Page 82 of On The Beach

I opened my eyes wide and looked around.

I was not in my lab. Not in my bed. Not in Mick's Bed. I was on a fucking airplane.On. A. Plane.

I looked down and saw a cozy blanket draped over me, my shoes neatly stowed by my feet, and Mick sat across from me, reading some papers.

He raised his head when he heard me gasp. "Morning,Babycakes." He held up a mug of coffee as if this was perfectly normal.

I tried to sit up, but a dull ache settled at the base of my skull, and I had to close my eyes for a second to keep my head from falling off. "Mick…what did you…where the hell am I?"

"Thirty thousand feet in the air, approximately two hours from Reef Harbor," he replied, taking a leisurely sip of coffee, clearly enjoying himself.

It took every ounce of restraint not to lunge across the aisle. "Reef Harbor?"

"Yep."

"How?" I looked around. "What is this?"

"A chartered jet?"

I sat up this time and looked around. A private plane. A…what in the world?

"Mama, I don't want to drink anything."

"Oh, Belle, it's just one drink. I'm trying a new cocktail with low alcohol. You know, so you can maybe have two of them before you flip out?"

"Fine." I took the pink cocktail with a freaking umbrella in it in freaking February in Boston, where it was colder than a witch's tit. The drink tasted nice. I sniffed at it. "What's in it? I can smell something?"

"Some new bitters I'm trying out." My mother smiled at me and kissed my forehead. "You're so tired, my baby."

"It's the clinical trial. You know how it is?"

"I do."

"Now sit down and relax."

I thought deeply to remember what happened after my mother led me to her couch.

Blank!

And then the memory hit me like a jolt. The cocktail had tasted smooth, a little too smooth, but there'd been something else—a faint, medicinal smell just beneath the fruity sweetness.I could almost picture my mother standing there, a bit too pleased with herself, watching as I sipped that low-alcohol cocktail with her patented mix of maternal concern and crazy glee.

Bitters, my foot.

I sat up, feeling a fresh wave of realization and annoyance.

"Propofol," I blurted out.

That barely there medicinal scent, the light, almost bitter note beneath the fruitiness—she'd dosed me! My own mother, the anesthesiologist, had served me a cocktail with just enough of the good stuff to make sure I'd go under.

"You drugged me and put me on a plane?" I accused.

Mick shrugged, looking almost amused. "Technically, Molly drugged you. Your father and sister signed off on it. Dan even helped me carry you. It was a family affair."

"A family affair?" I repeated, my voice rising, my vision going red at the edges. "You think it's normal to just…just put someone on a plane without telling them?"

"Would you have come along if I told you?"

"No."

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