Page 3 of Christmas at the Ranch
“We all need someone to share things with,” her mother countered. “You should join us this summer when we go sailing in Portugal. I’ve heard Portuguese fishermen are very sexy.”
“You know how I feel about flying,” Samantha said, shuddering.
“Oh, Samantha, it’s not that bad,” her mother prompted. “Almost every airline has a bar in the terminal. And they give out those sleep masks and noise-canceling headphones. I drank two gin and tonics before we boarded and slept all the way to Heathrow.”
“I’ll think about it,” Samantha agreed, knowing she wouldn’t. She was happy swimming at the local YMCA in the summer or going out to Rockaway Beach.
“You were such a fearless child. You and your dad built that tree house and I couldn’t get you down for days,” her mother recalled. “Maybe you should keep seeing your therapist…”
“I didn’t mind seeing a therapist, but she can’t help with this,” Samantha said.
Samantha’s fears started a few months after Roger moved to California. Samantha’s best friend from college, Whitney, saw a special promotion for eight days at an all-inclusive singles’ resort in the Bahamas. It was geared to twenty-somethings and promised scuba diving lessons and happy hours and all-you-can-eat buffets. A week before they were scheduled to leave, Whitney came down with appendicitis and couldn’t go. Samantha went alone and it was the most terrifying experience of her life. First, there was a fire in one engine of the plane and they had to make an emergency landing. Samantha sat in the back of the plane watching in horror as the ground came up too fast to meet them and was sure they were all going to die.
Then, three days into the trip there was a hurricane. It came up so quickly, there was no time to evacuate, so instead, the guests were forced to stay in their huts. One hut collapsed and two young women from Nebraska were seriously injured. The hurricane practically destroyed the resort, and for four days it devastated the island; they were without running water and electricity. Finally, planes were allowed to land at the tiny airport and Samantha had to brace herself for the flight home.
From there, her fears seemed to snowball. The next week, she read about a tourist boat that caught fire off the coast of California and a hiking accident in Maine. There was an avalanche at a ski resort in Utah that killed four people and a sixteen-car pileup on I-95 that left five people dead.
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop clicking on links and scrolling through photos. One night, she was so upset about a thirtieth birthday party at a warehouse in Williamsburg where the roofcollapsed that she called Roger just to hear his voice. They hadn’t spoken in months. Instead of consoling her, Roger pointed out that Samantha didn’t know any of these people and that she should stop going on the internet.
After that, she almost couldn’t face leaving the apartment. She had hoped that writing the Sloane Parker books would help distract her and make her forget her own brush with disaster. But in some ways, it made it worse. Her imagination grew so vivid that it was easy to imagine all the bad things that could happen. Yet, she couldn’t stop writing. She loved the character she’d created in Sloane Parker, and there was nothing else she’d rather do.
“When you come home,” Samantha said now, “I’ll take the train to New Jersey and climb up into the tree house.”
“You don’t have to do that, sweetie,” her mother replied. “I have to go. Your father and I are hungry and planning on eating dumplings andkerststolat the Christmas markets: sweet bread stuffed with almond paste and dried fruit and covered with confectioners’ sugar. I’ll buy an extra loaf and bring it home for you.”
Samantha hung up and her stomach rumbled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to spend a week at Arthur’s place. Charlie said he had a private chef. There were bound to be breakfasts of omelets and homemade waffles.
The car slowed and Samantha frowned. It was too snowy to see outside the window but they couldn’t have arrived.
The driver hopped out and opened her door, and she realized they were at the airport.
“I don’t think we’re in the right place.” Samantha poked her head out. “We’re supposed to be in Connecticut.”
“I have my instructions right here.” The driver grabbed a pieceof paper from the passenger seat. “United Airlines terminal, JFK. Flight 255 to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, departing at four p.m.”
“You must have mixed it up with another passenger,” Samantha said easily. “Why don’t you call your company and sort it out?”
The driver shook his head. “The instructions came from Mr. Green himself.”
Charlie had told him to go to the airport? That was impossible. She dug out her phone and called him.
“Why am I in the departure terminal of JFK when I’m supposed to be winding my way through the country roads of Connecticut?” she demanded when Charlie answered.
“Did I say that the house party was at Arthur’s place in Connecticut?” Charlie said innocently. “It’s at his ranch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Fifty acres of winter wonderland perched at the foot of the Teton mountains. Arthur bought it last summer, it’s his first Christmas there.”
“Charlie.” Her voice was unsteady. “Santa Claus couldn’t drag me onto a plane to Wyoming.”
“I’ve seen pictures and the ranch is more luxurious than a five-star resort: an indoor/outdoor Jacuzzi, home theater, horseback riding in the summer, and tobogganing in the winter. The bedrooms have heated floors and there’s an intercom next to your bed so you can call anytime to request extra blankets.”
“I don’t need anyone to bring me extra blankets,” she said, on the verge of tears. “Because if the party isn’t in Connecticut, I’m going to be spending Christmas week in my bed in Brooklyn.”
“It’s an easy flight. Four hours nonstop to Jackson Hole. There’s a United Club right inside the terminal. Order one of those sweet Christmas drinks that taste like a milkshake but knock you out andthen watchSleepless in Seattleon the plane. You’ll be arriving before Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan find each other on top of the Empire State Building.”
“Not happening.” Samantha gripped the passenger door. “What if the plane slips on ice while taxiing or the pilot can’t see because of the snow?”
“It’s the pilot’s job to get the passengers safely to their destination,” Charlie assured her. “Just like it’s your job to write Sloane Parker books. You’re good at your job and they’re good at theirs. Sometimes you have to have faith, Samantha.”
“That was a low trick, Charlie,” Samantha whispered, the icy air blowing into the car.
