Part 14 (1/2)
How ridiculous! she thought, and punched her pillow into submission. If the world thinks you're in trouble, they avoid you like a leper. If they think you're too busy, they beat down your door.
It was critical to keep the mythical beast fed.
Nick turned over, forcing Olivia to move toward the edge of the bed. Suddenly she heard the chime of her French clock from under the bed. Had she wound it by accident? Oh no.
”What's that?” Nick said in a sleepy voice.
Olivia panicked. ”It's the apartment next door, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”
He threw his arm over her side and pulled her close to him. ”Nope,” he said. ”It's your clock. It's okay.”
In the complete darkness of that tiny bedroom, she smiled and snuggled up against him. He knew her that well and he loved her still. She guessed he had some understanding of their financial situation as well. In a way she hoped he did. It would mitigate her guilt and fear. The facts weren't exactly buried. He could've picked up a bank statement from her desk any time over the past six months and given it a look. Had he done so? She could not presume to know the answer to that or anything else at four-thirty in the morning. It didn't matter so much then. His muscular arm around her torso and his gentle regular snoring took her away into a peaceful sleep.
The flight to Charleston was quiet and smooth, except that the seats were oversold and there was a lengthy struggle to coerce two pa.s.sengers to give up their places in return for a travel voucher. The value of the travel voucher increased every ten minutes until the pot was sweet enough for two folks to relent.
Their flight was on a somewhat larger plane and Nick seemed slightly less nervous than usual. But it also seemed as if every single pa.s.senger had brought more on board than they were allowed. Every seat and overhead compartment and the s.p.a.ce under every seat was jammed to capacity.
”How are you doing?” Olivia asked.
”I flew in a helicopter, you know. This is nothing.”
”Right,” she said and smiled.
Although he did wipe down his seat-belt buckle, his reclining b.u.t.ton, and his entire tray table with a Purell wipe. So did she.
”I saw something on television-Channel Seven, I think-that said this was a good idea.”
”I believe you,” Olivia said. ”It can't hurt.”
”I'm telling you, this is where germs are. When is the last time I got a cold or the flu? Tell me that.”
”It's been a very long time,” she said, smirking as discreetly as one could when confined to what seemed like a tuna can, seated next to the smirkee.
”And this is why,” he said, holding up a wipe like Exhibit A. ”Are you smirking at me?”
”Please! I would never! I think you're precious. That's all.”
They landed in Charleston, retrieved their luggage, picked up the car keys from Ed at National, got in a brand-new white Ford Escape, and exited the airport. The day was very warm, and if you stood in direct sun for even a short period of time you would definitely get sunburned.
”It's hot,” Nick said.
”Yes. I'll tell you what,” Olivia said, blasting the air conditioner. ”Flying on JetBlue between New York and Charleston is a breeze. I mean, I think it's as good as a commercial flight can be.”
”Hmmm.” Nick was quiet for a moment. ”I'm listening to you, agreeing, and then my conscience gives me a kick in the head for even knowing the difference between what it's like to fly commercial versus private. Furthermore, my conscience thinks we sound obnoxious, especially when there are people starving in the world.”
”Oh, G.o.d! Oh, G.o.d! You can't be serious!”
”I'm dead serious. What about Darfur? The Lost Boys?”
”Oh my G.o.d, Nick! Suddenly, you're like who? Francis of a.s.sisi? I'm not complaining about flying on a commercial airline. And flying private is not how I would spend my money. I fly private for business and only on occasion. When I do, and you come, you are the beneficiary of that as well!”
They were waiting to merge onto I-526 East to take them to the islands. Traffic was heavy.
”Boy! You're in some mood today! What's the matter?”
”Where in the world did all these cars come from? Well, herein lies the problem. It's just way too easy to step into Bob and Maritza's life and think of it as our life, that's all.”
”It's true. Maritza never goes to TripAdvisor to shop for bargain fares like we do.”
”That's right. I just think we're awfully lucky . . . no, extremely lucky to have such fabulous vacations as someone's guest, and we should be grateful, not guilty.”
”My mother was a Catholic.”
”Oh, please. You're the one who ordered the extra hollandaise!”
”Oh, remind me of my wretched excess.”
”I'm only teasing. Do you want to grab lunch at the Long Island Cafe?”
”I think they'll be closed by the time we get there. We could get burgers at Dunleavy's.”
”Burgers it is.”
They rode around the block three times before finding a parking spot.
”The traffic on this island is getting ridiculous!” Nick said.
”No argument from me!” she said.
After a lunch of superb hamburgers with cheese, sauteed onions, and bacon and on the way to their new/old house, Nick said, ”So, are we going to have our first dinner in our new home tonight?”
”Well, sure!” Olivia started to laugh. ”Except, no dishes or pots and pans. Remember?”
”Right. And the movers are coming when?”
”Tomorrow. Before ten.”
”Well, good! So, I say let's put our things away and see what we can do to get ready for them.”
”I'm sure the house is covered in dust. But Jason and his crew are supposed to be there wiping down every surface. We'll see.”
”And maybe, at some point, we can have a nice walk on the beach?”