Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,59
have twenty-twenty vision. Did I just hear two people smack into each other because they were so busy staring at you?”
“Us. They’re staring at us.” She raised her voice. “I’m so excited about my first flight!” Tap-tap-tap. “The simulator was great but nothing compares to the real thing.”
“Hell. Straight to hell for you, no waiting.”
“Us, Sherry. We’ll burn together.”
“Again with this, you sick idiots?” Before she could turn, G.B. gave her a light smack on the back of her head. For a large man, he moved like a cat in socks. “What is wrong with you? That’s not rhetorical, by the way. I’m genuinely wondering what the hell your damage is. And Sherry! Complicit again! I’m disgusted by both of you, but you, Sherry … Ava’s hopeless, but you’re better than this.”
“She’s really not.”
“I’m really not,” Sherry agreed.
“I can barely look at you.”
“I feel the same way,” Sherry deadpanned.
“Oh my God, this is hell.” He moaned.
“Pretty sure we’re all going to hell,” Ava observed, handing back Sherry’s cane and taking off her sunglasses to the relieved sighs of various onlookers.
“Yeah, you’ve got a point.” He focused on Sherry. “Are you getting off in Minnesota or going all the way to L.A.?”
“The latter.”
“Want to get a drink after we land? I’ve got nothing on at LAX until 0500 tomorrow.”
“Are you going to pay this time?”
“This time and next time.”
Sherry shrugged. “Sure.”
“Yes!”
“He just did an actual fist pump, Sherry. In front of God and everybody. I’m appalled. Jeez, G.B. Play it cool.” The way she wasn’t with Tom. Hopefully G.B. wouldn’t pick up on the hypocrisy.
“Why? It’s Sherry!”
Sherry Lupe didn’t wear sunglasses and her eyes were the color of whiskey; she handled her cane like a ninja, and anyone who tried to fuck with her was in for an unpleasant day. Blinded at age ten, confident with or without the cane, a lawyer (per gossip from G.B., several defense attorneys were terrified of her) who did the BOS/LAX hop twice a week, long black hair, tip-tilted eyes, designer suit, killer heels, and if you didn’t know she was blind, you wouldn’t know.
Which reminded her. “I’m going out with this guy
(it’s official, then?)
who’s a bit of a klutz. Got any tips?”
“Yeah, tell him to break up with you. G.B., would you make yourself useful and have a screwdriver ready when I board?”
“I will, but only because it’s my job and I have to. It’s not because of anything you said.”
“Sure it isn’t.” Sherry saluted her with the cane in a motion that, ironically, could put someone’s eye out. “Always a pleasure, Captain.”
“I know that’s a cliché, but it is always a pleasure.” To G.B.: “So that’s exciting.”
“What are you even doing here? You told me you’re grounded.”
“I’m just deadheading. I wore my uniform to make a point.” Said point: This is me now, and yesterday, and tomorrow: Captain Capp. CAPTAIN Capp. Captain Fucking Capp.
“Captain Capp?”
“Agh!” Apparently, it was sneak-up-on-Ava day, because she’d had no idea Becka was there until she turned around. “Good morning! How’d it go with your brother at MAGE?”
For some reason, Becka chose that moment to look terrified. “Fine! It was fine! Everything is fine!”
Okaaaaay. “You seemed a bit weirded out. Like when you’re a kid and you see one of your teachers at the grocery store. It’s out of context, right?” Is that the problem? Or is it something else?
“I enjoyed seeing you!”
G.B. coughed. “Yeah, I don’t know what all this is, but I’m not standing around while the gate lice* gather. Plus, I gotta get going on Sherry’s screwdriver.”
“Sure. See you on b—annnnd he’s sprinting down the ramp.” She turned back to Becka, who had closed the distance and was now standing less than half a foot away. “You were say—uh, hello.”
“Hello. I’m sorry about the murder.” Becka was close enough for Ava to tell she’d had coffee and some kind of pastry for breakfast. She’d also gone from shouting to whispering, and Ava was having trouble keeping up with … well. All of it.
“What?”
“And your drug test.”
“Because…?”
She blinked. “Because you keep getting—I mean, it’s not you. But—it’s you. I mean, your thing. To be in the middle of all this bad shit.”
“My thing?” Bad shit?
“Well. Yes. I know you can’t help it, though,” Becka hurriedly assured her.
It’s not what you think. It CAN’T be what you think.
Well, I think there’s a possibility she might be having a ministroke …
“You’re standing really close for this conversation.”
“S-sorry.” Becka audibly gulped and stepped back three inches. “You—why were you there?