Arrived (Book One)

Chapter 5: Flying High

After Uncle Seth dropped us off to the airport, Dad and I carried our bags then waved goodbye to him. Uncle smiled then drove back to where he came from.

Things were like a blur to me: from showing our passports, plane tickets, and to picking up our suitcases. After the checking was over, we took our seats on the grey chairs and stared at the tiled floor until the plane to Cuba had arrived.

As we boarded the plane, we shoved our belongings in the compartments then sat next to each other. While we waited for the plane to start, a couple of people were still standing up around us, trying to fit their belongings inside.

I noticed a petite girl with brown braids is trying to fit her heavy pink suitcase inside the compartment and decided to help her. I rose out of my seat then helped the girl get her things inside.

The girl flashed me a grateful smile then allowed me to hurry back to my seat. The plane will start in about a few minutes," the announcer called. Good, I thought. It will give me enough time to pull out my spare Nancy Drew novel and read until my heart is content.

But with my father's quietness, it was getting too awkward to turn the page. "So Dad," I began, putting my book back into my handbag. "What is it like at your job?" Dad looked at me then told me that it was nice.

"You get to hit something for awhile," he shrugged. My eyes widened with excitement. "Who did you hit?" I asked eagerly. "Do you get to use a gun in combat? How many people did you kill?"

Dad raised his eyebrow as if I was asking stupid questions. I turned back to my seat then stared at the ground. "Yes," he sighed finally.

I looked at him in confusion. "Yes, I sometimes use a handgun or a pistol," Dad continued. "There was about one time, I knocked someone's teeth out with my fists, and so far, I have killed ten people."

"Ten people?" I breathed. "I think it was either ten or fifteen," Dad explained. "Cool," I said. Dad scratched his beard then gaze at me. "I have always thought most girls couldn't careless about action." he smirked.

I gave him a pout. "You know that I am not like most girls," I reminded. "I know," he replied. "Your mother once said that to me when she was your age." After the last passenger waddled inside the plane, it started to move on its own.

The next thing I saw on the window is the grey concrete pedalling behind us. With a sharp glance, the small grey wheels disappeared as the plane soared into the atmosphere until we were fifty feet above the ground.

Everyone was relieved the rocking was stopped as they resumed back to what they were doing. My father still wore a plain face, but I saw his hand clutching the texture of the chair. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to sleep. His lips were beginning to sore as Dad's front teeth sank deep into the pink flesh. Noticing traces of fresh purple bruises on his bottom lip, I easily guessed that Dad hates planes.

It was the same trick that he did whenever he is in rides. When I was little, I went to Disney World with my parents. I would pick the roller coasters while Mom and Dad handed the tickets.

I remembered that Dad is always in a bad mood whenever he rode a bumper car, a rollercoaster, or even a spinning teacup. Mom and I always took dangerous rides while Dad only bit his lip and try to hold down his lunch.

"Dad," I began. "Are you okay?" Dad still closed his eyes, but he shook his head. I thought for a moment before giving him advice. "Look at me," I said calmly. "Don't focus on the plane, focus on me." He swallowed a gulp, but managed to stop chewing his lip. He opened his eyes then gazed at me.

"Are you okay?" I repeated. "Yeah," he grunted. "Thanks." The plane was hovering the air for about a few hours until the announcer reminded the passengers that the trip will last for an hour or so. Most passengers shrugged off the delay while others began to groan.

Dad didn't pay any attention to the drama, instead he was looking at his phone. Probably, looking at some old photos of the honeymoon. I squinted at the small golden band around his index finger then back at my father's weary face.

"What do you want to ask me, Cleo?" Dad asked softly. I felt my cheeks getting redder; Dad must have noticed me staring at him very puzzling. "No," Dad answered, ignoring the awkward silence. "I don't usually wear it that much at work."

He noticed that I was staring his wedding ring, too. I thought. "How come?" I asked. "It's none of people's business," he answered bluntly. "Do girls usually flirt with you or something?" I joked. The corner of Dad's mouth lifted. "Yeah," he admitted. "But when I showed them my ring, they backed off."

Later, he let out an annoyed sigh: "I'm sorry that I sound annoyed to you. I am not used to talking a lot, like your uncle." I gave him a sympathetic smile. Unlike most fathers I knew, Dad wasn't the type of guy you would like to be around with: he has a lot of trusting issues, he preferred to do things on his own, and he is very mysterious.

But the one thing I like about Dad is that he is super caring, supportive, quiet, and sensitive. I liked it when he gives me parenting advice and loves Mom and Seth more than anything in the world.

He always remembers Mom's birthday, helps out around the house, and for their anniversary, Dad bought Mom two matching Chiappo Rhino revolvers.

As the flight attendant began serving beverages and snacks to the passengers, Dad snuck two water bottles from the cart and handed one to me. I took it graciously then drank until the bottle was half full. I never realized that I was thirsty.

As the darkness inflicted the sky, I found myself laying my head against my father's shoulder. Calmly, he gave my head a small pat then kissed me on the head.

"Dad," I mumbled. He turned his head and gave me a patient smile. "Yes?" he began. "Is it awesome being an FBI agent?" I asked. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But there were times that I wanted to become a Private Investigator."

"But I still don't understand," I added. "You know you can just quit." "We need the money," Dad replied. "Cleo, there are things in life that you need to understand: protecting people is more important than just quit in advance."

"I was taught that in Quantico, along with your mother." I stared at him in amazment. "Mom was an FBI agent?" I asked in wonder. Dad nodded very slowly. "It was before we had you," he went on. "Your mother and I were the top students in the class. She was the sharp knife while I was the strategist."

"Cool!" I whispered. "After we graduated, There were alot of police forces and agencies that want our skills," Dad explained. "I choose the FBI while your mother worked for the CIA, until your grandmother made her quit and focus on 'safer' jobs."

We talked for hours until I fell asleep. The AC was blowing ontop me, so I tried to squirm out my sweater and use it as a blanket, but I was too tired to move. The chilly wind instantly disappeared as I felt a warm thick blanket comforting me.

I opened my eyes to see that my father was covering me with his leather black jacket. I started to doze off for a moment until Dad woke me up.

I blinked my tired eyes at him. Dad gave me a smile then pointed at the window. "We're here," he replied.