A Destiny Found

Chapter 3 Robin

Chapter 3 Robin

I checked on my flight status for the tenth time that morning and promptly berated myself for looking. I knew nothing had changed, but my nerves were on edge. My plane was on time to leave at eight, my bags were packed, and I had all the required documents. Everything was fine, even if it had taken me most of the previous evening to pack.

I was traveling lighter than usual because with my dad missing, I didn’t want to waste time waiting for luggage, or worse, lose my important items and have to file a claim with the airport. I’d heard horror stories of people having only the clothes on their backs and waiting up to a week before their bags arrived. I didn’t have that kind of time or mental bandwidth left to deal with airport luggage disasters.

As a result, it had taken most of the night before I was able to choose my audition outfit and which accessories to pack along with it. I hadn’t slept well thinking about all that could go wrong. In the end, I’d settled on an elegant amethyst sheath I'd found on sale in one of the shops along Saint Catherine’s. It was one of my favorites, because although it wasn't expensive, the material draped in a figure-flattering way. And best of all, the stretchy fabric didn't need to be steamed or ironed and could be worn right out of the bag without worrying about wrinkles.

I packed comfortable silver flats to wear with it instead of the heels I’d normally wear. That way they could double for walking during the day if the weather was warm. Along with a few changes of underwear, a couple of wrinkle-resistant shirts, one bathing suit and nightgown, I packed a pair of stretchy yoga pants with a toiletry bag, then dressed in jeans, a button-down shirt with a tank top, and spring jacket. The final touch was a pair of ankle-boots warm enough for the Montreal spring, yet comfortable enough to walk in all day.

In my purse, I had my passport, wallet, and laptop. The extra weight caused me to debate the need, but in the end my laptop was a necessary appendage I wanted with me. I still had a few papers to finish and it might come in handy searching for my dad. I was still hoping he’d merely lost his phone and was waiting at the hotel, having forgotten my number, but that hope was growing fainter every day.

After taking one last look around the house to make sure I’d locked up and turned everything off, I gave my friend, Melissa, a text to let her know where the spare key was. I was finally off. I took the Metro to the airport without being more than peripherally aware of my surroundings, passing through the line at security in much the same way.

My internal dialogue consisted of the negative Nellie part of my brain arguing with the Pollyanna positive side. The swift back and forth between doom and gloom and the hope he’d lost his phone consumed all my concentration, and when I looked up, I was surprised to see I was already nearly through the line for security.

I felt a strange, prickling sensation on the back of my neck and turned around, but no one was paying any attention to me except the young security officer who’d pulled me over for the airport’s ‘special test’ on my computer. He became excited when I mentioned I was bringing the computer because I was a student at McGill and had papers to finish.

“That’s great! I went to McGill too. Hey, maybe when you get back we can go for a coffee, and trade stories of our time in the trenches of education.”

I looked down, fiddling with the strap on my bag before giving him a bright stage-smile. I toned it down when his eyes widened with hope. Crap, overdid it. “I'm sorry, but I’ll be in Paris for a while.”

I waved as I took my computer back, smiling again in a more muted fashion as I walked away. I was hoping he wouldn’t realize until after I left that I hadn’t given him my number. I strode away quickly, searching for my gate. With the memory of the sensation of being watched, I kept a closer eye on my surroundings.

I scolded myself for being recklessly absorbed. I could have been mugged on my way to the airport, but I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t even considered anyone might be following me until security, when I’d felt eyes on me.

Now I scanned the area, wondering if someone actually was watching me or if I was becoming paranoid. This early in the morning there were the usual travelers one would expect to see in the Montréal airport. Families with loud children, retirees, and a few people with backpacks and eager faces.

I saw a guy around my age sitting off a little way by himself and found myself staring at him, even though he didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be in the Hells Angels. That was the nice thing about that gang—generally, if they were following you, you knew it.

This man didn’t look like a biker or a metal-head. He was sitting off to the side of the waiting area reading a newspaper—who did that anymore— and was keeping to himself. He hadn’t noticed me staring, hadn’t even glanced up, for which I was grateful. He was attractive, but in a boy-next door way, so I wasn't sure why I was having such hard time looking away.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a better look at his face. Did I know him from somewhere? Something about him was familiar. Without being able to figure it out, I chose an open seat far away from him. Sitting near the desk in view of the gate attendant, I waited for boarding with my guard up and tried not to think about my dad.

On the plane, I gratefully sank into my business class seat. With all the travel my dad did, I’d been able to upgrade for free. Transatlantic flights were long and the extra leg-room was appreciated. Not to mention the free food and alcohol.

I did up my seatbelt, gasping in pain a moment later as someone slammed a bag into my leg.

“Oh God! I'm so sorry!”

I rubbed my shin with a scowl, before composing my face into a polite smile at the sincerity in the voice, and told myself it had been an accident. I preferred the aisle seat for the easy access to the bathroom, but being injured by a fellow passenger or the food cart was the inevitable trade-off when one was cursed with long legs.

My smile faltered when I looked up and saw who had hit me. It was the same man who’d captured my attention earlier. Up close, I could see he was about my age. He looked contrite, and as he moved his bag out of the way, a shock of chestnut brown fell into something resembling a Superman curl, covering his forehead. As if noticing my attention, he brushed it back immediately.

I flushed, embarrassed at the prickle of heat in my cheeks. I hadn’t figured out how to control blushes yet, especially around attractive men.

“It's fine. No harm done.”

I kept rubbing my shin though, as it really did hurt.

He looked at my hand, then back up at my face with pleading, puppy-dog brown eyes. “Can I make it up to you? Buy you a drink?”

I shook my head, laughing even as a twinge of regret we hadn’t met at another time somewhere else stabbed me. “Thanks, but alcohol is free on transatlantic flights. Really. No permanent damage done. I should have moved my leg out of the way. Have a good flight.”

He nodded before smiling again, this time in an attractive, self-deprecating way. “Maybe some of that legendary Parisian grace will rub off on me. I'm sure my parents would be happy if I came back a little less like a bull-in-a-china-shop.”

I chuckled, feeling better, and he waved as he continued to his seat a few rows back. My leg had almost stopped hurting and I was surprised how disappointed I was he wasn’t sitting closer.

But, before long, thoughts of the looming audition and missing dad returned. I opened my bag with a sigh. Maybe if I reviewed everything I knew before landing, it would keep my mind busy. Pulling out my computer, I hoped I had better luck contacting my dad when I landed than I’d experienced in Montreal.