“Nervous?” Galloway watched as I punched the call button to summon the flight attendant for the third time.
“Pft, as if.” It was, of course, a lie. How could I not be nervous about meeting his parents? When I first met Kade Galloway, his folks were safely tucked away on the other side of the world, living their best lives in Australia. Only now, they were not. Now they had an apartment in the Torres Place Retirement Community, Chicago. But I wasn’t really nervous about meeting them. I’d moved beyond nervous and into terrified. What if they hated me?
“Ma’am?” The attendant arrived, all white smiles and red lipstick, her hair pulled back in a perfect bun without a single strand escaping. I touched a hand to my hair. Had I even brushed it today?
“I’ll have another, please.” I smiled back, holding my empty cup toward her. She took it with a tight smile, pressed my call button, and promised to be back shortly.
“Another?” The man sitting to my left snorted. “That much caffeine can’t be good for you.”
“Here’s hoping.”
Galloway’s hand landed on my thigh, making me jump. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.” Everything was not fine. For a start, we’d left home at the crack of dawn to drive to the airport to catch flight SA0321 to Chicago. I did not do crack of dawn well. Galloway had been a sweetheart, prepping me for the day with caffeine, carrying our bags, driving the hour-long journey to the airport, and paying for short-term parking.
“I hate to see the shape of your liver,” the guy on my left continued with his uninvited criticism. “High levels of caffeine can hinder the liver’s function.”
“You didn’t tell me you were afraid of flying,” Galloway said from my right. My head was swiveling back and forth so fast I was getting dizzy. Or maybe it was the caffeine. Or that I was thirty-four thousand feet in the air with a dead guy running commentary on my lifestyle choices. It wasn’t so much that my seat neighbor was deceased that had me rattled. But the dead guy sitting in seat 17F? He was missing half his head. I know! I was freaked out, too.
And if that weren’t bad enough (believe me, it was!), but Dead Guy? He had friends. There had to be at least a dozen ghosts on the flight with us—all of them sporting gruesome injuries. Some were missing limbs. It was the worst in-flight entertainment ever.
“I’m not afraid of flying,” I assured Galloway, placing my hand over his on my thigh. “I’m afraid of crashing.”
“Babe, flying is perfectly safe.”
I snorted. “Yeah? Tell him that.” I jerked my head toward Dead Guy. Galloway peered around me, eyeballing the empty seat.
“We have company?” He lowered his voice so we wouldn’t be overheard.
“Do we ever,” I confirmed. “And from the look of him, I’m going to hazard a guess that he went down in a plane crash.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
The flight attendant returned with my drink. After accepting the steaming cup, I turned to the dead guy and said, “This is my last one.” It was really difficult not to stare at his disfigured face. Instead, I focused my attention on the window and the blue skies beyond.
“Hey.” Dead Guy threw his hands in the air. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I thought that was the whole point?” Despite telling myself not to engage, I engaged. “That, according to you, I drink too much coffee. Not that you know the first thing about me,” I added under my breath.
“Uh, babe?” Galloway squeezed my knee hard, drawing my attention to the audience across the aisle, watching as I talked to an empty seat. Sighing, I took a hefty gulp of my beloved beverage of choice, not caring about the searing heat burning my esophagus.
Lifting the armrest between us, Galloway wrapped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me against his side in a comforting embrace. As much as my seatbelt would allow, anyway. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Here. Want this?” I held my cup out to him, and he chuckled. “Nope. That’s all yours. And I’m not annoyed at you drinking coffee. Have another if you want. You’re obviously seeing something distressing… I’m assuming not your usual ghost?”
“Not at all.” My usual ghost was whole, for want of a better word. I’d never had such a ghoulish ghost before. And I most certainly hadn’t been prepared for his entourage, that’s for sure.
“What happened to you, anyway?” I asked the dead guy, ignoring the folks across the aisle who were whispering to themselves, no doubt passing judgement on the crazy chick in seat 17E.
“What do you mean?” Dead Guy leaned forward to peer around me. “See? They don’t approve of you drinking so much coffee, either.”
I snorted, a loud, unladylike sound. “Dude, they’re seeing me talking to thin air. They think I’m certifiable.”
It was Dead Guy’s turn to snort. “Lady, you’re clearly off your meds. You’re making no sense.”
“Babe?” Galloway gave me another warning squeeze, reminding me—again—that I had an audience to my one-sided conversation.
“Sorry,” I muttered, finishing my coffee and placing the cup on my fold down tray. “Maybe I’ll try to nap.”
“Brilliant idea.” Dead Guy nodded. “I’ll do the same.”
Leaning my head against Galloway’s shoulder, I shut my eyes, but as much as I yearned for sleep, it was not to be, for now my bladder was telling me those three coffees I’d had in quick succession were searching for an exit. Sitting upright, I unsnapped my seatbelt. “I need to pee.”
Galloway released his seatbelt and stood, a steadying hand on my arm that didn’t prevent me from smacking my head straight into the overhead locker. “Ouch. You okay?”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, feeling my cheeks heat as everyone turned to look. “I’m fine.” Smoothing my T-shirt into place, I noticed a small wet spot where I’d dripped some coffee. I rubbed at it, as if it would magically dry and disappear. Stepping into the aisle, I made my way toward the bathrooms at the back of the plane, figuring the shirt would dry by the time we landed and Galloway’s family wouldn’t notice one small stain. I could hear the deep timbre of Galloway’s voice behind me, no doubt assuring everyone I was not some deranged psychopath.
I hustled into the cupboard they called a bathroom and locked the door, thankful to have a moment to myself.
“Get yourself together, Audrey,” I whispered, running my hands over my face. The coffee had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I was second-guessing my life choices because my hands were trembling and I felt… twitchy. Caffeine overload, for sure. I was meeting Galloway’s family in—I glanced at my watch—one hour. Hopefully, the effects of the caffeine rush would fade by then.
I’d finished peeing but remained seated, pondering my options, when something happened that had never, ever happened before.
A ghost appeared. Not so unusual, right? But this woman? She appeared in me! Or I was in her. Either way, she was heart freezingly cold! Shards of ice shot through my body, generally shocking as a whole because I was sitting on the toilet, and so was she. I couldn’t help it. I screamed. She screamed. And then there was banging on the bathroom door and someone asking, “Is everything all right in there?”
Slapping my hand over my mouth, I jumped to my feet, trying to get away from the ghost, which was tough in such tight quarters, especially with my jeans and underwear around my knees. “What the hell?” I hissed at the woman, who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be peeing. I turned my back, tugging my clothing back into position to cover my bare butt.
“Do you mind?” Her voice dripped with disdain. “This bathroom is occupied.”
“Yes,” I hissed back. “By me! I was here first, lady!”
Someone banged on the door again. “Miss? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I called out, then glared at the ghost, who merely smirked and shrugged her shoulders. Holding her gaze, I defiantly slapped my hand on the flush button, hoping—rather maliciously—that she’d get sucked to wherever toilet waste gets sucked to on a plane. Alas, she remained in situ, returning my glare. I washed and dried my hands, unlocked the door, and stepped outside, forcing the flight attendant to back up a step. “Oh, sorry,” I automatically apologized, even though she’d been the one standing right outside the door, blocking my exit.
“Are you okay, miss?” she asked, eyeing me up and down. “Can I get you anything?”
Xanax? Valium, perhaps? “I’m fine.”
“Do you need a hand getting back to your seat?” she offered, and my face burned with embarrassment. I wasn’t sure if she thought I was drunk, drug addled, or just unsteady on my feet, and to be fair, who could blame her? I was the clumsiest person I knew. But one little scream in the bathroom hardly warranted an escort back to my seat.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, and to prove it, I made it all the way back to my seat without stumbling once, despite having to walk directly through a ghost blocking the aisle.
