Page 4 of Twin Deception

I turned, smiling at the young man standing behind me. With a toddler fussing in his arms, propped at his hip, and an older child digging his feet in to pull the guy away, he cringed at me. “Sorry. I’m sorry to bother you, but is there a chance I could go ahead of you in line?”

I raised my brows in surprise at his question.That’s sort of forward.

“I notice you’re alone.”And that’s creepy.

“And I was hoping you wouldn’t mind letting me get ahead in line.”Andthat’sentitled.

He shrugged as the boy dug his feet in to tug the man out of line. “Before, I don’t know, these kids make my blood pressure skyrocket so high that my head explodes.”

“That’s sort of gruesome.” I laughed, though, able to cut someone slack. Stepping back, I waved him ahead. “Go ahead.”

“Really?” His shoulder sagged with relief.

I nodded, smiling and hoping no corporeal explosions happened near me. I’d never really cared for guts and gore, never a fan of horror.

He advanced in front of me, and when the boy whined and tried to force the man away with him, I helped scoot and wheel their luggage before mine.

Nine people. Ten. Whatever.I could hold on to the optimism that if one more hotel staff member showed up and they could tackle this line of guests two at a time, the wait wouldn’t be that terrible.

Besides, it wasn’t like I had anyone waiting for me. No companions to be obligated to be concerned about.

The man tried his tactic again, tapping the shoulder of the man who had been ahead of me. He, like me, was a single traveler waiting to check in. But unlike me, when the harried-looking and stressed-out dad asked him the same favor, the old gray-haired scrooge scowled and told him to fuck off.

“Yeah, Dad,” the boy whined. “Let’s fuck off and go to dinner.”

“Simon, don’t say that word,” the dad scolded.

“But I’mhungry.”

The scrooge faced forward and shook his head.

I winced, feeling awkward to be near a confrontation. As a rule of thumb, I avoided them, but it never hurt to be considerate to a stranger in need.

“Here.” I held out a granola bar from my purse. “Does this help?” I asked the boy.

He nodded, looking at his dad for permission. “Thanks,” he told me as the boy took it.

The toddler fussed more, perhaps jealous.

“Sorry, girlie.” I shrugged. “All I’ve got left is gum, and I doubt you can have that.”

The dad rubbed her back, soothing her, and I leaned over to check on the line. Nope. No change.

I sighed and shifted my weight to prop my butt on my suitcase. It looked like I’d be here for a long while, but again, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Even though I traveled alone, I was hoping to get into my room as soon as possible. For one thing, airports made me feel grimy and dirty. But more importantly, I had a call to make in the privacy of my room.

Today was Esmeralda Flores’s birthday. Every daughter should at least speak to her mother on that special day. Or they should try.

I knew very well that if I called the rehab facility she lived in, my call might go unanswered. There was, as always, a fifty-fifty chance I’d be connected to her, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying.

Deep inside me, I knew that it was always better to do the right thing. To make a conscious effort to be a kind person. Calling my mother would be a nice gesture, something that would give me comfort. But on the surface, it was nothing more than an obligation to show that I cared. It was a duty to check in. Despite there being no hope for my mom, no chance of her ever really reconnecting with me in a lucid, non-high way.

As if my thoughts about my mother summoned her, a pissed-off woman marched up to the dad in front of me.

“Simon?” She snatched the last bite of the granola bar from the kid’s hand. “What the hell, Drake?” Seething and scowling at the man, she held up the wrapper.

“Moooommmm,” the boy whined.

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