“If life has taught me anything, it’s to be ready for any possible fashion emergencies,” I said—a nod to my Celebrity Ballroom catastrophe, which he apparently didn’t get, resulting in an awkward silence between us. I cleared my throat and shifted my weight. “Anyway, thanks for your heroic efforts. You gotta name, Hercules?”
“Sorry, yeah, I’m Elliott.”
I put my hand to my chest and responded, “Plum. Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah . . . I know who you are. I’m actually here for—”
A loud ding cut him off, and he was quickly interrupted by Antoine’s lilting voice (and faux accent) on the loudspeaker. “If everyone could please take z’air seats and fasten z’air seat belts, we are ready to push back from ze gate and begin our safe-tee dem-on-stra-see-on.”
Elliott acknowledged the announcement with a quick nod. “We better take our seats. I have like a three-mile hike to get to mine all the way back in coach.”
I reached over to snatch the green foil–wrapped pillow mint from my luxury pod’s fold-out bed and waved it in the air. “Do you need any provisions for your journey? I think it’s Godiva.”
He rolled his eyes, lifted his tiny duffel farther up on his shoulder, and stalked through the flimsy curtain that separated the first-class cabin from economy.
As I watched him go, the grumpy, tight-lipped old lady that I’d bounced into earlier let out a not-so-subtle ahem, and when I looked over to her, she nodded in the direction of the attendant waiting for me to take my seat.
“Yep, got it. Sorry.” I shoved my purse under the seat in front of me with my foot, plopped down into the plush leather chair, and expelled a deep sigh.
I was doing this. For real. No safety net of family close by. No backup plan. No Rhys. Even when we were broken up, Rhys was my barometer of normal. He was my biggest supporter. My rock. My touchstone. Now, he was another name to add to the long list of people whom I’d let use me for their own endgame. Whether he leaked the tape to break us out of our “box” like he claimed or to boost his own fame, what did it matter? In the end, the person I’d loved most in the world betrayed and lied to me, and in my heart I knew that shattered trust was the final blow ending us for good.
My heart started to quicken, and my rib cage seemed to squeeze the air out of my lungs. I looked straight ahead, and Antoine was gesturing with the seat belt and flotation devices. His arms moved fluidly, and his smile never faltered. But I couldn’t hear a thing. My ears were filled with a thick, pulsing thrum that reverberated down to my toes.
Oh God. Am I having a stroke? What the hell’s happening?
I bent in half to fumble for my purse, the one I’d kicked a bit too far under the seat in front of me, and the exertion and odd position squeezed out whatever small bit of air was left in my lungs. Dark speckles danced in my line of vision as I continued to blindly riffle about. Finally grabbing my clutch of toiletries, I fished around the bottom of the bag, desperate for my fingertips to find a few rogue Xanax pills that had spilled out on my last trip. Aha! Success! One lonely soldier ready to save the damn day! I pinched it between my fingernails and dropped it into my open palm before reaching for the bottle of water I’d bought at the kiosk right next to our gate. Swallowing the pill down, I sank back against my seat, the leather cooling my clammy neck, and focused on taking big, deep breaths.
And just as the cold liquid hit my stomach along with the pill, a heaviness settled like a fog between my ears as if a slow leak of carbon monoxide was streaming in through the little overhead vents instead of air. Out the small airplane window, I hazily watched the ground crew in their neon-orange vests waving their lighted wands as they directed the plane away from the gate and onto the runway.
As the Xanax took hold, the sharp edges of my consciousness softened into a calming blur and took me further and further away, though the plane’s wheels were still on the asphalt. Rhys. The tape. I would never be able to find myself in France (or anywhere at all) if I continued to harp on his betrayal, and damn him, he didn’t get to take that too. So, for as brief as the thought may have been before the medicine knocked me out for good, I was resolute and downright determined to leave Rhys behind in the US, and in my past.
My head lolled back against the headrest and I drifted off; the effect of the pill lifted me up, up, and away like the very plane I was on. My worrying and the nerves melted away, and the next thing I knew, Antoine was reaching over me to raise my window shade, holding a hot Styrofoam cup and asking me how I took my café.
I pulled out my cell phone, turned on the international data plan, and watched the tiny digital clock update to 8:00 a.m. I opened my Gmail and typed Heart Restoration Project into the search bar, and the email I was looking for popped up on the screen.
Bienvenue en France! Once you land, head to the luggage carousel and look for a driver holding a sign with your name to take you to Maubec. We have sent some of the crew ahead—they will have your next week’s itinerary as well as your lodging information. Please feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns. Have fun, and see you in a few weeks!
—Kate
After tucking my phone back into my bag, I reapplied some lip gloss and made my way off the plane, through customs, and down to the luggage carousel. I inched up on my toes, and out of the far corner of my eye, over a sea of heads, I could just make out a driver holding up a sign that said P. EVERLY AND E. SCHAFFER. Dragging my heavy bag behind me, I wove through the crowd and over to where he was standing.
“Bonjour, I am P. Everly. Plum. Plum Everly.”
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, je m’appelle Gervais. Enchanté. Is this all your luggage?” he asked.
“Nice to meet you too, Gervais. I have a few more pieces coming off the plane.”
“Allow me.” He grabbed for my carry-on and roller bag, but I held on to my purse, which I kept slung across my body. “Are they labeled?” he asked.
“Yes, there’ll be two large valises with my name on them.”
Gervais poked around with something on his phone and then answered, “Very good. Do you mind waiting here for Monsieur Schaffer?”
I nodded, even though I had no idea if I was supposed to know who Mr. Schaffer was—because I didn’t—and the driver stepped away to retrieve the rest of my luggage. Since I had a moment, I scanned the concourse, hoping to find an open kiosk or restaurant where I could get a drink for the car ride into Maubec, but the airport in Marseille was small, and it seemed I’d already passed most of the shops.
It certainly wasn’t LAX with its bright lights, bustling crowds, and sea of retail chains. But I managed to spot a small patisserie in the corner, its bakery shelves lined with powdered-sugar- and almond-covered croissants and cloud-shaped, flaky brioche. Tufts of lavender sprigs tied together with rustic burlap ribbon were set out by the register, and an espresso machine hissed on the back counter.
Not seeing the driver returning just yet, I hurried to purchase a small latte, an Orangina for later, and a chocolate chip cookie in case Gervais needed a pick-me-up as well. Still not seeing him or any sign of a Mr. Schaffer, I returned to the spot where I’d been asked to wait and kneeled down to stuff the bottle of Orangina into the side of my purse for safekeeping.
“We meet again,” a voice called from above me. I looked up and into the face of the tall gentleman who helped me lift my bag into the overhead bin back in LA. He offered me his hand, which I gratefully took as I climbed up off the ground.
“Was the flight any less turbulent in first class?” he snorted.
“I couldn’t tell you either way. I took a Xanax before we even left LA and managed to knock myself out for most of it. I feel pretty great, actually.”
“Must be nice. Besides the fact the plane was shaking like a cornstalk in a hurricane, I was stuck between a bickering married couple the entire flight and maybe slept for a couple of hours,” he said through a yawn.
“Why didn’t you offer to trade seats with one of them?”
“Oh, I did. Several times in fact. But neither wanted to swap. Instead, they used me as some sort of in-flight referee for almost the whole eleven-hour trip. The good news is Kathy and John have decided to give it one more chance, for the sake of the kids, of course. Even if he has been carrying on an affair with his assistant for the past nine years.”
I put my hand in front of my mouth. “Nine years?!”
“Don’t feel too bad for her, she’s been working up a sweat with her personal trainer for the past five. This trip to France is their last-ditch effort to rekindle the flame.”
“Well, if anywhere can do that, the Cȏte d’Azur can, right?” I noticed Gervais emerging from the crowd by baggage claim and looked back at Elliott. “Sorry to cut this short, but I can see my driver coming now. It was nice talking to you. Have a lovely holiday. Hope you enjoy Marseille.”
“Oh, I’m not staying in Marseille, I’m actually heading to a small town called Maubec.”
