I heard a high-pitched wail somewhere in the distance, getting closer and closer. It was several long seconds before I realized the keening sound came from me. He shoved up the armrest separating us, slipped one arm around my waist, and pulled me to his chest. I dissolved into wracking sobs.
“Can I get her something?” I heard the anxious voice of the flight attendant but didn’t look up.
“Some water, please.” He patted me on the back. “Just let it out; you’ll feel better.”
I don’t know how long my full-fledged crying jag engulfed me, but the pain from loss of hope subsided, and I gasped for air. I saw the worried face of the young attendant. A serious-looking man in a light blue shirt and wrinkled khaki slacks stood beside her. Where the crew member regarded me with a look of cautious compassion, he gazed at me as if he thought I might set off an explosive device after my recovery from a raging attack of hysteria.
The attendant handed me a bottle of water. When I tried to thank her, I began crying again, quieter this time, until the hiccups started. McElroy opened it and helped me take a sip. He reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief.
“Blow,” he commanded. I did.
“Is there anything else you need?” the flight attendant asked.
“It’s Brenda, right?” He turned on the charm. “I think we could both use something a little stronger than water. I’ll have a Scotch rocks, and for the lady here.” He paused and looked at me.
“Vodka tonic with lemon, please.” I hadn’t realized how much I wanted a drink.
The man in the khaki pants was still standing by our seats. “Do you have yourself under control, Little Lady?” he asked.
Something about his tone sent a shot of white-hot fury up my back. “I appreciate your concern,” I began. “And I do believe this little lady is just about all settled down. Of course, if I start thinking about my dead sister and how the man I used to think I was in love murdered her and how my mother is home losing her mind about it, it’s possible, just possible, mind you, that this little lady might lose her shit again.”
Mr. Khaki Pants took a few steps back.
“No danger here, Air Marshall.” McElroy said. “It is Air Marshall, isn’t it, sir?”
“Just a concerned passenger.” He sidled away.
“Was he really an Air Marshall?” I asked.
“Can’t be sure, but I’d take odds on it.” He smiled. “So, is this little lady all settled down?”
“I’m sorry about that. It hit me so fast and so hard.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Grace. Oops, I mean Miss Burnette.”
“Grace is fine. Miss Burnette is a little formal for someone who just got snot all over your shirt.”
“No big deal. I have other shirts.”
Brenda returned with our order, and he eased back in his seat.
“My dad passed a few years ago,” he said. “It’s not the same as a sister, but I understand how sudden the reality crashes down on you. And you haven’t had time to grieve. Why don’t you get some rest?”
“Excuse me.” A sparrow-like woman with short blonde hair leaned across the aisle. Fine lines dusted her skin, but her eyes were a clear, bright blue. I judged she was in her early sixties at the most, but her outfit—a pink silk sweater set and a long strand of creamy, white pearls—suggested she came from an even earlier generation when people dressed up, rather than down, for air travel. “I couldn’t help overhearing, dear. I know a little about losing loved ones.”
I braced myself. After Gran died, people came to me and shared stories of death and destruction. I suspected they thought it was somehow a comfort. But it was more an initiation into a club you never wanted to join. And they wanted to teach you the secret handshake.
Instead of over-sharing, however, she motioned to Justin. “This will help.”
He held out his hand, and she dropped three small, pale-yellow tablets into his palm.
“It’s Xanax, dear. I always keep some handy for when I fly. Sometimes, I take them when I’m not flying.”
Before I could thank her, she returned to her magazine.
He gave me the pills, and I stuck them in with my vitamins and Ambien. For now, the vodka was doing the trick, but I might need them later.
When I woke, the pilot was announcing our approach to Guayaquil.
“You were out. I almost held a mirror up to you a few times to check for signs of life. Then you started snoring, and I knew you were good.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and wiped the sleep from my eyes. Justin grinned and tapped the corner of his mouth. I touched my own lips and discovered what I hoped was only a small amount of drool.
“I must look like hell,” I said and excused myself to go to the restroom.
In the harsh lightning, I saw the damage was worse than I expected, but I attempted a quick clean up, dabbing at smudged mascara, applying lipstick, and brushing out tangles. The result was less than satisfactory, but it wasn’t as if I were going to a party. It was more as if I was preparing for a wake.
Chapter 13
The pilot announced our descent to Guayaquil and informed us it was the largest city in Ecuador. From the air we could see an array of brilliant greens and blues. He explained that the Guayas River ribboned through the dense foliage. The pearl of Ecuadorian commerce, it often changed course twice a day. From what I had read about the area and its manic history, this fickle body of water was the perfect symbol for the country Ben considered safe. Not so much for Stella, though.
From the window I saw an array of colorful rooftops stacked into the hillside. At first, the city grid was
