Page 11 of Take Me Back
A woman bumps into me as I come to an abrupt halt. “Oh, so sorry.”
I turn to look at her. She’s young, tanned, and smiling with blindingly white teeth. I don’t even need to see the T-shirt proclaiming her status as yet another bride. Apparently Belize is a popular honeymoon destination this time of year.
“You okay, baby? You need me to take your bag?” a man asks from behind her. His black tank top predictably readsGroom.
“No, babe. I’m good. Love you.” She leans forward to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a bright red lip print behind.
I want to tell them to hold on to what they’re feeling right at this moment for as long as they can and never let it burn out, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I’d sound like the bitter wife who knows her marriage is on the rocks.
Since we eloped on that beach in Costa Rica and spent a week more in bed than out, we haven’t taken another tropical vacation, mostly because I’ve been too busy trying to make my mark in the world of business consulting.
In my crusade to conquer everything life has to offer, have I misjudged completely?
After gathering myself for a moment, I continue toward the counter where Dane is waiting for me. His fingertips beat an impatient rhythm on the maroon laminate, and I smile at the woman assisting him.
“Sorry. Lots of excited brides and grooms here today.”
Her lips part into a friendly smile. “Ah, yes. Belize is a perfect destination for lovers. So much opportunity for romance. Could I see your passport, please?”
Part of me wants to askwhat about miracles?But I hold it back in favor of handing my passport over. She flips it open before handing it to Dane, along with two brightly colored pieces of paper.
“Here are your boarding passes. You’re in Terminal 1. The flight won’t leave without you. I hope you have a wonderful trip.”
A uniformed man taps me on the shoulder as I turn to walk away. “I’ll take your carry-on, ma’am.”
When I glance at Dane, I notice he’s no longer carrying his duffel. I release my hold on the roll-aboard. “Thank you.”
“Safe flight.”
After we clear security, Dane heads for the gate. Within a few minutes, a woman in a purple dress and a neon-yellow safety vest leads us out onto the tarmac, past the large jet we just deplaned from toward a puddle jumper.
No way.I spend more hours on flights than I want to count, but this is totally different.
Dane knows I’m terrified of these tiny planes, and I’m shocked he’d even book one. But maybe we’ve gotten to the point where he doesn’t care about those kinds of details any more.
While I stand on the cracked concrete, fear knotting my stomach into a ball, Dane reaches for my hand.
“We didn’t have much of a choice, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He squeezes it hard and I squeeze back, desperate for the contact and connection.
“Do you still trust me, Kat?”
I hate that he even has to ask. “Always.”
“Then come on. Pretty soon we’ll be in paradise.”
I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth and follow him up the short set of metal stairs into what seems like a toy plane.
We take our seats, single ones across the aisle from each other. My hands shake, and for the first time in a long time, that doesn’t freak me out. I’d be more shocked if they were steady right now. Desperate for some kind of distraction, I yank the laminated information card out of the back pocket in front of me.
Cessna 208 Caravan? Planes by Disney would be more appropriate.
After I shove the card back into the pocket, I belt myself into the seat, clipping the unsophisticated strap across the shoulder to the waist belt. My brain rebels against the concept of the simple safety system.
What good is this really going to do if the plane goes down? We’re all dead.
Followed by a thought I have all too often.
