The Accidentals(22)

The Timex had clocked nursing shifts on my mother’s arm for years. Now I’m wearing it on my own wrist. There are two buckle holes with indentations next to them—my mother got thinner as the year progressed.

There was a jewelry box, too, which I hadn’t raided since I was a little girl. I flicked open the top. The tray inside held a few pairs of very plain earrings. Underneath, there were pictures. The top one was of me on Santa’s knee. Looking at it, I could hear my mother’s voice. “Say fuzzy pickles!”

It hurt me just to remember her, and I didn’t have time to break down. So I’d put the earring tray back on top of the photos, clicked the box shut, and tucked it into my tote bag, making a mental note to thank Hannah for her advice.

The worst part of yesterday’s packing was the look on Haze’s face when we were done. I braced myself for another argument, but it never came. Before we went outside, he gave me the fiercest hug I’d ever gotten. And when I kissed him on the cheek, his eyes reddened. But he didn’t say a word, except for “goodbye.”

Now, on the way to the airport I watch the gaudy Orlando billboards fly by us. This is the landscape of my life, and I don’t know when I’ll see it again.

Frederick pulls out his phone and taps a number. “Hannah Reeves, please,” he says a beat later. “Hello to you, too! Rachel and I are on our way to L.A.,” he tells her. “I just wanted to say thank you for all that you do. I guess you’re not in it for the money.” Whatever she says to him makes him laugh. “I will. Goodbye.”

“You laid it on a little thick there,” I say when he hangs up.

“Nah. Hannah is good people. Who would want that job? Digging ditches might be easier.” He pushes aside the plastic barrier that divides the front seat from the back. “Can you slow down just a little, pal? Thank you.” He slides it closed again. “I miss Carlos.”

“Carlos is good people too,” I agree.





My boarding pass reads Seat 2A. I’ve never flown first class before. As my father approaches the gate with his guitar case in hand, I wait for someone to tell him he can’t carry it onboard. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, a smiling flight attendant offers to find “a safe home” for it.

My phone chimes repeatedly as we board the plane. I sit down on the slippery leather seat and pull it out. Every text is from Haze.

You can still change your mind, he’s written. If you don’t like California, I’ll buy you a plane ticket home, okay? Just know that I’m still here for you.

My stomach tightens just reading it.

Call me before you get on the plane.

I don’t, though.

The flight attendant stands over my father, offering him a beer. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says.

“Would you like some lemonade?” she asks me, extending a glass.

“Yes. Thank you.” In first class, the glasses are real, and they arrive the moment you sit down.

I push myself back into the seat. The smell of the filtered airline oxygen is disconcerting. My life in Florida is coming abruptly to an end, like a familiar song shut off right in the middle of the chorus.

My phone chimes again. As my father watches me, I power it down without reading the message.

“You’re sneaking out of town, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Sort of,” I grumble. “You don’t like him anyway.”

“Rachel, I’m not judging you,” he says, his voice low. “I’m famous for sneaking out of town.”





DUET





DUET: 1. A piece for any combination of two performers. 2. On piano, two performers on one instrument.





Chapter Nine





As I descend the escalator at LAX that night, someone calls my name. And there stands Carlos, waiting beside the baggage claim, wearing one of his trademark smiles. “Bienvenida a California!”

“Gracias, Carlos! Como esta?”

“Bien, bien!” Carlos and I walk over to examine the luggage sliding past on the belt. Frederick hangs back, his phone pressed to his ear. Nearby, two women stand together, whispering, their eyes on Frederick.

I’m getting used to the stares he receives out in public. I make a game of predicting whether people will approach him or not.

These two will, I decide.

Our bags came into view, and I point. At the appropriate moment, Carlos and I lunge for them. We get all four off the belt in one go, although one of them lands on my toe.

“So, I guess I can fit that in on Thursday,” Frederick says into his phone, oblivious. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Henry.” He puts the phone away, and that’s when the two women rush him, all smiles and apologies. While Carlos and I stack the bags into two rolling towers, Frederick signs their boarding passes with the Sharpie he keeps in his pocket.

“We saw your show together in Las Vegas!” one of them gushes.

“Last year!” the other one adds.

I turn to Frederick. He wears the telltale forehead wrinkle that crops up when people mob him. “Sir, we have to hurry if you’re going to make it to Justin Bieber’s party.”

Frederick raises an eyebrow at me.

“Oh! Don’t let us keep you!” Both the women skitter away.