She slid into the backseat and said, "Let's go."
Chapter Seven
WAY #47: Get out of town.
If there's a place you've always wanted to see—go there. If there's an adventure you've always wanted to experience —do it. Traveling isn't just for couples anymore.
—from 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
Julia hated to call so early, but the flight was boarding soon and she didn't know when she'd get another? chance. Caroline's greeting was groggy but to the point. "How's it going, slugger?" "You heard?" Julia asked, cringing.
"Oh, I saw. There was news footage. What were you think-
"Please, C, please don't start. I've been sitting in a police nation hallway all night. So, please, if we can do this conversation later, I would really appreciate it."
"Sure," her sister said. "We'll do it when you get home."
"Well. . . see . . ." Just spit it out, Julia, she told herself. "I won't be alone."
"I knew it!" Caroline cried. "As soon as I saw that picture, I just knew in my gut! He looks just like—"
"Caroline!" Julia cut her off.
"What? Can't I say it? Doesn't he know he's the spitting image of—"
"Caroline, cut it out. We're not 'together' together. Making the flight was kind of iffy, and there was a price attached. I've got to take him with me. But it's okay. I can keep an eye on him this way, keep things from escalating. So, please, just brief the troops."
"Whatever you say," Caroline said. "Whatever you say," she repeated, not trying to disguise her skepticism.
Julia looked across the terminal at the man waiting for her by the glass and told herself that everything was for the best. Then Lance yawned and stretched, and she saw half the women in the airport drop their purses and their jaws at the sight of him. Oh, well, she thought, that which does not kill us makes us stronger. She said good-bye to her sister and snapped her phone shut.
Lance took this as his cue to make a call himself.
"Everything okay?" he asked as he walked past.
She cut her eyes up at him and said, "Fine."
He slid a quarter into a pay phone and dialed a familiar number. He told the operator that the call would be collect, something he no longer felt guilty about. The guilt he did have came from calling at what was essentially the middle of the night in
California. But knowing his mother and her chronic insomnia, Lance half suspected she might be repotting petunias or vacuuming the oven instead of in the middle of a dream. Whatever the case, he was sure she'd want to know what was going on.
"They're not true," he said instead of hello as soon as he heard his mother's voice.
"Well, I knew that," she said, her voice utterly awake, her response to the point. Lance realized then how much he'd missed his mother's shorthand. With other people, things needed to be explained, sentences needed to be finished. When he was talking to the woman who'd raised him, all adjectives and most verbs became virtually useless.
"So," she said, "are you going to tell me what's going on?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Not really. As long as you're okay."
"I am. I'm good."
"Sweetheart," she started, and he knew very well where that sentence was going to end up. "Don't, Mom. Please."
"But he's your father," she pleaded. "He'd want to—" "You didn't need his help when you were raising me. I don't need it now."
"Okay," she said, backing down. "You're okay?" she asked again.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm okay. Look, I'm going to drop off the radar for a little while. Don't worry if you don't hear from me for a day or two." From the corner of his eye, he saw a newsstand full of tabloids. "And if you read anything about me," he went on, "don't believe it."
The line was silent for a long time, and Lance wondered if the call had been disconnected. Then he heard his mother say, "This sounds like something—"
"Dad's not a factor in this."
"You'll call if you need anything?" she asked him.
"Of course," he said and told her good-bye.
Julia was in first class; Lance was stuck in coach. Well, not really stuck. She'd put him there under the guise of not wanting to draw attention to themselves by traveling together, and he'd bought it. Or he didn't care. Whatever the case, she stretched out in the leather seat, ate her warm croissant, and got ready to sleep until they had to change planes in Dallas. Without delays, they'd touch down in Tulsa at one and be at her sister's in plenty of time for Cassie's three-o'clock party.
Her heavy eyelids had just begun to drop when she heard, "Excuse me," and opened one eye to see a flight attendant hovering overhead. "I'm sorry to bother you, Miss James. It's just that I'm such a huge fan. The airline usually frowns on this sort of thing," the young woman said as she reached into the pocket of her smock, "but if you could ..." She held a copy of 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire and a pen toward Julia.
An autograph, Julia thought, feeling as if the last few days had been a dream and she was just flying out of New York, not fleeing from it. Her book was in her hands; a woman who appreciated her message stood before her. This is who I am, Julia thought. This is what I do. Her confidence soared. Two lines inside the cover. A signature. A smile.
She took the book, opened to the front page, and saw that someone had beaten her to it.
To Marci, All the best, Lance Collins
When the passengers back in coach were finally allowed to deplane, Lance followed the masses through the airport.
Julia was nowhere to be seen. The staff at the Ritz had shipped the bulk of her toy purchases home for her, but she still had suitcases and other bags. Lance knew she might have ditched him, but she wasn't going home without her luggage. He stood on his tiptoes and scanned the baggage-claim area when a noise flew past his ear like a gnat.
"Pssst. Pssst."
Where was that coming from? "Behind the ficus." He started to pivot. "Don't turn around!"
Lance faced forward, away from rustling of fake ferns and plastic trees that came from an exhibit designed to encourage visitors to check out the Tulsa Zoo while they were in town.