Page 1 of Better Than the Beach
ONE
cassie
DECEMBER
Cancelled.
Cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled.
First my connecting flight to LAX was delayed an hour due to weather, extending my already two-hour layover in Denver to three. Then it was delayed another hour, meaning there would be no way I’d catch my second connecting flight from LAX to Honolulu.
But I didn’t panic.
Nope.
I got on my phone, and I found myself a second flight from LAX to Honolulu for later this evening. I’d have to hang out in the LAX airport for a while, but that was okay. I could do that. With the promise of sun and sand and gorgeous beaches for two weeks, I could easily handle a few more hours in an airport. I’d get a drink and some nachos, and soon I’d be sipping pina coladas in a bikini with my sorority sisters.
But then my flight to LAX went from delayed to cancelled, as did all the other flights out of Denver, until further notice.
So now, instead of sipping pina coladas on the beach in a bikini, I’m getting drunk on overpriced draft beer at an airport bar, wearing leggings and scowling at the heavy snow falling outside. I didn’t even pack clothes for snow. Just bikinis.
I should have left earlier this week with the rest of the girls, but I had that stupid exam for my educational curriculum class that I couldn’t miss, and then, since I was already on campus, I promised Lucinda that I would cover her weekend closing shift at the performing arts center where I work. I got to sit in on the sold out showing of the American Midwest Ballet Company’s performance ofThe Nutcracker, and it was beautiful, but now I’m regretting it. I’m stranded at DIA the weekend before Christmas, and it’s all because of that dumb educational curriculum exam for my teaching major.
I don’t even want to be a teacher.
I want to do music therapy with kids who have dealt with trauma, but instead I have to make do with the extra music electives because, as my parents like to tell me,Cassandra, there’s no guaranteed career in music therapy, but we always need good teachers.
Of course, they’d think that. They’re teachers.
“Stupid snow,” I grumble. “Stupid Professor Cummings. Stupid Mom and Dad.”
“Stupid Broncos,” the bartender adds with a smile as she wipes the bar top next to me. When I arch a brow at her, she laughs. “Well, if we’re listing things that suck, we might as well mention the Broncos. They lost us any chance of a championship this year.”
“I don’t know sports,” I say with a shrug.
“Just trust me on this one,” she says, and gives me a wink. “So where were you headed?”
“Final destination, Honolulu,” I say into my beer. “But flew here from Indianapolis, then I was supposed to hop a connecting flight from here to LAX. Then LAX to Honolulu.”
“Yikes on bikes, that’s a trip.” She grimaces.
“Yeah.” I laugh. “But it would have all been worth it when I sank my toes in the sand with that first pina colada in my hand.” I snort out a laugh at my rhyme, definitely feeling the effects of my three beers.
“Hey, you might still get there,” she says, but she averts her eyes to wipe out a glass, and a feeling of dread hits me.
“You’re lying,” I say flatly, and she scrunches her nose. “Tell me the truth. How bad is it?” I ask, and gesture to the window, where the snow seems to only be getting thicker.
“Truth?”
“Yup.”
“You might be in town for a few days,” she states, and my stomach falls to my feet. “The forecast is saying it’s only going to get worse. Ice is coming, too. Have you called hotels yet?”
“No,” I breathe out. “I didn’t think I would have to. It was just delayed...”
“You might want to start calling,” she says, and slides me a printed list of all the hotels in the immediate area. “Start at the top. That’s the closest one to the airport.”
I thank her and grab the paper, then push through the growing crowd of people toward the window while dialing on my phone. By the time I hit the end of the list, I’m already scoping out the best potential corner of the airport to set up camp and cursing myself for not bringing a blanket or one of those little neck pillow thingies. Fricken hotels and their “no vacancy” baloney. Stupid snow. If I have to celebrate Christmas in the airport, I’m going to be so bummed.
