Page 37 of No More Billionaires

“Wow. It’s snowing already,” I said as Sky and I left the medical center at two o’clock, right on schedule. The weather was keeping itsownschedule.

“Yep. Only about five hours earlier than predicted. Coming down pretty fast, too. I sure wouldn’t want to be a Nashville meteorologist today. No sir. Those phones are gonna be ringing off the hook at the station with people mad about having to cancel their plans.”

He chuckled at the thought of the pandemonium in the weather center.

“You think it’s going to affect my flight?”

He looked around at the parking lot, which wore about a two-inch coating.

“Nah. We’re not supposed to get much more than this. Course, it wasn’t supposed to start until tonight, either.”

Sky opened the back of his SUV and stowed his gear next to my luggage. He slammed the back hatch and walked around to the driver’s side door.

“I’m more worried about the highway getting you there. These Southerners don’t have any idea how to drive in the snow and ice. You should’ve seen those people in Minnesota—they’d get five feet in a day and not blink an eye about running out to the grocery store. Of course the state and the cities are prepared for it there, with plows and salt trucks. We don’t usually need that stuff around here.”

“It’s all relative I guess. One region’s ho-hum is another state’s disaster.”

I checked the clock in the dashboard of his news car as I slid into the front seat. “Ihopethe traffic’s not too slow. I’m cutting it pretty close.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you there. I got pretty good at driving in winter weather myself when I was up north. If you do miss your flight though, I guess you could stay with Heidi again.”

“No, she and Aric have a romantic weekend getaway planned to the Smoky Mountains. They left this morning. It’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

In spite of Sky’s confident assurances, it did in fact take twice as long to get to the airport as it should have.

He dropped me at the curb with a quick goodbye and “great working with you,” and I entered the sliding doors at a run, dragging my bags toward my airline’s counter.

As I got closer, my pace slowed. The line was huge, and the mood was decidedly surly.

“This is ridiculous,” one middle-aged woman squawked at the agent behind the counter. “There’s no more than three inches of snow on the ground out there. How can my flight be cancelled?”

The agent’s face was red and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Moisture darkened the top of his collar above his tie.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I have no control over it. They’re saying the storm has stalled over us, and it’s intensifying. And the mix of sleet and snow can make the runways dangerous. If they’re cancelling flights, it’s with your safety in mind.”

“Hmmph.” The angry woman stalked away from the counter in disgust, yanking her carry-on behind her. “I wish someone had my conference in mind. I’ve already paid for the damn thing.”

Going to the back of the line, I hoped there would be better news about my flight, if I even still had time to make it.

I checked my cell phone. I hadn’t been counting on getting here so late. It was a good thing for our show Larson had flown out earlier.

“Well, hello. Fancy meeting you here.”

The instant shivers told me the voice behind me could belong to only one person. I spun around to face him.

“Larson. What are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are—trying to get to Atlanta. Well, actually, I’ve sort of given up on flying there at this point. I was actually stalking the check-in line, waiting for you to show up.”

“Your flight was cancelled?”

“Yep. And so is yours. And so are…” He looked up at the flight schedule board above my head, squinting at the digital print. “… pretty much all other flights coming and going from this airport. I predict an announcement of a total shutdown within… fifteen minutes.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen… we are sorry to inform you all flights in and out of Nashville International Airport have been cancelled at this time,” a pleasant female voice broadcast through the terminal. “Please see a ticket agent or use one of our courtesy phones to arrange for alternate flights.”

“Wow. Spooky.”

Larson grinned. “I know my foul weather—New York City kid, remember?”

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