The Wrong Mr. Darcy - Evelyn Lozada Page 0,42
the airport to open up, surprised when no one came to shoo her away. However, after trying to nap through boarding announcements, the squealing drag of wheeled suitcases, passengers bitching at the computers in the ticket-printing kiosks, crying babies, and the constant swoosh-swoosh of the automatic doors, all while making sure no one stole her suitcase, she realized nobody purposefully tried to spend a night in the airport. The worst was the oscillating air conditioner in the ceiling, shooting cold air out at a temperature meant to freeze beef and then shutting off just long enough for the corridor to heat back up to a clammy tropical jungle.
Still, better than being at the mansion of horrors.
So, Hara put her head down, shut her eyes, and bulldozed her way mentally through the misery and discomfort.
She never wanted to see any of those people ever again, wished she could erase the past few days. And Daddy … The pain she felt at his betrayal whipped through her, a fresh wound every time she thought of him. He’d let her think she’d made it this far on her own.
Finally, after the airport slowly shuffled to life and she’d been allowed through security and then visited every shop, some twice, she’d found her gate and settled in. The grim, dreary day slowly turned to night in the domestic concourse, with its banks of individual plastic chairs, the rain pounding the windows harder and harder, and a gusting wind occasionally bowing the glass.
Hara drank hot tea and watched the computerized arrival and departure board like it was a soap opera, getting tenser every time a flight changed from “on time” to “delayed.”
A flash of purple and white light lit up the terminal; a jagged streak of lightning stretched across the twilit sky, from one end of the horizon to the other, scaring the bejesus out of Hara. But it was the cracking boom that made her shriek.
The old man next to Hara patted her leg. “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, that lightning is right on top of us,” he creaked, his eyes kind under bushy gray eyebrows. “I hope they got their lightnin’ rods set tight.”
Hara nodded in agreement. A lot of people were clustering at the windows, waiting for the next lightning bolt, excited by the violence of the storm. She was going to stay right where she was and avoid metal, the rubber soles of her Adidas planted on the ground.
Another blinding, massive bolt of lightning filled the sky, this time making the hair on her arms stand up. Another peal of thunder crashed overhead, shaking the building for what seemed like forever. Then the rain kicked the spray up a notch, as if someone were hosing down the windows.
More lightning. More thunder.
Rubbing the bristle on his chin, the old man said, “Ayuh. Mother Nature showin’ off, then. Our first real nor’easter of the year. Looks to be a good un.”
“I can’t believe they fly planes in this.”
“Reckon they thought the same thing.” He got to his feet and nodded toward the board. He shuffled away, calling over his shoulder, “Good luck, miss. Be safe.”
More than half the flights were now flipped to “delayed.” A quarter read “canceled” in big red letters. Including her flight to Portland.
The airline personnel were crazed, unable to give her any help, unless she wanted a blanket and a sandwich for the night. There were no hotel vouchers available but they were bringing in cots. They weren’t going to start rescheduling flights until tomorrow. They would gladly set up the automated system to text her when a flight to Portland was scheduled.
She took the sandwich.
The only phone number she had for anyone local was for Madeline. Big, hard no.
But she did know where Naomi lived. Kind of. She grimaced, looked around at the chaos, and decided it was time to test out the kindness of a stranger. Hopefully, Naomi was home. Hara could not take another night in this place.
* * *
The soon-to-be-ex-reporter hunched her shoulders and sprinted up to Naomi’s brick building, trying to get out of the swirling rain and wind, puddles forming around her feet. Reaching over to ring the bell, she yelped in surprise when the entry door swung out, almost hitting her.
“What the—” Charles Butler quirked an eyebrow at her, a half smile on his lips. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Um. Uh,” she stuttered. I’m guessing Tina would ask you the same question. “My flight was canceled. I don’t really know anyone but Naomi.”
Her Uber driver