I woke the next morning feeling anxious. Was it too soon? They say if you really want to get to know someone, you should travel with them. What if Carina was right and he was nothing like I thought he was? What if we didn’t get along? I’d be stuck there with him and my flattened heart.
I pushed my worries from my mind. It’s just a trip, I told myself. And, worst case, at least I’d be out of Utah and the cold. I should have left town long before then.
Anxious or not, I was happy to be leaving town.
Chapter Twenty
They say that if you want to get to know someone, travel with them. Do I really want to know him that well?
—Maggie Walther’s Diary
Andrew pulled up to the house a few minutes before ten o’clock. I was sitting in the front room waiting for him. He got out of his truck wearing only a light denim jacket. I put on my ski parka, turned off the lights, and opened the door as he walked up to my porch.
“You’re not going to need that coat in Cabo,” he said. We kissed.
“I better not,” I replied. “It’s supposed to be in the nineties.”
“I’m ready for it,” he said. He opened his jacket. He had on a colorful Hawaiian shirt.
I locked my door. “I’ll be ditching the coat the second we’re on the plane.”
Andrew grabbed my bag and we walked down to his truck. He opened the door for me, put our suitcases in the back seat, and walked around and got in.
Even with slushy roads, the drive to the airport took only a half hour. We parked in the long-term parking lot and Andrew carried both of our bags to the nearest shuttle stop.
There was one other person at the station—a man standing on the west side of the structure talking on his cell phone. He wore a herringbone peacoat, a long wool scarf wrapped around his neck, and one of those faux fur hats with flaps that fall down over the ears and ties under the chin. His nose was nearly as red as his scarf, and between talking he kept sneezing into a ratty tissue. I felt bad for him. I also kept my distance. I didn’t want to get sick on my trip.
We had only been waiting for a few minutes when the shuttle arrived. Andrew grabbed both of our bags and carried them over. The shuttle bus was less than a quarter full, and there were two seats together near the back.
“You’re quiet,” he said, after we’d sat.
“I’m a little nervous,” I said. “But I’m excited.”
“When was the last time you took a vacation?”
“Like a real vacation, out of Utah?” I had to think. “About three and a half years ago. Clive went to New Orleans on business and I went with him.”
“I love New Orleans,” he said. “Best food in the world.”
“I wouldn’t know; I only had room service. I never left the hotel.”
The shuttle dropped us off at the second terminal. The airport was slammed with pre-Thanksgiving traffic. We walked past most of the travelers to the priority access.
“I’ll need your passport,” Andrew said as we waited for an agent. I fished it out of my purse and handed it to him. A few minutes later we checked our luggage and got our boarding passes. As Andrew turned from the counter, he said, “If you want, I can keep your passport with mine.”
I remembered Carina’s paranoid comment about holding my own passport and felt a wave of annoyance. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
We still had an hour, so after passing through security, we stopped for coffee, then made our way to the D terminal. When we got to our gate, there was already a large crowd gathered around the entrance to the Jetway. We had been there for only a few minutes when the flight attendant called for boarding for those with premium seating.
“That’s us,” Andrew said.
“We’re in first class?”
He handed me my boarding pass. “Life is too short for economy. You deserve a little pampering.” Then he added, “Maybe a lot.”
“I don’t know if I deserve it, but I like it.”
“You deserve it,” he said.
I shed my jacket as we walked down the Jetway.
“Would you like the window or aisle?”
“I don’t care.”
“I’ll let you take the window so you get a good view of Cabo.”
The plane was crowded, but I wasn’t. The only other time in my life that I had flown first class was seven years ago when Clive was meeting with a client in Pittsburgh, and since it was over a holiday, his client had offered to buy me a ticket as well.
“Did this cost a fortune?” I asked.
“About fifty Christmas trees. But you’re worth it.”
I settled back in the wide leather chair. “I like the way this trip is starting out.”
“Good. It’s just the prologue.”
I took out my phone. “Here’s something else I won’t need.” I shut it off. “I’m truly unplugged.”
A minute later a flight attendant came by to ask if I wanted anything to drink. I ordered a cranberry juice with 7Up, then looked out the window. The snow was still falling and the plane’s window was covered with slush.
“We’ll probably have to deice the plane,” Andrew said.
“How long does that take?”
“It depends on how many planes are ahead of us. Probably about fifteen minutes.”
Andrew was right. The plane needed to be deiced. The process sounded like we were going through a car wash. When our plane finally lifted off, Andrew reached over and took my hand, then lay back in his seat. I liked it. I wondered if we would be holding hands on the way back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cabo is beautiful. My body and soul have gone from dismal cold to cheerful warm.
—Maggie Walther’s Diary
The flight to Cabo took just under three hours. Andrew and I talked for most of the first hour while we ate breakfast. After our trays were cleared, Andrew read the Wall Street Journal while I reclined my seat and fell asleep. I woke as we began our descent and the flight attendants prepared the cabin for landing. Andrew had put a blanket over me. It made me happy.
I looked out over the blue sea churning with white foam against the rim of the peninsula. “It’s beautiful,” I said. I kissed Andrew on the cheek.
We landed a few minutes later. As I emerged from the plane, I was surprised by the intensity of the heat. Even without my coat I was overdressed. The air was warm and humid and smelled of flowery perfume. The landscape around the runways was rugged desert with the jagged silhouette of mountains rising in the distance.
We exited the plane from a mobile stairway attached to the back of a truck, walking carefully down the rutted metal stairs and onto the hot tarmac below. Andrew paused near the base of the steps and took a deep breath. “It’s good to be back.”
“When was the last time you were here?” I asked.
“A year ago,” he replied.
An airline employee directed us to immigration, which was located in a modern and air-conditioned building, and we claimed our bags. Several other flights had landed about the same time as ours, and there was a lengthy queue.
It took us half an hour to get through immigration. As we walked out into the main terminal, we were mobbed by English-speaking salesmen. Andrew just waved them off, saying, “No estoy interesado, gracias.”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I told them we’re not interested.”
“Are they taxi drivers?”
“No, they’re selling time-shares.”
We picked up our rental car, a cherry-red Mercedes convertible.
“Nice car,” I said.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Is the condo far from here?”
“About a half hour. It’s a nice drive.”
We drove with the top down to the condo at Las Cascadas de Pedregal, a hillside community built along Pedregal beach. We drove past a security guard into a gated complex. The road was dark cobblestone and the grounds were carefully landscaped with exotic desert vegetation. I hadn’t been expecting anything this nice.
“This is where we’re staying?” I asked.
He nodded. “Casa, dulce casa.”
“It’s ritzy.”