Page 45 of Nine

I notice the man’s wife turn around and glare at us. Trig leans into the man’s face.

“I will take your dick, break it off, and shove it up your ass if you make any contact with her for the rest of the flight. I don’t even want to see you look at her. If I see even one sideways glance, I will rip your eyes clean out, put them in my beer, and then serve ‘em to you. Get the fuck out of here,” he whispers.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a quiet ass-whooping speech before. The man rushes back to his seat. Trig pushes me into the bathroom and locks the door.

“Who’s watching all that cash out there while you’re in here with me?” I say.

“Don’t worry about the cash. Nobody is making it off this flight with four bags of money without me knowing, especially when I tagged all of the bags as diarrhea medicine. No one is going to want to open up a bag that is clearly containing something to soothe my asshole.”

“That’s disturbing,” I say.

“No. That dickhead with his all-American family sitting out there while he pushes up on you is disturbing.

“I can’t get away from my past. It’s always going to follow me,” I say.

“That little bitch out there is nothing.”

“He asked for a hand job.”

Trig goes for the door like he’s going to go after the guy. I grab his arm.

“When he asked me, I was offended. I’ve never been offended before.”

Trig stares at me. “Nine, you’re supposed to be offended.”

“Dainty ladies are supposed to be, not escorts.”

“You’re not an escort any more than I’m a killer,” Trig says. “We can be whatever we want now.”

“Sure. I’ll just apply for a teaching job once we land in Fiji.”

“You can do anything. You can be whatever the hell you want. You’re Mrs. Krackle now.”

“Whatever I want? That is a lie and you know it,” I snap

I’m out of breath and my hands are shaking before I even realize it. I’ve been through way too much stuff this week, let alone in my entire life and I don’t know if I can go back out there, sit down in my seat and pretend like all is well.

“Look at me. Everything is going to be fine.”

He places my hand on his heart and his hand on my chest. I remember how this calmed me down at the cabin, so I look into his eyes. My breathing synchronizes up with his. My heart slows down, and my body relaxes. He slowly nods once, and I nod back to let him know I’m okay.

We hear tapping at the door. Trig opens it and we both exit. An older woman standing there gives us a dirty look. We walk back to our seats, and with luck, no one has taken our four bags of cash. I bend down and look at the tags on the bag. He really did write diarrhea medicine on them. As if someone would really need four duffel bags of that. I glance over at him.

“See? I told you. Totally safe.”

We settle back into the seats for a long flight, one in which I plan to consume several glasses of wine. The flight attendant has already brought me my first round. I slam it back and wave her over for another. Time passes and soon enough my glass has emptied three times. I feel the alcohol kick in. Trig and me start discussing Fiji and how he watched this documentary and it looked unbelievable. I tell him it’s a place I’ve always wanted to go to. We both start to become somewhat excited about landing, and suddenly my mind is busy. I notice that I don’t feel pain when my mind is going. It’s when my brain slows down that I’m at my worst. For the next several hours, I’ll only cry alone in the bathroom every time I take that picture out of my pocket. I’ll shed tears and teeter on the edge of a breakdown when I see her smiling face looking back at me, because this is all that I have left of her. It’s all that remains. Just two girls in one tiny photo. We look happy in it. That was us at our best. It was the day that we moved into our house. It was the best day of our lives. When I look at this picture I’ll remember every storm we weathered, and as hard as it is, I’ll force myself to exist. I’ll seek strength in her smile when I feel weak. It’s crucial I push myself to keep going, because that’s who I am. A fighter. A survivor. And Jenny, she wouldn’t have let me give up.

***

Eleven hours later, we finally arrive in Fiji at the Nadi airport. We quickly make our way through the crowds of people. These bags feel heavier than before, and it’s probably because we’re both exhausted from the long flight. The liquor in my system has faded and now I’m left with an empty feeling. I haven’t said a word for hours. Trig stops and looks around.

“We need a cab, but I’ll have to exchange some money for Fiji currency to pay for things here.” He points to a row of seats. “I know you’re tired. Take a seat.”

I do just that. I plop down and watch Trig at the counter. The girl behind the desk helping him is smiling at him, and batting her eyelashes. I feel something unfamiliar inside. I feel anger, watching her flirt. I know that look she’s giving him, and I don’t like it. Damn it. I’m jealous. This isn’t me. I don’t get jealous, so I turn and look the other way. It only takes two seconds for me to whip my head back to look at the both of them. Now he’s laughing, and she’s laughing, and I hate watching this interaction. She flips her hair to the side and leans over the counter, exposing her cleavage to him. I’m not sitting here while he’s over there chatting it up with Beyoncé. I lug my two bags over and drop them loudly on the floor next to Trig.

“Something funny?” I say.

My tone is cold and dry, and my looks could definitely kill. Trig looks at me. He’s still smiling.

---