Stranded in Paradise (5 page)

The luggage hadn't arrived, so she stepped to a nearby pay phone. Her cell phone was buried in her luggage, a mistake she realized in the cab. She searched her purse and coat pockets for change, but all she managed to come up with were six pennies, a nasty-looking nickel that had part of a breath mint stuck to it, and a Canadian coin she had picked up somewhere.

By the time she'd limped to the nearest newsstand for change and limped back, all the phones were in use. She patiently waited while a frazzled-looking housewife gave instructions to her husband and children. “I left some TV dinners in the freezer for tonight. And there's some lettuce and tomatoes for a salad—oh, I forgot to buy Ranch dressing . . .” the woman kept going. When the lady finally ran out of time and dashed off to catch her shuttle ride, Tess moved up to the phone. She dropped her coins into the slot and tapped out Beeg's work number. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the phone start to ring—several times with no answer. Replacing the receiver, she frowned. Maybe this was some sort of Hawaiian holiday. She dropped more coins into the phone and dialed Beeg's home number.

Beeg's familiar voice came over the line on the second ring. “Hello! This is Me!”

Relief flooded Tess. Thank goodness. “Hi, Beeg! This
is—”

“I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now,” her friend's sunny voice interrupted. “At the sound of the tone, please leave your name and number, and I'll return your call as soon as possible.”

When she heard the beep, she squeezed her eyes shut in disgust and pressed the receiver against her forehead. One more delay, Tess. You should be used to that by now.

Since the luggage was late in arriving, Carter decided to mosey back to the shop. He bought a pineapple-guava-orange smoothie and a copy of
Newsweek,
then walked back to the luggage area. People occupied the benches, so he took a stand near the phones. When he heard the young woman beside him suddenly slam down the receiver, he turned to look.

She fumbled in her coat pocket and extracted a number of tissue wads, which she discarded into the trash receptacle. Finally she took one wad and held it to her nose as she leaned against the wall and took deep, hiccupping breaths.

He fished a fresh package of tissues from his carry-on and handed it to her, tapping it against her arm to get her attention.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, her eyes momentarily meeting his. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She looked as if someone had just shot her dog.

“Looks like you're having a rough day,” Carter said.

“I've had better,” the woman replied, sniffling.

“It could get worse . . .” Carter said. “They could always lose our luggage.” He offered her a smile which she returned shyly.

The woman handed the pack of tissues back.

“Keep it,” he said. “I've got more.”

“I'm going to sit.” She motioned toward her foot. “I . . . hurt my ankle.”

He watched as she hobbled over to the waiting area and sat down.

Her shoulders lifted in a sigh as she unwrapped a piece of gum and stuck the stick in her mouth, then blindly fished about with her right hand in her purse, finally withdrawing an emery board. Crossing then uncrossing her legs, she filed her nails and jiggled her left foot erratically.

Busy, busy, busy,
Carter thought. He looked around the waiting area. Fifty out of a hundred passengers either had a cell phone pressed to their ear, answered a pager, typed on a laptop, or consulted a hand-held Palm Pal. Looking at them, he realized that he was no different. Until two days ago he'd been in the same boat, but not anymore. He strengthened his resolve to learn how to be a calm, relaxed person. He didn't want to end up so worn out he was sobbing in front of strangers at the airport.

Ten minutes later, a siren blasted and bags started to drop and roll along the conveyor belt. Easing her way through the throng, Tess eventually found herself standing beside the man who had given her the tissues.

He smiled. “Hello again.”

“Hi.” They stood, watching. Waiting for their bags. Two hundred and fifty suitcases passed in front of them before she discovered she and the tissue man were the only ones left standing.

He glanced over with a questioning expression in his eyes.

She looked back, shrugging.

She glanced at the baggage opening and prayed that she wouldn't hear the conveyer shut off. The motor continued to hum.

They silently focused on the rotating carousel. Suddenly a single bag belched out of the rubber flaps and lumbered down the belt.

“Finally,” she said. “I thought I'd have to go naked
and
blind.”

The man ventured a polite, “Huh?”

“I lost my contact earlier.”

He grimaced. “I
thought
you looked familiar—you were the woman crawling on the floor.”

“Yes, why?” She turned to look at him. “I lost my contact . . .”

He drew a deep breath. “Well, I think I may have stepped on it.”

Nostrils flared. Suddenly the air left Kahului terminal. “You did what?”

“I was coming down the corridor and . . . I stepped on what I thought was a piece of hard candy. I'm sorry—”

She shook her head. The information didn't surprise her. “It isn't your fault,” she said. “I told you this hasn't been my day. It isn't your fault,” she repeated, more to convince herself than him. “I tried to find it, but—”

“Too many big feet.” He had a kind smile and eyes that crinkled in the corners.

“You couldn't have known,” she said as she latched onto the bag, but his hand grabbed it at the same time

“Excuse me,” he said.

She closed her eyes. “
What
now?”

“I think you're mistaken. This is my bag—see. Big scar on the right side.” He laid his hand across the deep dent in the side of the leather bag.

She evaluated the bag with thinned lips. “No. You're mistaken. This is my bag. Mine has a nick on the left side—received last summer, in New York.”

He focused on the piece of black Samsonite. “No, it's mine.” He picked up the bag and turned to walk away. Tess felt her temper rising.

She whirled and limped after him. “Wait just one minute! Set my luggage down this very minute!”

He turned around slowly, a look of condescension growing in his eyes.

Dropping the bag on the floor, he then knelt on one knee. “This matter is easily settled. All we have to do is read the nametag. I'm sure you're mistaken.”

She stood, heat rising to her cheeks. Their dispute was being closely observed by incoming travelers from other flights, impatient to retrieve their luggage.

“No,” she said. “You're mistaken.”

Carter pulled the tag free and squinted to read. “Let's see what we have here.” Glancing up a moment later he said solemnly, “I was wrong. The bag isn't mine.”

“I know.” She smiled. “That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

He picked up the suitcase and held it out to her. “Here you go, Harry.”

Her hand was already wrapping around the handle when the name suddenly penetrated. “Harry?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You aren't Harry Finnerman?”

“Of course I'm not Harry Finnerman.”

“Oh. That's too bad,” he said, “because this bag belongs to Harry Finnerman.” A grin grew on his face.

“Are you sure?” She squatted to peer at the tag, squinting one eye closed. When she indeed discovered that he was right, she lifted her gaze.

“Don't gloat,” she grumbled. “People are watching us.” Straightening, she muttered, “Well, I guess my bags are still somewhere.”

“As are mine,” he agreed.

Just not where any of them are supposed to be.

“I thought you said it couldn't get any worse,” she said. He shrugged.

They stepped back to the revolving carousel to wait. A moment later another bag shot out and thundered down the conveyor. Score one more for Harry Finnerman.

A moment later the carousel stopped.

Then a siren blasted, and the conveyor on the right began spitting bags out from a later flight.

“There must have been a mix-up somewhere,” the man said quietly.

“Both of my bags are missing,” Tess said, feeling her forehead to see if she was getting a fever. No, she was cool. Three hairs stuck to her hand and she quickly flicked them away.

The man turned and walked to the Claims Department while she limped behind.

A half hour later, she and the tissue man were still standing in line, filling out forms. They finally completed the paperwork regarding the lost luggage, and with the airline's promise to deliver the bags as soon as they were located, they left the terminal.

Giving a pleasant nod, the man left. She turned to hail a cab and glanced up at the sky.

Maui weather was definitely better than Denver. Crystal blue skies, fluffy cumulus clouds drifting overhead. Taking a deep breath, she sniffed. Plumeria. The flower scented the tropical breeze with a heady perfume.

“Hello again,” a voice sounded over Tess's shoulder.

She turned, as he tucked a brochure of some sort into the pocket of the coat he now carried draped over his arm.

He was back.

“Everything settled?” he said.

She nodded, glancing down at her snow boot that looked about as useless in the eighty-degree heat as a life preserver on a duck.

“Looks like that ankle's in bad shape—better have a doctor check it out as soon as you can.” A taxi braked to the curb and the man opened the door. “This one's yours.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You take it.”

“I insist.” He held the door open wider.

“No,
I
insist.”

“Look,” he said. “You need to get ice on that ankle.” He smiled. “Besides, if we don't decide soon, the cab will leave without either of us.” A couple who stood ahead of them on the curb shot them dirty looks.

She said quietly, “I suppose we could share.”

“Get in. I'll get your purse and briefcase,” he offered.

“Thanks.”

He positioned the items between them in the backseat, got in, and slammed the cab door.

“Where to?” the gum-chewing driver asked.

“Pioneer Inn for me,” the man said.

She slid the man a peripheral glance, and gave the driver Beeg's address.