Tess ducks her head back in my room, green smoothie in hand. “You talk to Dr. H yet? What—girl, what’s that smile? What happened?”
I start laughing, tears brimming in my eyes.
She pushes off the doorframe, reaching for me. “Rach, what—”
“I’m moving to Jacksonville,” I blurt out.
She drops her hand, eyes wide. “What—when?”
I wipe a tear from under my eye, shaking my head in disbelief. “As soon as possible.”
CHAPTER 2
“I don’t know what else to tell you, ma’am. I’m looking at the screen, and I’m not seeing any record of your bags,” the airline desk clerk drolls for the third time, glancing at me over her half-moon reading glasses.
I let out an exasperated groan, juggling my heavy backpack and purse on my shoulder while I snatch up the receipts on the counter. “Then explain these,” I say, flapping them in the air. “The guy in Cincy checked all three of my bags. Clearly, they connected somewhere because—look—I’ve got one right here!” I gesture to the bag at my feet. It’s one of Tess’s old bags and the thing is holding itself together with little more than a prayer.
This is officially a disaster. The two missing bags have pretty much all my essentials—my clothes, my personal effects. The bag I managed to claim was a last minute pack job of odds and ends—a few medical text books, some bulky winter clothes, two evening gowns, and random workout stuff like a yoga mat.
I’m gonna look great waltzing into my first day of work tomorrow wearing a custom backless Chanel dress and my spin shoes.
“Can you please check again,” I say, slapping the receipts back down on the counter.
It’s been 32 hours of pure chaos. I’m hungry, I’m exhausted, and I’m feeling totally on edge after a long day dealing with multiple delayed flights. I didn’t even sleep last night, too busy packing up my life. I said a tearful goodbye to Tess before I was at the airport by 6:00AM for my first flight.
But a series of mechanical delays means its now after 5:00pm, and I’ve only just landed in Jacksonville. And now this human gargoyle wearing a button on her vest that says ‘I love corgis’ is telling me my luggage has disappeared off the face of the earth.
“I don’t understand how two bags can just go missing—”
“Oh…wait,” she murmurs, the screen of the computer glowing in the reflection off her glasses. She purses her thickly painted lips, glancing from the receipts to the screen. “Yeeep…here they are. I typed the flight number in wrong.”
I stay very still, holding the vacant look on my face. It’s easier this way. I don’t get a manager called on me this way…or a police officer. “Please just find them.”
While she starts clicking away, I shift the bags on my shoulder, looking down at my phone. It’s been blowing up since I stepped up to the counter. Apparently, it finally decided to wake up from airplane mode.
All the messages are flooding in at once. I’m sure Tess wants updates. She’s already booked herself a flight for next month to come soak up the last of the summer sun for a weekend. There’s a few messages in the Price Family group chat too. It was a miracle they all answered on the same FaceTime yesterday. I got to tell them all at once and we had an impromptu dance party to celebrate my fellowship win.
I also have a few messages from an unknown number. I read those first.
UNKNOWN （5:05PM）： Hey, this is Caleb Sanford from the Rays. I’ll be picking you up from the airport. I drive a blue jeep
UNKNOWN （5:15PM）： I’m here. Outside door 2
UNKNOWN （5:20PM）： Can’t sit much longer before the guy makes me go around again
I suck in a breath. Shit. No one said there would be an airport pickup! I coordinated with the team doctor yesterday and he said to just snag an Uber to my new apartment. I could take the morning to settle in, and someone would bring me to the practice arena around lunchtime. I should have assumed the plans would need to change with all my changed flights.
UNKNOWN （5:30PM）： MISSED CALL
UNKNOWN （5:45PM）： Look, I don’t mean to be a dick, but I can’t wait much longer. It says your flight arrived 45min ago
UNKNOWN （5:47PM）： This is Dr. Price, right?
“Oh my god,” I cry, shifting all my stuff around on my shoulder.
Great, now I look like a total jerk that just ignores calls and texts, leaving people to wait on me. I need to call this guy back. I need to get out of this damn airport!
“Please,” I say over the counter for what feels like the hundredth time. “I’ve got a ride waiting for me. I need these bags found. If they’re not here, I can come back for them, but I can’t just keep standing here—”
“Ma’am, I need you to calm down,” she replies, raising a dismissive hand.
Oh no she didn’t.
“Calm down?” I seethe. “I haven’t begun to be un-calm. You’re the one who said my bags weren’t even in the system two seconds ago—” I choke back the rest of the tirade desperate to burst out of me. It’s not worth it. I just want my bags and I want out of here. “Please,” I say again. “Just tell me—”
“Got it,” she murmurs, her eyes back on the screen. “Looks like two of the bags were misdirected during your connecting flight in Charlotte. We can have them rerouted here sometime tomorrow morning.”
I sigh with relief. “Thank god. What do you need from me?”
“Nothing,” she replies, sliding the bag receipts back across the counter at me. “We’ve got all your contact info. Someone will be in touch letting you know when the bags have arrived.”
I snatch up the receipts, stuffing them in the top of my open purse. “Thanks,” I mutter, only adding the ‘for nothing’ inside my own head.
“Welcome to Jacksonville,” she deadpans, already waving at the next person in line.
I fight with the strap of my purse, which is now wrapped in my backpack strap and hooked around my metal water bottle. At the same time, I reach down for the handle of my checked bag. It’s one of those boxy, black rectangles with a rusty zipper, lumpy down the front with all the odds and ends I’ve crammed inside. The thing weighs a ton! Whatever, it rolls. And now I’m on a roll.
I hurry away from the lost baggage desk, dragging my one lonely bag behind me. I don’t think it’s all in my head that the air feels lighter the further away I move from the desk where dreams go to die. I’ve got my purse strapped across my body, so my left hand can be free. I’m already tapping the call button on my phone. It rings and he picks up immediately.
“Hello?” His voice is deep. He sounds annoyed.
“Hi—” Shit—what was this guy’s name? “This is Rachel Price,” I say. “I’m so sorry! My bags are lost and then my phone was stuck on airplane mode—it was a whole thing. I’m coming out now!”
“I’m pulling around again,” he says. I can hear his music rocking in the background. “Blue jeep.” Then he hangs up.
I race over to the double doors marked with a big number 2 and rush outside. The Florida heat hits me like a slap to the face. It’s so steamy, like a big outdoor sauna. I’m use to the dry heat of a California summer, not this swamp. Thank goodness my hair is already up in a knot. I’ve got to get this hoodie off pronto.