“I’ll have what he’s having,” I say with a sweet smile for the cabin attendant.
The woman’s composure stays intact. “An excellent choice.”
I accept the proffered champagne served in a real flute—I’ve never been served in an actual glass when flying—and take a tentative sip. The carbonation tickles my mouth and nostrils, and the wine goes down smoothly with a hint of vanilla and honey.
I look everywhere but at Lucas as I nurse my drink. The interior of the jet is teal blue and mahogany with light cream-colored leather. There are four plushy seats that recline all the way back until you can lie flat. A workstation’s built into the other side, and there’s a well-cushioned bench behind us for casual relaxation and chatting. I spot a door in the back, probably leading to a private room.
Everything gleams and looks hideously luxurious. This is my first time on the plane, but Faye Belbin’s undoubtedly been on it more than once. The notion clenches around my chest, making it impossible to breathe.
She looks like she deserves to be pampered with a toy like this. You? Well. Look at you.
Yes. Look at me. In my cheap clothes that I picked up on sale.
I put the champagne down.
“We?
??ll be taking off in ten minutes.” The cabin attendant smiles at Lucas as she speaks, and she continues to keep her focus on him.
My stomach burns. It can’t be a good idea to have alcohol so soon after throwing up.
“Once we reach cruising altitude, I’ll be serving you a light snack of chicken satay, salad lightly tossed in pineapple vinaigrette, vegetarian fried rice and figs stuffed with goat cheese and honey-glazed walnuts. And seventy minutes before we land—”
“We can discuss the other options later,” Lucas says smoothly, interrupting her monologue.
“Certainly, sir.” She takes his empty glass. I hand her mine although it’s still half-full.
“Dom not good enough?” Lucas asks.
I stare directly at him. “No. I didn’t want to hang on to it during takeoff.”
“You don’t look good.”
I tilt my chin, my mouth firm. “I’m fine.”
I’m more than fine. Lucas is welcome to play whatever game he wants, but I have my own plan. I don’t have to do anything except wait until we hit cruising altitude and nap—or at least pretend to. We’re flying red-eye, and there’s nothing unusual about wanting to sleep until we land.
I relax my muscles, one by one, and force myself to feign a calm I don’t feel.
The Girl
The mother looks down at the child. The toddler is barely two, but she’s skinnier than a spaghetti noodle.
The father of the child does not wish to marry. He is often away on work, and he worries about losing benefits. The mother worries too. They can’t make ends meet without EBT and what little assistance they get from the government.
At least he gave the girl a name. “I love her, and I love you for giving her to me,” he said.
“Would he have said that if you were a boy?” the woman whispers to the girl. “Would he have married me? Men love daughters, but men love sons. Strong sons to carry on the line.”
The girl looks at the woman innocently, then grins.
She stares at her child, unsmiling, and sighs. “Why bother? You still aren’t a boy. Should of known it would happen when I learned it was a girl in my belly. Men always want sons. Your grandpa did too.” She shakes her head. “He was so disappointed when he got me instead.”
The girl extends her arms toward the mother, asking to be held. The mother gets up. “I gotta do the dishes,” she says. “Always more stuff to do.”
As she walks away to the kitchen, she mutters, “Should of aimed for a boy. Every man wants a boy.”
Chapter Five