Unseen Messages(11)

It wasn’t that I was eager to get back in the air where my life expectancy became a debate but because I’d made a promise. I’d committed to something I believed in.

It’d been so long since I’d put myself out there—wanted to put myself out there—that I wouldn’t let a little rain and wind stop me. Not now, when I was so close to finding redemption for the shitty human I’d become.

I have no choice.

I’m going.

Tonight.

Scowling at the departure board, I repositioned my glasses and brushed a hand over my face as nothing but red lettering and flashing DELAYED announced no one was getting anywhere fast.

All around me the havoc of families and screeching children amplified in decibels, sending seething frustration through my blood.

I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t let my one opportunity to rewrite the wrongs I’ve done slip away.

The storm will blow over by the time you clear customs.

Holding onto that thought, I navigated the airport and dutifully lined up for my turn at immigration. My back ached from the landing-rodeo, but the line didn’t take too long. Handing over my passport and already organised work permit, I was ushered through with no issues.

Marching toward the baggage claim, my dinged-up, overstuffed backpack slid down the chute directly in front of me. Hoisting the weight onto my back, I rearranged my messenger bag and scanned the terminal.

Thanks to my tall height, I skimmed the heads of most people to the services offered beyond. Exits beckoned newly freed passengers to enter their tropical destination and shuttle operators sold vouchers to drive them to hotels.

I didn’t want to head out there without finding out about my flight or securing another alternative.

Spotting the airline who my new employer had arranged to fly me to the island, I stalked toward the booth, dodging flustered holidaymakers.

There was a small line, but I grudgingly stayed patient. Shuffling farther up the queue, I tossed my backpack onto the floor to rescue my spine.

Finally, it was my turn.

A Fijian woman with thick black hair and wide smile motioned me forward. “May I help you?”

“I hope so.” Kicking my backpack to lean against the counter, I placed my arms on the top and smiled. Dad always said I had a nice smile—straight teeth and honest intentions. I agreed with the straight teeth but not so much about the honest intentions. I’d been bloody lucky to get the work visa.

Someone like me didn’t normally find such hospitable welcomes.

Smiling wider, I hoped I could work some charm and get what I wanted. “I’m starting work tomorrow on Kadavu. I’m booked on your service to fly there tonight.”

“Okay, wonderful.” She grabbed a paper with six names on it. “And you are?”

I stabbed the sheet with my index. “Galloway Oak.” Conveniently located at the top of the list. “That’s me.”

Her black eyes met mine. “Thank you for flying with us, but I do have some unfortunate news, I’m afraid.”

Shit.

My heart sank, along with an unwanted dose of anger. “If it’s about the storm—the pilot on my inbound flight said it’s blowing over.”

She nodded, her gaze warm and gentle. “That’s true. Fiji has many storms, all which blow over very fast. But I’m sorry, Mr. Oak, the rain has delayed our schedule. We won’t be flying tonight.”

My gut clenched. “But I have a commitment.”

Shaking her head, she drew a tick beside my name. “You’ve been booked on our first available service tomorrow.”

It might still work.

If I get there before six a.m.

Swallowing my frustration, I asked, “What time is that?”

She beamed, her hair catching the overhead lights. “A very suitable hour of midday. You can relax at a local hotel and come back after a delicious breakfast. No early starts.”

I dragged a hand over my face, suddenly feeling the effects of jetlag. “That won’t work. I have to start work at eight.”

“I’m sorry.” She curled the corner of the page. “That’s just not possible. It’s our first available—”

“What about another airline? Is anyone else flying?”

She pointed at the madness behind me. “No one is leaving tonight, Mr. Oak. The international airlines will resume in an hour when the storm is over, but the local planes will not. We are all working hard to ferry you to respective hotels then have you on your way tomorrow.”

I groaned.

I couldn’t wait.

If I did, I’d have no accommodation because the deal was my labour for bed and food. I didn’t have any money to stay in fancy hotels.

“Surely, there must be something you can do?”

Her friendliness faded. “Mr. Oak. The storm is—”

“If the weather calms enough for other planes to depart, surely it’s safe to fly tonight?”

She grabbed a pen, scratching out my name on the manifest and scrawling a hotel name beside it. “Our airline has decided not to take that chance.” Passing over an envelope, she said, “Here is your voucher for dinner and breakfast along with a shuttle to take you to your hotel.” Her smile returned, a little more forced than before. “Have a pleasant night, Mr. Oak. See you in the morning.”