The Girl in Seat 24B Read online

  The Girl in Seat 24B

  By Jennifer Peel

  © 2014 by Jennifer Peel. All Rights reserved.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader or share it through the Kindle lending feature. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy through Amazon Kindle. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To my daughter, Kayla, who asked me to write a tragically beautiful story. I hope I did it justice. Love you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  All I wanted to do was sleep, or at least be left alone. It’s normally the beauty of red eye flights, and typically why I book them. There is a general consensus on these flights that there is no conversing with your fellow passengers; sure maybe a quick acknowledgment or a simple hello, but not full-blown conversations. And if all else fails, my typically brash personality does the job nicely. But then she happened, the girl sitting in twenty-four B.

  I knew I was in trouble from the moment I laid eyes on her. Not only did she come across as naturally perky, but she looked way too awake for midnight. I could spot perkiness from a mile away. It was my nemesis. As soon as I stowed away my carry-on and sat down, she introduced herself to me.

  “Hi, I’m Carly Rogers.”

  She sounded like a cheerleader or sorority sister. I almost got up and begged the stewardess for another seat assignment. I may have, too, if I wasn’t worried about appearing to act suspicious on a plane. Instead, I just looked at her outstretched hand and ignored it and her. Why did she need to know my name? We would never see each other again. All I wanted was peace and quiet for the next few hours as we traveled from New York to Atlanta, but she wasn’t to be deterred.

  Instead of being offended or pouting, like I expected she would do, she smiled. “Aren’t polite people the absolute worst?”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed and stuck out my hand. “I’m Michael Bishop. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carly.”

  The moments our hands touched, I felt it. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was definitely it. Then I noticed her. She was the most adorable creature I had ever met. She had classic beauty. Her sepia colored, pixie-cut hair perfectly framed her heart-shaped face, but it was her eyes that really caught me. They were large and innocent, and they shined like emeralds.

  “Bishop, huh? It’s got a ring to it.”

  No one had ever called me “Bishop” before, but I found I liked it. And as the night wore on, I discovered that I more than liked her. She had just returned to the states from visiting her parents in India. Her parents were living in Mumbai where her dad worked in the American consulate. She, I discovered, was a photographer. As we talked, she pulled up her laptop and showed me picture after picture and told story after story of her adventures in India and of her family. She had documented each stop from the Taj Mahal to the orphanages where she and her mother had volunteered. To see the world through her eyes and photo lens changed mine.

  She saw beauty where I saw disarray. She showed compassion where I would show annoyance. She used humor, and I used sarcasm.

  The flight didn’t last nearly long enough. The one time I wanted a flight delay, and we landed early. By the time the wheels touched the tarmac, I was begging her to miss her connection to Denver. She wisely said no. She didn’t know me from Adam, and she was a young, beautiful woman all of twenty-three. She was right to be cautious. Instead, I gave her my number and asked her to call me if she felt so inclined. I even began spouting off references for her to check my character. I made her laugh. I really wasn’t someone who made others laugh, and I had never really wanted to until that night.

  She touched this hardened journalist in a way no woman had in my twenty-eight years. I walked her to her connection and, without trying to seem desperate, I asked if she planned on calling. She laughed again. I was beginning to wish there was a replay button for that sound.

  “Goodbye, Bishop,” she said as she walked away without answering.

  I felt panicked. I have to stop the plane, I thought. Then, I thought, what’s wrong with me? I was normally a very sane person, and this was beyond irrational.

  But then she turned around. “Hey, Bishop. Check your phone.”

  I hastily dug it out of my backpack and turned it on as I watched her approach her gate to board. The seconds it took for my phone to come up seemed like eons, and yet, the time seemed to go into hyper drive as I watched her walk further away from me. But then time stopped when her message appeared.

  “Tag, you’re it.”

  And that was it. She was it. The girl in seat 24B.

  Chapter 1

  Our king-sized bed seemed too large as of late. The divide between us was growing and I wasn’t sure what to do to bridge the gap. I knew something was bothering him; it had been for months, but he always denied it. However, his short temper and irritability with me and the kids said otherwise. He was closing himself off emotionally and physically. I ached to reach across the bed and touch his back, or better yet, put my arms around him and not have him pull away.

  After several minutes of not being able to fall asleep, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I cautiously scooted closer to him. I couldn’t remember when it was that I had started feeling the need to be cautious, especially here with just the two of us. It wasn’t that long ago when there wouldn’t have been any space to cover; I would have already been sound asleep in his arms with his warm breath against my head. Instead, here I was, afraid to even disturb him. I slowly reached out and lightly ran my fingertips across the middle of his back. “Bishop…”

  Silence. I inched closer and ran my fingers through the back of his dark tousled hair that was just starting to turn gray.

  “Bishop, please talk to me. I know you’re awake.”

  “Carly, it’s late,” he barely muttered.

  I slid my hand down and rubbed his neck. “When has that ever stopped us?”

  I pulled my hand away as he reluctantly turned to face me. We stared at one another in the dark as we both lay on our separate pillows. I loved his face. He always had a seven o’clock shadow. I think he was what was referred to as ruggedly handsome. I inched closer again and held my breath as I gently placed my hand on his cheek. Why was I so nervous? We’d been married for ten years now and I had never been nervous around him. He didn’t pull away; I took it as a good sign, so I leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips with mine. He didn’t respond.

  I turned and lay on my back, feeling rejected once again. The tears formed in the corner of my eyes. “Are you having an affair?”

  He turned back over, away from me. “Carly it’s late,” he repeated.

  I sat up, stunned. I couldn’t believe he was actually having an affair. I mean the signs were all there. I had gone up to his office a couple of times the past couple of weeks, and he’d either hung up quickly wi
th whomever he’d been talking to or clicked out of the window on his laptop. I’d practically thrown myself at him for weeks, and he’d hardly touched me. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t, because it felt like a huge ball was lodged in my throat and my head hurt from the loud pounding of my heart. How could he? I loved him. He was my best friend, husband, lover, father to my son and daughter and, on occasion, coconspirator. All I could do was cry.

  He sat up. “Carly, I’m not having an affair. How could you even ask?”

  “How could I not, after the way you’ve been behaving?”

  He flipped on the lamp on his nightstand and handed me a tissue. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  I turned to him. “Then what? Please just tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” he replied angrily.

  “What do you mean everything?”

  “I mean everything.”

  The realization of that statement was like a wrecking ball, but I couldn’t fall apart…yet.

  “Then let’s fix it.”

  “You can’t fix this.”

  I reached for his hand. “You’re right, but we can. We can do anything together.”

  He pulled away again. “I think we should separate.”

  I shook my head in utter disbelief. “I thought you said you weren’t having an affair.”

  “I’m not, it’s just…”

  “It’s just what?”

  He looked at me as if I should already know the answer. And I guess I did, but I didn’t want to admit it because he was a third of my world, and without him it wouldn’t be complete. I tried my best to remain emotionless. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?” I choked out.

  He wouldn’t even look at me. “I’ll always love you, Carly. But I’m not in love with you anymore.”

  He said it so easy, like he had thought it a million times. I felt better when I thought he had cheated on me. I didn’t respond, because the lump was back and closing my airway. I think my heart stopped too, because it had just been pierced.

  He turned toward me with tears of his own. “This isn’t your fault, Carly. You’re as close to perfect as they come.”

  I shook my head. “So you’re saying it’s you, not me?”

  “Exactly.”

  I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom and turned on the sink. I thought I may puke. At the very least, I needed cool water on my face. He followed me, leaned against the door and watched me lose it.

  “I’m sorry, Carly.”

  I stood at the sink and tried to breathe in deep. “That’s all you have to say to me after all this time together? What about Ashton and Mia? Do you still love them?”

  “Of course.”

  I thought for a moment. “Then we need to work this out. They deserve married parents. Couples go through things like this all the time. Let’s go to counseling, or let’s book that trip to Saint Thomas that we were going to take for our tenth anniversary.”

  “Carly, you’re not listening to me.”

  “I am listening to you, Michael, but I don’t believe you. I know you and you wouldn’t do this to our family without at least giving us a fighting chance. We can recapture what you feel is lost. I love you.”

  He sat back down on the bed and put his hands in his face and rubbed. “Carly, I’ve already leased an apartment. I plan to move in after I return from my assignment in New York in two weeks.”

  I sat down on the cold, hard Italian tile and leaned against our tub-for-two, clinging to the coolness against my skin. “You didn’t even tell me you had an assignment in New York.”

  “Carly, it’s late.”

  I stood up on my shaky legs. There would be no sleep after that bombshell. I walked back into our room, toward our bedroom door. I looked back at him, sitting on our four poster bed that had seen more love than most people would ever experience in their whole lifetime, and I lost it again. He looked up, and I managed to pull it together. “You’ll be the one to tell Ashton and Mia why you’re leaving.”

  I ran upstairs to their Jack and Jill rooms and, as always, I found Mia snuggled up against Ashton on his full-size bed. I stopped my shuddering as I approached my sleeping angels. I never tired of watching them sleep. I knew that when they were fully grown, I would still love to watch them sleep. I chuckled, thinking about a future vision of my fifty-seven year old self watching my adult children sleeping. Then I started to cry because I realized that when that time came, I would be alone. I stifled the crying and gently touched Ashton’s bright blond hair. I still didn’t know where he got that hair. It was so blonde even strangers in the store asked me about it. I’d even had some ask if I dyed it. Sometimes, just for fun, I would say, “Yes, dyeing your seven-year-old’s hair is all the rage now.”

  I covered up Mia. She was my mini-me, brown hair with natural red highlights and green eyes. She even had my sense of humor. I wasn’t sure if I should be disturbed or proud of that. But one thing I knew was that I was treasuring this last year with her before she started kindergarten in the fall. The year was already slipping too fast—we were already into March.

  I backed out of Ashton’s room and headed for the couch in the loft and curled up in a ball. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. My marriage was over, and I didn’t even get a say. As I lay there, I tried to think of ways I could have been a better wife. I thought about what I was going to do financially. Michael had been the sole bread winner ever since the rug rats had come along. Occasionally, on the side, I still photographed families, but it was more of a hobby now than anything else. Long gone were the days where I could name my price. I had traded that in for the best job ever: mommy.

  I cried harder. I loved being a wife and mother. I loved Michael. I loved him from the first night I met him on flight 416 from New York to Atlanta. He had come off as gruff at first, but all it took was one smart aleck comment and he was mine. I held on to that thought. He was mine. He was mine. He was mine …

  Chapter 2

  I must have managed a few winks. I woke up and my head hurt like the dickens; and I had a crick in my neck from the awful position I had fallen asleep in. I looked up to the large wall clock, and it read five. I heard stirrings down below. Then I remembered why I was sleeping on the couch and not my bed. I willed myself not to cry; I wasn’t even sure if I had tears left. I needed water.

  I walked downstairs and toward our newly remodeled kitchen. That’s what I got for my tenth anniversary in December instead of a romantic island vacation. I thought the gesture was sweet, now I realized he just didn’t want a romantic vacation with a wife he wasn’t in love with anymore. The thought made me feel ill.

  I entered the kitchen to find Michael fully ready in a suit and tie. His assignment must have been pretty important; he rarely had to dress formally. Michael was a journalist for an online magazine, as well as a couple of printed publications. He got to travel the globe on various assignments and report on everything from the AIDS epidemic to the Justin Bieber craze. I think he enjoyed the AIDS assignment more than the latter. No matter, he was good at what he did regardless of the subject.

  He was preparing two eggs over easy and wheat toast. He had eaten it almost every morning for the last ten years. In a way, it was comforting seeing him be so predictable. He looked at me from the toaster. Maybe I should have looked in the mirror first. I’m sure I looked terrible from crying all night and reading up on midlife crises. I figured that’s what this was. He was going to turn forty in the summer, and I knew that bothered him. He had all the classic signs. I just needed to show him love and remember it really wasn’t about me, even though it really felt like it was all about me. He was unhappy, and I was the closest punching bag.

  I ran my fingers through my hair nervously. Thankfully, I had the kind of hair that looked pretty much the same day or night, even if it had been slept on. “Good morning, Bishop.”

  He half smiled. It was something at least. I missed his smile. “Carly, I was up th
inking last night.”

  “Me too,” I said quietly.

  “Maybe, you’re right.”

  This is good, I thought. And of course I’m right.

  “We’ll just look at this as a trial separation, nothing permanent.”

  This is not good. Not good at all.

  I tried my hardest not to say hurtful things and to remember this wasn’t about me. I took a deep breath, because I wanted to lash out. He was killing me and he didn’t even care. “I thought our relationship was permanent.” We even had the pastor omit the line “until death do we part” because we knew we were forever.

  “Carly, I need to do this.”

  I didn’t even know how to respond to that, other than with fury. He needed to separate our family? So I didn’t respond. I bit my tongue again. I had the feeling it would be bleeding soon. I walked to the sink and retrieved a glass and filled it with water. I took several sips. “What’s your assignment?”

  He looked confused by the change of subject. He could join the club, I was more than confused. I kept looking at this man in my kitchen, wondering what he had done with my husband.

  “I’m covering the New York City mayoral election.”

  “That’s a big deal.”

  “Yes, I finally got a decent assignment again.”

  He sounded relieved. I knew his job hadn’t been as satisfying to him and I knew that was part of the problem. I had tried to talk to him about switching jobs, but he always said he was stuck. The pay was too good where he was at—it allowed us to live wherever we chose, and it allowed me to be at home. We chose to live in Pine Apple, Georgia, his hometown. It was tamer than he wanted, but I never lived very long in one spot growing up, and most of the time it was out of the country. I wanted something more stable for my kids, a place they could call home. I thought it was practically perfect, but I guess I was the only one.

  “I’m happy for you.” Then I amended, “I just want you to be happy.”