Penelope in Retrograde: A Novel(10)

“But what if we do, and I never get to meet Viktoria in person? What if I end up dying before I ever get the chance to be married? My mother’s only wish is for me to get married.” His foot slips off the brakes for a second, causing the van to lurch forward. “Sorry. Sorry. I . . . um . . . I think I just feel a little hot. Stuffy. Do you mind if I turn on the air-conditioning?”

Aidan fiddles with the temperature dial, positioning all the vents toward him at first and then away. He pulls at the collar of his button-down and dabs at the sweat beading down his face.

“Do you need a bottle of water or something?” I reach for the complimentary bottle in the cup holder next to me and hand it to Smith. “Also, it might not be a bad idea to put the car in park.”

“Thanks.” He takes the bottle, but he can’t steady his hands enough to twist off the lid. “Um . . . I . . . uh . . .”

“I got you.” Smith opens the bottle and holds it out for him. “Take a drink and put the car in park. We’re not going anywhere right now.”

He follows Smith’s directions and leans back in his seat, closing his eyes as he slowly drinks.

“Have you ever had a panic attack?” Smith asks.

“Just once, when I was eleven.” His chest heaves up and down a little faster. “I got stuck in an elevator for seven hours at Horton Plaza. I take the stairs now whenever possible. Do you think we’re going to get stuck on this bridge for seven hours? If I can’t take the bridge anymore, it’s going to really limit my business.”

“I can’t imagine the storm lasting that long,” Smith says. “You just focus on your breathing.”

“I puked in that elevator,” Aidan says. “Several times.”

“If you could not puke in here, that would be much appreciated,” I say. “Ozzie will probably try to eat it, and then I’ll puke, and that will definitely limit your business.”

“You’re not as good at this comforting thing as he is.” Aidan nods toward Smith.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

And I have a feeling he won’t be the last.





Chapter 4


“Do you have a paper bag, by chance?” Smith asks me. “We need to slow down his breathing before he hyperventilates.”

All it takes is another big clap of thunder to finally push Aidan and the dogs over the edge. I think the dogs are more freaked out by Aidan freaking out than they are by the storm. I relocate them to the copilot’s spot up front, while Smith convinces Aidan to lie down in the back seat.

“I actually might.” I reach into my purse and feel around for Ozzie’s cannabis dog cookies. “Will this work?”

Smith takes a look at the hand-stamped logo on the bag. It’s a pink poodle and a marijuana leaf, which I think is the perfect blend of trashy and cute. A smile curls his lips as he pours the remaining cookies into the palm of his hand. He sniffs them and gives a nod of approval.

“Is that toffee I smell?” He hands the cookies to me.

“They’re Ozzie’s favorite. He’s not great with flying, and they seem to keep him calm.”

“Do they work on humans?” Smith tilts his head toward Aidan.

“Why don’t we start with offering him a paper bag before we resort to drugging our driver.”

“Good point.”

Smith hands the paper bag to Aidan. He takes a series of rapid breaths, testing the elasticity of the bag to its limit. I have no idea if breathing into a bag actually makes anyone less anxious, but watching Aidan do it is giving me anxiety.

“Better?” I ask after he rests the bag on his chest.

“Now I’m just hungry.” Aidan brushes some crumbs away from his beard. “I didn’t eat lunch today. What if we’re up here all night? I have low blood sugar.”

“Are you diabetic?” Smith asks.

“I don’t think so.” A worried look crosses Aidan’s face. “But food is my go-to when I’m stressed.”

“Do you keep anything to eat in the car?” I ask.

“No. It’s against company policy.” Aidan’s breathing starts to quicken again. “Also, if you could please leave this whole incident out of your review, I’d appreciate it. I really need this job. Viktoria won’t marry me if I’m unemployed.”

“Five stars are coming your way, buddy,” Smith assures him. He turns to me. “Check our bags for anything that might be edible . . . other than the dog edibles in your purse.”

“I’m on it.”

My purse and Smith’s man bag were moved up front when we turned the van into a triage unit for Aidan. I don’t bother looking in my purse because I know that the closest things I have to food are some antique mints. Instead, I slide into the driver’s seat with Smith’s bag on my lap.

I almost can’t bring myself to look through it. I’m the queen of snooping, but it feels wrong to riffle through my ex’s belongings when he’s just a few feet away. I run my index finger over the smooth, buttery leather. It reminds me of the leather jacket he always wore in high school. On cold nights, he’d let me borrow it, and I would breathe in the scent of his orange-spice cologne mixed with the earthiness of the leather. It was a little slice of heaven.