Priced to Move

Maybe you’ll find enlightenment while you grab your z’s. You might figure out why this cohosting gig isn’t working.”

I’m sure I can wait for further enlightenment—know what I mean?

Max looks like he’s about to argue some more, but then he shrugs and walks back to S.T.U.D.-world. I follow. And then I groan.

While we were ring-around-the-kiosking, Hannah and Allison must have gone to the bathroom or something, because they’re no longer on the couch they’d been sharing. Now each has taken up residence in one of the two armchairs that—you got it—Max and I had used.

The only piece of furniture left vacant in S.T.U.D.-world is that lousy couch. And unless one of us is ready to lie down on the hard concrete floor or wants to wander down to the other cluster of furniture at the far end of the terminal, we’re going to have to share.

Yep. You got it. The grounded pig and the dug-in mule and the teensy-weensy little ol’ couch. Oh my!

Not a pretty picture.

But I’m too tired. So I drop onto one corner and Max takes the other.

To my surprise, I actually sleep.

I hear clapping.

Then, “People!”

With less than no oomph, I pry open a totally reluctant eye. “Huh—”

Then I yelp. And bolt upright.

If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ve already figured it out. You see, there I was curled up on Max’s broad, warm, supportive shoulder, right in the middle of the airport, for the whole world to see. Of course, I had to bolt.

How am I ever gonna live this one down?

But then it gets worse. When I force my sleep-fogged eyes to focus, I see Miss Mona, who clearly has been staring at us for some time, the most indulgent smile on her face. Betchya Aunt Weeby knows all about that cozy dozing on the Burmese couch by now.

Like I said, I’m never gonna live this one down.

“People!” The man’s voice is more strident this time. “You want leave, no?”

“Huh?”

Max stands. “I think he’s trying to tell us they’ve found seats for us.” He turns to the khaki-uniformed man. “The flight’s ready?”

“Flight! Yes.” He nods like a bobblehead dog on the back of a land-yacht Cadillac. “You fly to America. Now.”

In less than no time, we board and buckle. This time, I make sure I’m next to Miss Mona, even though that poses a peril all its own. We listen to the Burmese version of the airline scare tactics—the life-jacket stuff, the exit slides, mass destruction and mayhem, etc., etc., etc.

Finally, after heavy-duty praying, and by the grace of our merciful God, the plane takes off without any more hitches.

I pray even harder than before, this time all praise and worship for his protection. Plus gratitude, since we’re all in one piece.

I sleep.

By the time we land at JFK, I know what I have to do next. I see the rest of our group on to their flight home to Kentucky, book a later one for me, and then hail a cab outside the terminal. A short time later, the NASCAR escapee in a turban screeches to a halt just outside my former place of employment. I pay him the king’s ransom he demands. Thank goodness I always kept my purse with me in Mogok. Can you imagine what I would have had to deal with if I’d left all my ID and credit cards in that hotel?

Ugh. And we have to trust that hotel to send us the stuff we left behind? Not holding my breath here.

I step inside the jewelry store where I worked so hard on my ulcers, and before I can say a word, Roger rushes me.

“I knew it! You’ve come to your senses! I just knew you would. Come on. Let me show you my latest buy —”

“Hang on!” I return his hug, and then extricate myself limb by limb. “I’m not here to work. Well, I’m here on work, but I’m not back to work for you.”

His smile wilts only at the edges. “You don’t mean that, Andrea. You know you don’t. I knew life in a backwater wasn’t for you. Not after all the years you enjoyed the real thing here in the city.”

“In your dreams. Do you realize I haven’t taken a single antacid since I left?” I marvel at that truth. “And I haven’t had even the slightest twinge of pain. It turns out I’m really not cut out for the kind of stress you thrive on.”

“I’ll triple your salary.”

“Roger! You have to stop that. I told you I won’t change my mind. It has nothing to do with money. It has to do with getting a life—mine! And it’s really not here in New York.” All the starch seems to wash right out of him. “If you insist, but I’m telling you now. I’m not giving up.”

I let that slide. “I didn’t just come for a visit, you know. I came because I have a ton of questions for you.”