Page 4 of Married with Mayhem

But right now, instead of spiraling and hyperventilating, it’s much more enjoyable to imagine the crowd as fellow gamers. Our goal is to escape from the airport before the invasion of the zombie horde. Or maybe before some brain-eating plague cloud reaches New York. The reason doesn’t matter. We’re all fighting the same fight.

I watch as a woman drops her green energy drink on the tile floor. Her face crumples and her shoulders slump.

She shouldn’t give up. If she gives up, the zombies might get her. Or maybe the plague. I haven’t decided. I have the urge to shout, “Your life force is still intact! Keep going!”

But she’d probably think this is weird.

Itisweird. I’m weird. Not many people are allowed to see just how weird I am.

It’s probably best not to inflict my weirdness on the entire crowded airport terminal. Everyone is tense enough as it is.

The defeated woman shuffles away, leaving a green energy drink puddle behind.

When my eyes shift, I’m startled to discover that I’m being watched. An icy finger of anxiety crawls up my spine.

The man leans against the opposite wall and wears a navy blue suit with no tie. Three top buttons of his wrinkled white shirt are open. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, about ten years my senior. He thinks he’s discreet when he slips a gold band from his left hand before sliding it into his pocket. He’s wrong.

The man realizes he has my attention and takes this as an invitation to saunter in my direction. While he’s busy sauntering, I fire off a text to Daisy.

My oldest sister will no doubt be surprised to hear I’m on the same continent. I didn’t mean to be secretive. I absolutely planned to spend some time with her after visiting Colorado to surprise Anni. But right now I hope she’ll forgive the lack of notice.

The man in the suit stops right in front of me. He flashes a confident grin.

A tickle of wariness grows into fear. My uncle’s associates are endless. This jerk might be one of them.

“Ciao,” he says. “Ho aereo da Palermo.”

He speaks terrible Italian with a stilted American accent and thumps his chest like he’s saying ‘ME TARZAN’. I don’tremember seeing him on the plane from Palermo, but then again I wasn’t inventorying the passengers.

At least I can rule out the possibility that he’s one of my uncle’s men. Vittorio Messina wouldn’t be caught dead hiring a clown like this.

“Hello,” I grumble in English and then look back at my phone, hoping Daisy has answered within the last three seconds. She hasn’t.

“You’re American!” he exclaims as if this is the most exciting development ever.

“So are you,” I mutter, holding my phone closer to my face while scrolling. The newsfeed is screaming with unpleasant headlines.

“Global Cyber Outage Hits Airlines Worldwide”

“Travelers Stranded With No End In Sight”

“Multiple Banking Sites Reported Down Internationally”

The man leans a palm against the wall to my right, too close for comfort.

“You were sitting a few rows in front of me on the flight,” he says. He glances over his shoulder at the hectic terminal before leaning in. There’s alcohol on his breath. “I guess we’re all stuck now. I was heading to LA. How about you?”

None of his fucking business. That’s where.

If I had Anni’s feisty energy, I’d say this right to his face. When I’m around family I have no trouble firing sharp comebacks but around strangers, particularly strange men, I’m too uneasy to be bold.

“My name’s Gavin,” he says, not deterred by my silence. “Real estate attorney. I was in Sicily on behalf of a client. Maybe we could team up and rent a car. This feels like a good opportunity for a road trip adventure.”

He chuckles at his non-joke and lets his eyes subtly rake my body. I’m still wearing the green Minecreeper hoodie I threw on this morning because airplanes tend to be chilly. My black and purple plaid skirt is at aesthetic odds with the hoodie and my long brown hair hangs loose in tangled waves after recently escaping from a messy bun. I don’t like makeup and I’ve often been told that I look way younger than twenty-five.

I don’t want to talk to this guy. I’ve done nothing to encourage him and yet he hovers inches away, confident that he’ll get what he wants if he just keeps grinning.

It’s a relief when my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Daisy.

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