Not My Father's Daughter

Chapter 4: Sara

Chapter 4: SaraSara opened every picture Shannon had emailed her and re-read every word of every email at least three times on the flight from Dallas to Pasco, Washington. She was almost as excited about seeing Washington as she was over meeting Shannon, even though Shannon had made it clear that the prettier parts of the state were northwest of where they would be. That was okay. There’d be other trips. The important thing was establishing that final connection between them, the one that would seal the deal. Then Sara could move on in her career knowing that all her ducks were in a row. And that would give her the confidence to stand up to her mother.

She closed the laptop and leaned back, closing her eyes as the pilot announced the beginning of their descent. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother. On the contrary. Her mother was an amazing woman with a large circle of friends. But the two of them were so different. Her mother was a dreamer where Sara was practical. Unlike Sara, she was outgoing and not at all reserved. Sara wished she had known her father better, but he had been killed in the Gulf War when she was only five. Her memories of him were so sketchy, overlaid by the gentle parenting of her stepfather, but every now and then she’d get a flashback, vague memories that failed to fill in any blanks. She didn’t remember stories being read by him. No, that had always been her mother. Did he push her on the swings or carry her piggyback? There were few photos of them together, little to suggest he was anything but a tall man in uniform. So maybe her traits were more from him than from her mother, as she could never imagine herself cuddling or playing with a child. It just didn’t come naturally to her, despite the fact that her mother had always been demonstrative and nurturing.

And where did that get her mother? No real career of her own, leaving her to live vicariously through her only daughter. Well, Sara wasn’t going to make the same mistakes her mother did, even if she claimed to be happy during her brief marriage to Sara’s biological father. Sara could not fathom how two people who seemed to have had so little in common could have actually thought a marriage would work. Her stepdad was much more like her mother, but that left Sara with no one to really understand why she preferred solitude, a trip to a museum on her birthday over a party at Chuck E. Cheese—she shuddered at the mere thought of it—and why she rebelled against joining the Girl Scouts or any other social organization her parents tried to get her excited about. She had her books. The only thing that would have made life better would have been having a dog. To her great dismay, Sara’s mother was allergic to most animal hair. Or maybe it was a ploy, because that was the one thing that motivated Sara to make friends with the other kids in the neighborhood, the presence of a pet in their lives. So she was friend to all four-legged beasts and tolerated their two-legged owners, and her mother believed she was just like all the other kids. Only, Sara knew otherwise.

But now, as the plane made a jarring bump on the tarmac, Sara was going to do something that once again would not please her mother, but would make Sara feel like she was finally fitting in, that she truly belonged somewhere. How nice it would be to spend her life with someone who genuinely understood her! Shannon. Sara sat up straight, popped a peppermint in her mouth in lieu of brushing her teeth, and felt a queasiness that she hoped was more from nervous excitement than a reaction to the lousy coffee she’d been served on the plane.

Shannon was supposed to meet her at baggage claim, but somehow Sara was always the last off a plane, waiting patiently for others to pull down their carry-ons from too crowded overhead bins. Why did they bring so much stuff only to have it remain in compartments sometimes halfway down the aisle? It didn’t make sense. Sara traveled light. Just her laptop and a book. The book was more of a deterrent if she had the misfortune of being seated next to a talker. It was a textbook she’d finished years before, The Structure and Function of Invertebrate Neurons, and if that wasn’t enough to discourage conversation from her seat mate, she’d open to the chapter on The Unspecified Basal Nervous Systems of Cnidarians and Ctenophores, and that usually was enough to discourage further attempts at discourse. The fact was, she herself found it fascinating, but if she’d learned anything outside the classroom in her thirty-six years of living it was that her IQ of 164 set her apart in more ways than one from the more typical intellect she normally encountered off campus.

Finally Sara was able to deplane and, after a quick restroom stop, made her way to the baggage claim area. She looked around quickly, but seeing no one remotely resembling the pictures she’d been studying, found an isolated spot to await her small bag and pulled out her phone. There were no texts from Shannon, so she sent one of her own announcing her arrival, even though it should not have been necessary, given that the plane had landed ten minutes past the promised arrival time and it had taken a rather long time for Sara to make her way off it. What if Shannon had gotten tired of waiting, or figured Sara’d had a change of heart, and hadn’t come after all? Punctuality was very important to Sara so she could understand someone else getting frustrated and not wanting to wait, but surely her arrival was anticipated sufficiently for Shannon to make accommodations for the vagaries of airline schedules.

Ding. Shannon finally texted. Parking the car. Be there soon.

Just now parking? There must have been a traffic delay. Ah well. There was her bag, so she’d just settle on a bench where she had a good view of the entrance door. Three minutes went by. Five. Seven. Ten. People all around her met their parties or called for transport and she was nearly alone in the baggage area. Twelve minutes of sitting and the glass doors finally opened once more.

“Sara?” A somewhat older and heavier version of the woman in the photos on her laptop headed in her direction, her voice surprisingly loud given their close proximity and lack of other sounds in the building.

Sara placed her laptop on the seat beside her and rose, uncertain of the proper protocol for a situation such as this. But she needn’t have worried. Shannon enveloped her in a tight hug and made a move as though intending to kiss her, and Sara quickly disengaged herself, not ready for that level of intimacy yet.

“You must be Shannon.” Brilliant deduction, Sara. What was the likelihood the woman had a doppelgӓnger who happened to arrive at the airport at that precise moment, expecting someone resembling her? Before she could answer, Shannon had grabbed her by the arm and was escorting her toward the door as though she could not get there on her own power. Was there something in her emails or photos that had indicated she was unable to navigate on her own, or would need guidance?

Not wanting to commit a social faux pas, Sara gently extricated her arm and grabbed her carry-on, preventing further physical contact for the time being. Despite all their online communications, Sara was feeling ill at ease, this person more of a stranger than she had anticipated. Shannon’s voice was familiar, but so loud. Maybe she had a hearing difficulty she had failed to mention and kept the volume high on her computer and phone.

“I’m so excited to finally meet you!” Sara cringed slightly as people waiting for taxis on the benches outside the terminal doors turned to look at them. A plane was going over, but it still didn’t seem to warrant such extreme vocal projection. Perhaps Shannon found crowds overwhelming, as Sara often did, and could not monitor her behavior properly. No matter. Soon they’d be in the car and there would be quiet.

Shannon stopped in front of a very boxy, white Jeep Wrangler and popped open the rear passenger door, grabbing Sara’s laptop and tossing it none too gently on the seat.

“Be care…”

“This is the surprise I told you about! Isn’t she a beauty?”

“The car?”

“Yes! Just bought her last week. Brand new!”

Sara lowered herself to the passenger seat after settling her carry-on gently on the floor. She must have heard wrong. Maybe this was a rental till her new car was ready. It doesn’t make sense to purchase a car new. Especially one that had to cost three or four times as much as her little Nissan Versa. And the gas mileage!

“I always wanted a Jeep. Now I can go off-roading, and…”

Shannon turned the radio on and Sara wasn’t sure which was worse, her shouted conversation or the jazz music that filled the small enclosure. Off-roading? In a car known for its safety issues? She only hoped the road to Shannon’s apartment was sufficiently paved to keep them from tipping over. Sara dug in her purse for some Tylenol. Maybe the flight was having a worse effect on her than usual.

“Do you want to stop somewhere or go straight to my place?”

“Shannon, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a slight headache. Do you think you could speak more quietly please?”

“Oh, of course. Sorry. I forget not everyone grew up with six brothers.”

Sara leaned back and tried to relax, but couldn’t quite manage it as Shannon seemed to have no concept of the laws of physics and insisted on maintaining less than one car length between them and the car ahead. After Sara’s first jolt toward the dashboard, Shannon took it upon herself to stretch her right arm across Sara’s breasts every time she made a quick stop, which averaged about three or four times a minute. Hopefully she didn’t live far from the airport.

The windows were down and thankfully the traffic noise in combination with Shannon’s continuous chatter created a cacophony that Sara found somewhat lulling in between sudden lunges into Shannon’s arm. She must be really jetlagged. Nothing felt right. Maybe after a good night’s sleep…

“Fuckin’ asshole!”

Sara’s eyes popped open just in time to see the driver of another vehicle flip them off.

Shannon put her hand on Sara’s thigh and looked contrite. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, but I can’t stand when some d**k in a pick-up truck thinks he owns the road.”

“Uh, it’s okay. Do you think we could stop somewhere for a bite to eat? That is, unless you had something planned.”

“Sure, that’s fine. I’m actually not that into cooking, so it was just going to be a frozen pizza. Did you have some place in mind?”

“You’re the native. What do you recommend?”

“Do you like Mexican?” Sara had noticed they’d passed about two dozen Mexican places in the fifteen minutes they’d been on the road, or at least while she was awake.

“I do, but…well, I live in Texas, so it’s something I can and do get readily, and the quality can vary a great deal. Do you have any other ideas? Italian perhaps?”

Shannon turned to look at her and nearly ran over an elderly man in a scooter crossing the road. “But we can have pizza at my place.”

“No, I meant real Italian. Not a pizza place.”

“You want me to turn around?”

“No! I mean, no, that’s not necessary. We can go wherever is convenient.” The thought of adding miles to their life-threatening journey did not appeal to Sara, even for exceptional Italian food. Anything would suffice. It was just one meal. They could take their time choosing a nice place tomorrow.

“Home is convenient. We already passed everything. Anyway, I’m almost out of gas.”

Oh, Lord. How did someone with a doctorate degree not have the presence of mind to be better prepared? It was unthinkable. Sara never let her tank get below half. She managed a small smile. It could be her job in the future to ensure their vehicles are maintained in optimal condition. That would be beneficial to Shannon. Just another way in which they could prove a compatible match. “In that case, home-cooked pizza it is.”

“Aren’t you glad I planned ahead?”