Don’t listen to him, Astrid. That’s Grant. He’s a grouch.” He chuckled. “Grant the Grouch. That’s funny.”
“You’d be a grouch too if you’d been torn away from your family and forced to ride around in this big, dumb, stupid van.”
The bushy haired girl finally spoke, rather, she signed the words, “We’re all in the same boat.”
Astrid’s eyes lit up. She signed back. “You sign too?”
The girl nodded.
“That’s Lyric,” Owen added. “She can’t talk and she’s deaf, but she can read lips.” He looked at her purple cast. “You broke your arm?”
“Duh! No, she’s just being trendy,” said Grant.
“I meant, how…” Owen said quickly, feeling foolish for his choice of words. “How did you break your arm?”
Just then, she heard the door up front slam shut and the van grumbled to life. They lurched forward and were on their way. Astrid looked back and, through the small square window, she saw the familiar sights of Daisy Street begin to shrink from view. Waves of sadness washed over her. Already she was missing Uncle Russ, and the chickens, and the trees, and the mud pies.
A warm sensation found its way to her hand. She looked down and saw that Owen was holding her hand. “It’ll be okay, Astrid. I’m right here with you.”
Even though she didn’t know him, she felt comforted.
“Watch it, Romeo.” Jax warned, glaring at Owen through the rearview mirror. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
He quickly dropped Astrid’s hand.
“Aw! Let him hold her hand, it might shut him up,” said Grant. “I mean, he’s been flapping his lips ever since we picked him up.”
“I can’t help it if I’m friendly,” Owen said, not at all phased by Grant’s glower. “You want me to be all mean and yell at everybody?”
Grant thought it over. “Actually, yes. Yes, I would like that, Sunshine.”
The whole scene made Lyric snicker.
Grant didn’t find anything funny. He just groaned and declared, “I’m hungry!”
“Yes, child, you sang that tune to me already,” said Jax. “What happened to the fruit and crackers I put back there for ya?”
“He ate all of it,” Owen spoke up, with a little bitterness—the first note of any anger from this one.
“No way! You had some too!” said Grant.
“Yeah, me and Lyric had like four crackers between us. You ate the rest and the berries.”
Lyric signed along, emphatically agreeing with Owen. Echoing every word.
Jax sighed. “Hold on children. One more stop to go.” He made a hard right and they were are tossed to one side of the van.
The one more stop was to pick up twin boys. Blue and Teal. Born premature and blind, they had been at a facility for the past two years. Astrid would later learn that the kitchen staff had arranged for Jax to come and get them because the guards were so cruel to them. Blue and Teal weren’t identical twins, but they had the same shyness, the same quiet demeanor. The same dingy, gray, North Ward uniforms. The same scared look on their faces when Jax herded them into the van.
Owen, the social coordinator, jumped right in with the introductions, adding a little bit of backstory with each name. “…and this is the beautiful Astrid. She doesn’t talk with her mouth, but she says a lot with her eyes.”
Astrid shook her head, briskly.
“Yes, you do. See? You just did it right there. Your eyes are saying, ‘this boy is bananas.”’
Astrid started to laugh, but quickly caught it, by covering her mouth.
Grant perked up. “Bananas? I’d love a banana right about now.”
The van erupted with laughter from the other children, until they felt a subtle rocking, as Jax climbed back into the van.
“That’s it,” Jax announced. “Now, we’re ready to go.”
“Go where?” asked a very irritated Grant.
Jax bit his tongue, choosing not to answer that question again. Instead he swore and fought with the ignition until, at last, it revved up. They were on their way.
Thankfully, “where” was not too far away. Just a twenty-minute ride, over a very bumpy, twisting, narrow road.
Oceali Airfield North. Jax had to admit, he was glad to see the sign. Between the heat and the whiny kid in the back, he would be happy when this leg of the journey was over. He drove right past the gate. No need to show a badge or ID. Only a few planes used the airfield. Oceali was no longer a tourist hotspot. There were a few shipments and only a handful of medical personnel that used this field in any given week. Airfield East was slightly busier, used by the more affluent citizens of Oceali. Airfield South was exclusively for the royal family. And Airfield West closed down years ago, overrun by rising tides.
Airfield North should have been shut down too, due to lack of use. The Kassan family, one of the wealthier families on the island—and also very loyal to the Underground—bought the airfield to be used for their import-export business, which was really a cover for its true purpose. Jax only had to call them the day before, so they could fuel up the jet, falsify some documents and make the necessary arrangements to ensure safe passage.
It had always worked like clockwork. So, there was no reason to doubt it would be that way this time too. And it was.
There was a cascade of gasps and excited whispers when the children finally caught glimpses of the plane.
“Oooh! Are we going up in an airplane?” one of them yelled from the back.
“We sure are.” Jax pulled the van right up alongside the Cessna aircraft and started barking out orders. “All right, listen up little people…We just have a little further to go. Let me get us loaded up and we’ll be on our way, okay?”
They nodded in unison, hanging on his every word, just waiting for the signal. For him to say “go” and they would pile on to the magnificent machine.
“When I put you on the plane, buckle up and don’t touch anything. Ya hear me?”
More nodding.
“Good!” he said, sternly, then his eyes lit up when he said, “Now, who wants to go for a ride?”
The van rocked with cheers.
Blue and Teal climbed aboard first. They felt their way among the seats until they reached the last row and sat down. The plane was divided into three rows of two-seaters on the left side and three rows of single seats on the right. The twins took the two-seater in the back. Lyric took the single seat across the aisle from them. The other children waited outside for their turn to be seated, while Jax carried Owen and gently placed him in the next two-seater.
“Thanks, Mr. Jax.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can you hurry up? It’s hot,” Grant complained. Now that they were out of the van, Astrid could see that his left arm was far shorter than the right. She had been wondering what his deficiency was—other than being annoying. “And this smell is making me sick.”
“It’s probably just the jet fuel,” Jax replied then mumbled, “Or all the crackers and berries you ate.” Then he turned and said sweetly, “Do you want to sit next to your new friend, Astrid?”
Astrid looked at Grant who was starting to turn green and then at Owen, whose lovey dovey grin was making her nauseous. A tough decision. She pointed to Owen.
“All right, in ya go!” He scooped her up and set her feet down on the carpeted floor of the plane.
Owen smiled and asked, “Do you want the window seat?”
That was nice of him. Astrid smiled politely and shook her head.
Last to get on board was Grant. Jax tried to help him, but the boy just brushed his hand away. “I am more than capable of climbing up three steps, thank you.”
Jax sighed, “Buckle up, everybody,” as he disappeared from sight.
Everyone seemed to manage their buckles rather easily, except Astrid. Even Grouchy Grant managed to stop complaining long enough to get buckled in. She had been able to buckle herself in Russ’ car, but, with one hand, this one seemed to be fighting against her.
“Here.” Owen reached over and managed to click it in two simple moves.
She mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have you ever been on a plane before?”
Astrid reached into the blackness of her memory and couldn’t recall ever being on a plane. She shook her head.
“I have,” Grant interjected, as if someone had asked him. “Plenty of times. We used to take vacations all over the world.”
“All over the world? Really?” said Owen, pretending to sound impressed. He leaned into Astrid and tried to keep their conversation more private this time. “I was on a plane once. When I was a baby. My mom said they took me to this special doctor to see if he could fix my legs. She said I cried the whole time. Of course, I was too little to remember.”
“My parents flew the doctors in,” Grant inserted himself into the conversation once again. “Doctors from Asia, Africa—”
“Lunch!” Jax announced and Grant’s list was cut short.
Jax handed out white cardboard boxes to each of his passengers. “Blue…Teal…” One by one the boxes found their way to their rightful owners, who greedily tore them open.
Teal took a deep breath and said, “Yes! My favorite.” Just from its scent, he could tell the box contained thick slices of ham, cheese and apples. He turned his head in his brother’s direction. “What did you get?”
Blue waived his box in Teal’s direction and let him inhale the smell of steaming hot chicken pot pie. “My favorite.” How long had it been since he had had a pot pie? Now everyone was eager to see what was in their boxes.
“Tacos!” Owen cheered. “I love tacos.” He looked back at Lyric and let her read his lips. “Is that your favorite, Lyric?”
She nodded, her face already covered in strawberry ice cream.
Why hadn’t it melted? Astrid thought. It must’ve been sitting in that hot van for hours. Why was Blue’s pie steaming hot? How was any of this possible? Then she remembered Jax and his legs stretching and a shrinking as needed. Was he a magician?
Her train of thought was broken by a weird gurgling sound. She looked over at Grant, who was shoveling mounds and mounds of chocolate candy into his mouth with his dominant hand. She assumed that was his favorite.
“Astrid.” Jax set a box on her lap. Her heart leaped, picturing a pile of Uncle Russ’ cookies waiting for her to devour them. But they weren’t there. No chunky chocolate cookies. No cookies at all. Instead she found two yellow cupcakes, glistening with white icing. She leaned in a little closer and took a sniff. Lemon.
“Is that your favorite?” Owen asked, with a mouth full of chicken tacos.
Astrid shrugged her shoulders.
Owen replied, “It has to be. Everyone else got their favorites.”
“Who cares,” said Grant. “Eat it. Or will.”
Astrid took that threat seriously. She broke off a piece of lemon cupcake and hurried to shoved it into her mouth.
Delightful. Light and moist. Tangy and sweet. A tiny piece of heaven in her mouth. How did they know she would like it? —Love it. How did they know that this would be her new favorite? How did they know that she would finish off the first cupcake in three bites? How did they know? And who were they anyway?
Jax finished putting the last of the bookbags, suitcases and shopping bags onto the plane. Finally, he slipped Owen’s wheelchair onto the small space between the passengers and the cockpit.
When they saw him again, he was climbing into the pilot’s seat.
“You’re flying the plane too?” asked Grant.
“That’s why they call me Jax Offalltrades.” He fired up the plane’s engines and they could hear the whirl of the propellers starting to turn.
“Hey! Can I sit up there with you?” Grant asked, while licking the chocolate off of his fingers.
Jax smirked. Looking at the annoying boy, with the chubby cheeks and the chocolate covered fingers, he suddenly didn’t seem so annoying anymore. But the thought of going the next hour and ten minutes with Grant as his copilot, getting chocolate all over his dials and levers? “Maybe next time, kid. Maybe next time.”
Soaring among the clouds felt like a dream—literally a dream. Astrid fell asleep in Uncle Russ’ car last night and just a few hours later she was flying in a plane, for the first time ever, with a bunch of strangers, on her way to some unknown place. It was part dream and part nightmare, because she had no idea what was waiting for her when this plane landed. But Uncle Russ assured her it would be good, and she trusted Uncle Russ. Besides, no one else seemed worried. Everyone else was just enjoying the ride. Except Grant. He was nauseous from the moment the plane lifted off. All the candy he had stuffed down his throat was trying to force its way back up. He just leaned his head against the window and groaned the whole time. “Ugh! When are we going to get there?”
“Won’t be much longer now, kid. Hang in there,” Jax yelled over his shoulder. He passed a paper bag to him. “Here ya go. Just in case.”
Grant snatched up the bag. But he didn’t throw up, thankfully. He just moaned a little longer, until he finally fell asleep. Astrid almost felt sorry for him. If he hadn’t scarfed up the last bit of her lemon cupcake when she turned her head to look out the window, she would have definitely felt sorry for him. Right now, she was feeling quiet vindication. She went back to looking out the window.
Astrid regretted turning down Owen’s offer to sit by the window. The view was amazing. A vast expanse of ocean as far as the eye could see, with the occasional dot of land. She had read about it in some books and Uncle Russ had told her all about it too. The Shift. The climate shift. When temperatures grew warm, causing the icebergs to melt. Water levels began to rise. Barely noticeable at first. But over the past one hundred years or so, huge chunks of land had been swallowed up by water. It was fascinating to hear his stories: fleeing his home in a boat, the great storms that wiped whole towns away, watching his father’s truck get swept away by a rush of water, while he, his parents and his two brothers clung to the trees for dear life.
It was one thing to hear his stories, but to see the aftermath with her own eyes was simply stunning. Astrid drifted off to sleep with her head on Owen’s shoulder, dreaming that she was floating on a sea of lemonade, in a boat made of chunky chocolate cookies.
The next words she remembered hearing were: “Wake up, sleepy heads.”
Jax was still in the cockpit, pushing nobs and levers, but occasionally looked back to say, “We’re here. Get ready for landing.”
Here. Where was here? Astrid craned her neck to see out of the front of the plane but all she saw was white. No more ocean. Thick clouds had surrounded the plane and seemed to be escorting them to their final destination. She felt a sinking in her stomach. The plane was dipping lower. Her excitement was elevating. This was an adventure. A full-on adventure. Not knowing what was going to happen next was scary, but also thrilling because she was with people she could trust. Whatever happened they were in it together.
The plane jolted, jiggled and jumped, tossing everyone from side to side. Before the panicking and crying started, Jax took charge. “Just a little turbulence. The plane is dancing on the air, little ones. Relax. No need to worry.”
Grant completely disregarded his words, “Relax? We’re about to fall out of the sky!”
“Stop being dramatic, boy! You think I’d put you on a plane that would drop you out of the sky?”
Another jolt and the plane dipped some more.
Astrid looked behind her. Lyric’s eyes were closed and she was quietly praying. Blue and Teal were gripping the arm rests, tightly, like they were trying to stabilize the plane on their own.
Astrid tried not to panic. She wanted to believe Jax. But with each jolt, that was getting harder and harder to do. She heard another voice in her ear, soothing her. “We’re safe. We’re almost there,” Owen said, softly.
Him, she did believe. Astrid reached her right hand over her broken left arm and grabbed on to his hand. Better. She felt much better. Owen was a rock. He didn’t even seem to mind how hard she was squeezing his poor hand. He had the same sweet smile on his face, which gave Astrid permission to hold on until the plane touched the ground.
The first thing Astrid noticed when she stepped off the plane was the air. Warm, but not that thick soup of pollution and humidity from back at home. All around her was green. There were lots of green trees and grass on Oceali—at least she thought they were green. Not like this green. Deep and lush shades of green, like she had never seen before. Beautiful. That was the only word she could think of.
The only thing that wasn’t beautiful was the sound of Grant’s retching, throwing up on the other side of the plane. He had been doing that for the past five minutes, bringing up lemon cake, candies, crackers and berries, along with whatever it was he had for breakfast.
From out of nowhere, came the music, startling Astrid. She turned around and saw the band. Children with their horns and drums, playing a festive song. Above them was a sign that said Welcome in purple letters trimmed in gold.
As the band hit its final note, she emerged.
A statuesque woman in navy blue, pinstriped trousers and silvery white silk blouse. She looked like one of those women in the old-fashioned magazines that used to belong to Uncle Russ’ wife that he, for some reason, refused to throw away. The woman took a few graceful steps and stood right in front of this group of children, who stared at her, wide-eyed, as if under her spell.
“Welcome children. My name is Allison French and I am the Dean of Education at the Academy. Welcome to the Isle of the Never Mind.”
