Page 51 of The Business Trip

She handed me the boarding pass with a smile. “Have a good flight!”

I steadied my breath as I walked away. This was happening. This was actually happening. Now I needed to avoid detection before the flight and during boarding. Once I was in my seat, I would feel more confident. I would be one of the last to deplane, so I didn’t think Stephanie would see me. If she got up to walk to the rear of the plane to use the restroom, I couldliterally pull my baseball cap over my face the way I had seen others do when they wanted a nap.

Cautiously I approached the general area of the San Diego gate, still staying one gate down as I surveyed the scene. It was crowded, people starting to fill every seat, but no Stephanie. I backed myself into a wall and glanced around.

There were three gift shops, four restaurants, a first-class lounge, and multiple bathrooms. She could be anywhere. I would have to wait. Moving to a vantage point that was more of a diagonal from her gate, I pushed myself into a dark corner and stood there, alert as a cat, quiet as a Buddha.

After about fifteen minutes, I saw her. She was walking down the concourse.

I shrank further into the wall, willing myself to take up less space.

She scanned the now overflowing waiting area and sighed before heading to an empty seat and wedging herself in.

I would wait until she boarded and then board myself. I didn’t want to be last—people sometimes looked up at those who were last to board, everyone who was already seated eager to get moving and annoyed that these people might be delaying them. I planned to slip into the line at just the right time to move with the masses and be undetected by her. I only had to get past her row to the back of the plane and I’d be home free.

With my head down and my change of clothes and overall disguise, I was maybe 80 percent confident I could do this. But that 20 percent was starting to tear up my stomach. What would I do if she recognized me? I would simply have to lie, to pretend I was someone else. With the change of clothes and makeup, if I admitted I was the person who was on her last flight and said I had a sudden change of heart to go to San Diego, she would be incredibly suspicious.

No, lying was the only way. I bit my nails as I thought about the whole horrid scenario that could unfold. I’m walking down the aisle, and she looks up and says,Jasmine? Is that you from my last flight? What are you doing here?

My mind shot back to cosmetology school. There had been a woman in my class with a thick Southern accent. I always enjoyed listening to her speak, and now, as I stood there, minimizing myself against the wall, I conjured up that accent again and silently rehearsed sayingSorry, ya got the wrong galin a strong Texas twang. Hopefully that would be enough to throw her off the trail.

My only other concern was that Stephanie might be in the same row as me, but I dismissed that. Anyone traveling for business was not going to be in the last row, the one where you couldn’t push your seat back and were right next to the bathrooms. No way.

I watched her do various things on her phone. As they began to call rows for boarding, I held my breath, praying I was right when it came to where she’d be sitting. She boarded with the second group—not first class, but still a way better seat than mine. I slipped into line ahead of about a dozen other people and handed the gate agent my boarding pass.

Stephanie’s ID poked again at my left breast, and I gently rearranged it to a more comfortable position. As the line moved through the jetway to the plane, I took a deep breath and pushed the brim of my cap lower to cover more of my face. I wanted to look for her, to see exactly where she might be sitting, but the risk was too high. If I looked up, full face, and she happened to be looking to the front of the plane at that exact time, I could be screwed. Better to keep the head down. Walking that way all the way to the back of the plane, I felt like I might faint the entire way.

The last rows were already packed except for my empty seat. I would have to be in the middle. As I reached my row, the flight attendant stopped me.

“Hey, we’re getting real full up top back here. I might need you to gate-check that roller.”

My knees went weak. Gate-check? I hadn’t considered that possibility. There was no way I could part with this bag. It had everything I owned in it, literally everything, including my purse. Without it I wouldn’t have a cent.

“Uh…” I stammered, unsure how to handle this unexpected curveball. I couldn’t make too big of a scene, but there was no way I would allow this bag out of my sight. “Is there anything we can do?” My voice came out weak and thin, and I could see how pathetic I looked in her eyes.

“I think there’s room next to my bag,” a guy with a wide smile in the row up from me said. He winked. “I don’t like waiting for bags when I land either.”

Clicking open an overhead bin, he lifted my suitcase so easily it could have contained feathers. With a small push, he got it in next to others.

“Well then, problem solved,” the flight attendant said, and relief coursed through me.

I took one quick peek up toward the front of the plane, trying to see if I could recognize Stephanie. I thought I saw her, also in a middle seat.

Wedging into my spot, I stayed there for the duration of the flight, my cap tipped partially down and my mind racing for my next plans. By the time we landed, Glenn would be blowing up my phone. My stomach tightened at the thought, memories of him dragging me by my hair into his truck, screaming at me for trying to leave him. His anger would be unstoppable onthis one. He would be ballistic that there was no steak dinner waiting for him too.

I planned to never answer his calls again. In fact, I would block his number so that he couldn’t keep bothering me. I couldn’t keep lying to him about my whereabouts—that time had passed. It was now time for the disappearing act.

And I had this plan, this crazy plan, that had come into my mind. Get Stephanie’s credit cards. Maybe more. Maybe. I might bail on the big part, the really big part, and just take the credit cards, but I would get a few things lined up just in case.

I wished I could be writing down the order of things for my next moves—it would be easier to remember and keep track of—but I couldn’t risk my seatmates seeing anything. This would all have to be in my head. I bit my fingers as I rehearsed the order again and again: land; get off the plane; get a rental van—it dawned on me that I would need one with a wheelchair lift, just in case; figure out which Hilton was five miles from the beach in La Jolla; look up cheap motels within a few miles of there; find a Walmart; buy scissors, hair dye, plastic gloves, and the largest suitcase I could find. Maybe get something slightly nicer than what I was wearing to complete the look that I was a high-powered executive.

Next would be getting to Stephanie’s hotel in the middle of the night. The rest was almost too much for me to think about. I knew what I planned to do, knew what I needed to do in order for this to truly work, but the thought of it was making my stomach turn. What if it didn’t work? What if it did? Each thought was almost equally horrifying, and yet I was on autopilot now. A woman on a mission.

Any missteps might ruin me, I needed to stay focused. One task at a time. I could always back out of the plan if I got tooscared. But I could never go back in. This was my only chance, my only true way of escaping Glenn, my mother, my siblings, everyone. There was literally no one in my world that I couldn’t do without. Sure, I would miss Anna and the bar waitresses, but friends came and went. I would find someone new to hang with in Mexico.

Money. I was hemorrhaging my own money, and it was only the first day of my departure. The ticket to San Diego, a rental van, a motel room, a suitcase, hair dye, all expenses I hadn’t counted on when the day had started. That was why I needed to do what I needed to do. I needed Stephanie’s money first and foremost; the rest would unfold for me in some way. Nothing could be accomplished without money. If I had just been able to grab Stephanie’s credit card in addition to her ID, would I be planning what I was now planning? I wasn’t sure. If I had, perhaps I could have stolen some of her money before she realized it, but I also wouldn’t have access to her full accounts; I wouldn’t have her laptop and phone and clothes and everything else I coveted about her.

She seemed nice enough, I reasoned as I bit my nails, but she had been able to live the wealthy American lifestyle for a long time. Long enough. She was a grown-up version of Allison, expensive shampoo and doting parents and money dripping off her.

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