Page 53 of Ticket to You

Ophelia speaks through gritted teeth. “I’m thinking about the pilot episode ofLOST.”

A straight conversation apparently isn’t enough to distract Ophelia, so I lean close and say in a husky whisper, “It’s taking everything in me to not pull you into that tiny airplane bathroom right now.”

Ophelia glares at me playfully. “Isn’t the anticipation half the fun?”

The plane jostles roughly, and Ophelia grabs my arm, gripping it firmly. With my free hand, I rub the top of her shoulder blades. On our trip from New York, Ophelia must have been putting on her best brave face. I love that she doesn’t mind if I see her squeeze her eyes shut or hear her swearing under her breath anymore.

“We’re okay,” I murmur gently in her ear as soon as the plane’s wheels touch down.

Ophelia and I are practically buzzing as we walk to baggage claim hand in hand. But when the bags roll out on the rotating belt, our electrified moods simmer. Others from our flight find their bags easily, but ours don’t roll through. We check the other conveyors, but no luck.

Fifteen minutes go by.

Then thirty.

Forty-five.

Ophelia’s face drops. “All of our camera gear was in those bags. What if they can’t find them? What if we lose all this work? Oh, I’d lose my job. And if I lose my job, I’ll hardly see Gemma, and she’s all the family I’ve got…”

She turns in tight, anxious circles.

I have to fix this.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say. “How about you go get us checked into the hotel? You have your laptop, right?”

Ophelia nods grimly, patting her carry-on.

“Good,” I sigh. “You can get some work done while I get the bags. Don’t worry about it. Everything will be okay.”

* * *

I talkto no less than a dozen representatives from our airline. Eventually, I find someone with an answer.

“It looks like your bags may be in Edinburgh,” the guest services agent tells me.

“As in Edinburgh, Scotland?” I ask, feeling a pressure against my chest.

He raises his eyebrows. “Do you know of any other Edinburgh?”

I don’t have time for sarcasm.“How fast can we get them back?”

The agent’s thin and wiry form is exaggerated when he crosses his bony arms. “Twenty-four to forty-eight hours, sir.”

My hands ball up involuntarily. “That won’t work,” I say. “We’re leaving for the US first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I can put in a request to have them shipped to your home, then.”

“No, no. I’m sorry, but with all due respect, I’ve traveled alot. And whenever my bags get lost, if I don’t get them back within a day I don’t end up getting them at all, ever.”

The agent gives me an empty stare. “Then you are free to fetch your bags yourself in Edinburgh.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fine.”

Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “It’s a four-hour drive each way,” he stammers. “And there is no guarantee the airline will be able to find them before you get there.”

Ophelia is already stressed about this trip as is. The last thing she needs to worry about is lost luggage. “I’ll be there in four hours. Tell them to be expecting me.”

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