I pull back the sheets and blanket, lift my pillow, check under my laptop, and shuffle through some paperwork Impatient left for me to sign. Nothing. "Shit. Where in the hell is it?" I'm talking out loud, as if the damn thing is going to come out from its hiding spot.
"It's charging."
I jump out of my fucking skin at the words, and turn. Impatient is sitting in her bunk across the aisle from mine.
Those are the first words she's spoken to me all week. She's sitting in her bunk reading a book and she's laughing at me. She's stifling it, but she's laughing nonetheless.
Her laughter immediately lightens my mood. "Jesus fucking Christ," I say. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought I was alone this whole time. You could be a fucking hired assassin, you know that?"
She's back to her book now. Any hint that this person has a sense of humor has vanished. Without looking at me, she says, "On the counter, by the toaster."
I walk to where she's instructed and, sure as shit, there sits my phone, plugged into the community charger. Exactly where I left it earlier.
I disconnect it and take it back to my bunk with me, pushing aside the mess I made during the mad hunt, and climb in. My eyes keep drifting back to her bunk as I scroll through missed texts and emails. From this high angle I can't see anything from the chest up but I can see the book resting in her lap and her long legs stretched out. Those damn legs. They're crossed at the ankle. I was right about her being a runner. She runs every day. It's the first thing she does when the bus stops.
I don't know why but I have to talk to her. I don't want to let this opportunity go. "How'd you know I was looking for my phone?"
She doesn't hesitate. "You always call your mom around this time of day."
I do. See, she pays attention. Like I said, nothing gets past her. "What are you reading?"
She stays tucked away in her bunk, but she answers, "It's a biography about an Afghani woman. She's leading the fight for equal rights for women in the Middle East." She always stays tucked away. Even if she's talking to someone face-to-face, she's tucked away. She angles herself away and avoids eye contact. At first, I thought it was part of her personality—the impatience and irritation. But it wasn't until I saw her, really saw her, and watched her around others that I realized she's hiding. Hiding the right side of her face. I'm no expert, but I'd guess that she's lived with her scars for a long time. She overcompensates for them like she's protecting them, protecting herself. Hiding is how she functions. I wish she wouldn't hide, but I'm in no position to judge. I've been hiding from myself for months.
"That sounds fun." I'm only joking, partially because I'm a little nervous, but it comes off insensitive and rude.
And that's exactly how she takes it. "There's this great big world out there where women are valued for more than their vaginas," she says flatly. She's a woman of few words, but when she says something she means it.
It takes my breath away. She's harsh. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. "Is that what you really think about me?"
"Don't act so shocked. It's your M.O. I watch it every night after the shows."
Not knowing how to respond, I try to joke around with her despite failing miserably at it only seconds ago. "Jealous?" I don't why I just said that. I've had a few beers tonight, but that's no excuse. I need to shut my damn mouth.
"Get over yourself, Gustov." She sounds pissed now, even her soft voice isn't tempering the anger. "Not if you were the last man on Earth." There's disgust in her voice. Then she circles back on the insult, leans out of her bunk, and glares up at me. "Are you really so self-absorbed that you can't fathom the fact that there are women out there who have no interest whatsoever in sleeping with you?"
I shrug, because I feel shitty. When did I turn into that guy? I'm not that guy.
She shakes her head, tosses her book to the foot of the bed, slips out of her bunk, and disappears out the door of the bus.
I stare blankly at her bunk. I want a do-over of the last five minutes. Instead, I call Ma because it always gets me out of this crazy world I'm living in and back to sanity. Under my breath, I repeat while I'm listening to the phone ring. "One more month and I'm home. One more month and I'm home."
"Hi, honey." Comfort, that's what her voice sounds like.
"Hey, Ma. What's my favorite person up to?"
"Just eating a late lunch here at the office with Mikayla."
We're on the east coast so she's three hours behind. "How's Mikayla doing?"
Ma sighs, it's a happy sigh with underlying sadness. "She sold her house. Closing is next month. Retirement is finally going to take her away from me." Mikayla's been Ma's assistant since the first day she opened her advertising firm twenty years ago. They're close friends and I know Ma feels like she'll be lost without her.
"Good for Mikayla. Sucks for you."
"Good for Mikayla is right. She deserves to enjoy retirement. I'm just being selfish."
"I know you knew this day was coming, not that it makes it any easier on you, but what are you gonna do? Mikayla's superhuman." She is. Ma's damn good at what she does. She's one helluva business woman. But Mikayla's always been her backup. Another set of eyes and ears that stayed on top of everything. They've worked together so long they can finish each other's sentences. I swear they speak telepathically half the time.
Ma laughs. "Mikayla is superhuman. And I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't even want to think about interviewing and hiring someone new. Mikayla's gritty attitude and ability to make things happen out of thin air is irreplaceable."
As soon as she says it my eyes dart to Impatient's empty bunk. Gritty attitude. Ability to make things happen. The wheels are turning in my head and before I know it, my mouth is getting ahead of me. "I might know someone."
"You might know someone?" I don't know why she sounds so surprised.
"Yeah, she's traveling with us. Her name's Scout, but I call her Impatient. She's my babysitter."
Ma scoffs at the babysitter tag, but I know she's relieved that someone's looking out for me besides Franco.