Page 26 of Ticket to You

I look at her hand, and she quickly drops it back to her side, clenching it into a fist.

My chest tightens at her hard expression, and my cheeks warm. “I like…couches,” I force out, clearing my throat in the middle of my sentence.

Ophelia nods, clearly unsure what to say to break the strange tension, and ducks away to the bathroom. The door clicks behind her.

I glimpse myself, red cheeks and all, in the mirror above the fireplace. “She hates you,” I remind my reflection. I look tired and anxious, but there’s also a glint of something new in my eyes.

When it’s my turn for the bathroom, I take a cold shower, relishing in the water’s hammering stream. It feels like a thousand metal rods trying to penetrate my skin. The hotel’s soap doesn’t smell like anything identifiable. Instead, it simply smells like luxury. Though I’m tempted to hide from Ophelia in here all night, I don’t want to keep her up too long, so I finish my shower quickly and finish preparing for bed. After opening the bathroom door as quietly as I can, I shuffle through the bedroom and to the couch.

While I was in the bathroom, Ophelia stripped off one of her sheets and blankets and tucked them into the couch to make a makeshift bed for me. I slide into the covers and think of anything I can aside from Ophelia, but that’s hard, seeing as how the bedding I’m cocooned in has a whisper of her vanilla perfume. I shake my head and move the blankets down a bit, away from my nose. Ophelia has already caused me too many restless nights.

I’m almost asleep when I hear Ophelia in the bedroom rifling around. After fifteen minutes of this, plus some muttered curses from her, I unwrap myself from my sheets and approach the bedroom slowly.

Ophelia’s bags are open and completely empty. Their contents are strewn around the room. It looks like a storm raged through here. Ophelia sits in the middle of the mess, swimming through the piles of clothes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, bending down beside her.

Ophelia sniffles. In the darkness, I can just faintly see her chest rising and falling quickly. “My watch—my grandpa’s watch—is gone. I took it off at airport security, and…and…”

I’ve never seen her so upset, not even when I crashed into her at the holiday party. My mind reels through possible solutions. “I have some friends who work at JFK. I’ll call them.” I rush to stand.

“Really?” Ophelia’s misty eyes shine up at me.

“Really.”

* * *

I’ve never been sograteful to know four different employees at JFK Airport. Thankfully, one of my old friends from college, an aviation manager, agrees to check the lost and found for me. I pace up and down the plush carpet halls, listening to his muffled conversation on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, it’s an old Seiko watch,” he tells the security attendant. “Brown leather band, gold face. ‘Brooks’ is written on the inside of the band.” After an antagonizing long pause, he exhales in relief. “Wonderful, thank you so much. You’re a saint.”

Thank God.

“You there, Adam?” he asks.

“Yeah, did you find it?”

He laughs. “I think so. It’s pretty beat-up, right? Don’t you have a couple of Rolexes? Why are you so worried about this cheap thing?”

I hurry back toward the room, eager to share the good news with Ophelia. “It’s…a friend’s, not mine. It has sentimental value for her.”

“Whoa, wait.Her?Is this woman, like, a special woman?” I can hear his smile through the phone.

“I–I gotta go. I owe you one. Seriously, thank you.”

He laughs. “Sure thing. I’ll hold on to it until you’re back in the States.”

I hang up the phone before he can ask questions about Ophelia. Hoping Ophelia is asleep, I open the door to our hotel room as quietly as I can. But she’s still digging through everything she packed on the off chance that the watch has been with her all along.

“Hey,” I whisper, standing near the archway. “My friend found your watch at the lost and found.”

Ophelia’s head snaps up, and she narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m kidding. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. He’ll keep it safe until we’re back. It’ll be okay.”

Ophelia laughs shakily and releases the tension in her shoulders. She looks exhausted.

“Go to bed,” I urge her, retreating to the couch.

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