Love Lost & Found (Surfside Romance Book 2) Page 3

  Hannah plugged in her earbuds and scrolled through her playlist as flight instructions were read. The jumbo jet backed away from the terminal and taxied down the runway as the powerful engines roared to life, drowning out any misgivings Alexa might have had. Hannah gripped her mother’s hand like a vice as the huge silver bird moved forward gaining speed, lifting off with a tummy jiggling lurch.

  “Look down,” Alexa shouted over the whine of the turbines. “That’s the Atlantic.”

  “Are we going to crash into it?”

  “No, honey, just appreciate the beauty. It’s not every day you get to see this.”

  Hannah gazed at the blue-green water falling away from them, the sandy shore, and massive high-rise buildings growing smaller as the plane banked left into the dazzling sunlight.

  CHAPTER 7

  AS THE drone of the jet engines lulled Alexa into a false sense of security, Hannah found Beauty and the Beast on the TV embedded into the seat in front of her. A good movie or book never gets old, thought Alexa, the kind every author wants to write. For a few days, she had a respite from Lana’s cocky attitude, Helen Parry’s tight lips, and Bryan Frost’s unwelcome sexual advances. As Gaston jumped on the table to sing about how wonderful he was, Alexa plucked a Janet Evanovich novel from her tote. Her characters were so richly described and the dialog so funny, she began to chuckle. Hannah elbowed her in the ribs. “What?”

  “Don’t embarrass me.”

  Alexa stared at her daughter’s profile. Why was it always about her? The trim woman in the business suit to her left was typing like a robot on steroids, slim silver laptop resting on the serving tray. Alexa sighed and wondered if that’s the way she looked at home, always working on her novel, no fun anymore. Had she ever been fun?

  Hannah thought she was too critical, too strict, too uptight, too worried about money, too self-absorbed and, oh yes, too involved with Luke Prescott.

  “Lighten up, Mom, get a life,” she’d say.

  Alexa didn’t try to explain that being a single parent had enormous responsibilities. Hannah could bitch a blue streak, but nothing changed the fact that everything was on her: the finances, the moral support, the whole enchilada.

  Two flight attendants began pushing the service cart down the aisle. Alexa showed Hannah how to put down the serving tray, but she pushed it back up. “I need the bathroom. Where is it?”

  The businesswoman swung her legs into the aisle heaving a sigh, as though Alexa had asked her to climb Mount Everest in an ice storm.

  “The cart’s coming,” she warned. “You’re going to get stuck out there.”

  It was three rows back. If they went now, they’d have to wait until the service was complete. “Can you hold it?” Alexa asked Hannah.

  “I’m bursting. Let me out!”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m not a baby. I can go by myself.”

  Grabbing Hannah’s arm, she whispered angrily. “Everyone can hear you so cut the attitude. Smile, walk ahead of me and don’t say a word.” She pointed out the bi-fold door.

  “There’s not enough room to pull down my pants,” said Hannah.

  “You’ll manage.”

  Alexa didn’t mention to her impressionable daughter that sometimes two horny people crammed themselves into the narrow cubicle and joined the ever-growing Mile-High Club.

  As she emerged, Hannah let out a sob. “My phone went down the toilet.”

  “What? How?”

  “It was in my back pocket. When I sat down it fell in.”

  “You sat on the seat? You know better than that.”

  “The plane lurched and I tipped back while hovering. I didn’t realize it was gone until I flushed the toilet and pulled up my pants. Now I’m screwed.”

  “We’ll ask them to fish it out.”

  Hannah’s face turned dark. “Are you freaking kidding me? The minute we land, I’m getting a new one.”

  Nearby passengers looked up. Alexa smiled sweetly and said, “Let’s stay calm until we get to SFO.”

  “What’s that? I thought we were going to Portland.”

  “We change planes at SFO, San Francisco International Airport.”

  “Why isn’t it SFIA?”

  “Can we get back to our seats?”

  As predicted, the food service cart blocked the aisle. They stepped into the galley until it passed. Once again, the businesswoman pressed the laptop to her chest as though it contained top-secret government codes or porn. Hannah slid into the window seat and snatched up her hoodie. “Look at this! My phone’s right here.”

  Three passengers in the row behind them clapped and Alexa breathed a sigh of relief.

  Now her greatest concern was what she might or might not find in Portland. But there was no turning back. It was do-or-die time—hopefully without the dying.

  CHAPTER 8

  BACK IN Deerfield Beach, the Uber driver knocked on Zelda Kendrick’s apartment door. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “I’m Travis Slade. I’ve been hired to drive you to Ruth Adelman’s.”

  “How do I know you’re not a weirdo?”

  “I was hired by Luke Prescott.”

  “That’s a good story. Stick with it.”

  “Mrs. Kendrick?”

  “You know my name?”

  “I’ve already been paid. If you don’t want to go, that’s okay by me.”

  Travis heard nothing for a minute. Then the door swung open and a small woman with snow white hair and green shiny pajama top smiled broadly.

  He scanned her bare white legs. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “You’re lucky I’m not naked.”

  “You’re pretty funny.”

  “And you’re easy on the eyes. That makes us even.”

  Zelda appraised the young man’s smooth mocha skin and dark, slicked-back hair. His teeth were straight, his topaz eyes soulful. He seemed well-groomed and polite. He wore jeans and a lightweight gray sweater that showcased his solid biceps.

  “Okay, I’ll change in a jiffy. You can peek, but only if you dare. My suitcase is by the door.”

  Outside, Travis leaned against the stucco wall as he watched a man swim laps in the rectangular pool: the crawl, smooth as an eel.

  Zelda reappeared in an orange sweater, black pants and a faux leopard vest. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” He held her elbow as they walked down the steps. Twenty minutes later they arrived at Century Village.

  “You’re good to go,” said the guard, handing back Travis’s ID and opening the electric arm.

  “Are you good?” Zelda piped up from the backseat.

  “If you mean in bed, I plead the Fifth.”

  “You and I should do a vaudeville act. We’re like Burns and Allen.”

  “Who are Burns and Allen?”

  “Don’t be a nincompoop. George Burns and Gracie Allen.”

  “Must’ve been before my time.”

  “Either you were born too late or I was born too early, but we can be Slade and Kendrick. We’ll perform on the comedy club circuit. With a little practice we’d knock their socks off.”

  “If they’re wearing socks.”

  “See what I mean? We’re good together. Like ham and eggs, coffee and cream.”

  “A-Rod and JLo.”

  “Maybe they can be our opening act.”

  At Fanshaw, the elevator doors whooshed open. He handed her a business card.

  She stepped in. “I’m off on a magic carpet ride.”

  “Have a wonderful ride Princess Jasmine. Call if you need me. Aladdin is at your service.” He bowed gallantly and winked.

  Upstairs, Ruth Adelman yanked open the door wearing a shapeless floral cotton dress and old blue scuffs. Her henna-dyed hair stuck out like straw, roots screaming for a dye job. “What took you so long?”

  “And so it begins,” Zelda muttered, stepping into the musty apartment that reeked of garlic.

  “What begins?”

  “My holiday in hel
l.”

  CHAPTER 9

  WHEN THE plane touched down at SFO, Hannah couldn’t wrap her head around the difference in time. “How can we leave Florida at eight and be in California at ten?” she asked. “This is crazy.”

  “You’ll feel it around dinnertime, which would be closer to bedtime if we were home.” She texted Luke: Made it to SFO, in panic mode now!

  A text pinged in immediately: Deep breaths.

  No matter how this adventure turned out, clever and confident Luke Prescott would remain steadfast, like sunshine and moonbeams.

  They wandered down the concourse toward the boarding area for the next flight and into a Hudson News store. “Hey, Mom, think Doc would like this?” Hannah held up a LA Lakers key chain.

  “Definitely. My treat.”

  They ate sandwiches and bought bottled water. The flight was announced and passengers queued up for the short hop to Portland. They’d be landing with enough daylight to find Sari and have dinner together, if she had no prior plans. Alexa’s heart hammered like a kettle drum; her mouth was parched. Pulling the bottle from her tote, she took a long pull and hurriedly bought another before boarding. Again, she offered Hannah the window seat to view the amazing terrain.

  They buckled in and took off without incident, smooth as silk, climbing through the clouds, the Pacific on their left, wine country to the right. They passed over Napa, one of the many places on Alexa’s bucket list. Instead of a food cart, flight attendants had wide-bottom baskets with mini-packs of chips, pretzels and cookies.

  Twenty minutes into the flight, the PA system crackled to life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain in the flight deck. There’s a thunderstorm up ahead. There’s going to be turbulence so make sure your seat belt is fastened securely.”

  Hannah grabbed her mother’s arm. “What does that mean, turbulence?”

  “Like a roller coaster. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Are we going to crash?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “What if we go down in flames?”

  Alexa tugged her seat belt tighter. “Hang on and stay quiet.”

  The flight attendants scurried through the cabin bagging cups and cellophane wrappers and securing overhead bins. Then the plane dropped so suddenly, a collective gasp filled the cabin, followed by another drop and a stomach-rolling lurch to the left. It seemed to plunge down into a gully of air as Hannah shrieked, “I’m too young to die. Please help me. Oh, God, we’re going to craaaasssshhhh!”

  “Stop that right now,” Alexa hissed, putting her hand over Hannah’s mouth. Again the plane bucked up and to the right like a bronco.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” yelled Hannah. “I love you Doc, please remember me when I’m dead.” For another agonizing few minutes, the silver tube lurched and rolled as a baby wailed, a few people groaned with dread, and Hannah gripped her mother’s arm so tight she left four small bloody crescents and Alexa fought down the panic that rose in her chest like an inverted tornado.

  Then, as quickly as it began, the captain’s calm voice was back, soothing frazzled nerves. “That was the worst of it, folks. We’ll be landing in twenty minutes.”

  Bumpy ride, safe but on the ground! Alexa texted Luke as the plane taxied to the gate.

  Hannah’s message to Doc was far more melodramatic.

  Almost crashed in a fiery wreck!!! Scary as hell!!

  CHAPTER 10

  ACROSS THE continental United States, Zelda Kendrick was settling in for a three-night visit. Ruth Adelman, a longtime friend, was somewhat of a control freak. She had two bedrooms, two baths, a narrow galley kitchen and comfortable living room. The spare bedroom was used for a den, but there was a pullout couch.

  We’ll make up the bed after dinner,” she told Zelda. “Stu can help us. You remember Stu Krakowski, don’t you?”

  Zelda remembered the big klutz. She shuddered. The last time she’d been with Ruth and Stu they had been at a pizza joint. The slice was halfway to her lips when she felt his hand creeping up her leg. She glared at him. Oblivious to the drama under the tablecloth, Ruth blabbed on and on about the cheaters in her bridge group, her selfish children who never called, the cleaning lady who broke things, and the laundry thief who purloined her bras. Zelda found it remarkable that Ruth, an octoge-narian—twice widowed and twice divorced—was still in the dating game.

  Zelda asked, “Why are you still seeing Stu the Rat?”

  Ruth’s sharp rebuke felt like a slap in the face. “He’s a good friend. Better than anybody else I know.”

  Good friend, perhaps, thought Zelda, and also an egomaniac and a phony. Although he claimed to be a millionaire, he was an unadulterated mooch. At one time he might have been handsome, but she doubted it. Now his spine was compressing, stomach bulging, jowls wobbling, and his face was covered in barnacles, a term dermatologists used for brown age spots. In a word, he was an unattractive beggar who parked himself at Ruth’s for meals and sleepovers. Zelda had already decided that if Ruth allowed him to stay overnight during the three days she was a guest then she’d call Travis Slade. He’d come to her rescue like a knight in a shining Uber. Maybe she’d invite the handsome driver for a sleepover. See how good he really was in bed. She grinned wickedly at the thought.

  Fantasies were free and oh, so wonderful.

  Ruth spent the next hour in the narrow kitchen fussing over her beef stew and noodles with peas. Zelda sat at the round table in the nearby dining room where she had a clear view of her friend cutting and dicing. They chatted about who was on oxygen, Prozac or Xanax, whose hip had been replaced, and who had one foot in the grave.

  Ruth told Zelda about her recent hernia repair and about her daughter who wanted to put her in a nursing home. She droned on with a long list of grievances that Zelda, who had no children, didn’t want to hear. Ruth was Jewish so Christmas wasn’t a big deal to her, but Zelda felt cheated of all the wonderful flavors of the holiday. A sad menorah stood on the counter ready for candles and Zelda had a hole in her heart where Luke, Alexa, and Hannah should have been. Although she understood the reason for their absence, she was abandoned, like an old piece of unwanted baggage.

  Stu banged on the door and Ruth, the consummate hostess, opened it and welcomed him in. He groused when he saw Zelda. The feeling was mutual. Dinner was served and Ruth fussed around him asking if he wanted seconds and thirds. He never said no, just what she wanted to hear. Givers need a taker to be happy. Zelda wanted to puke.

  After dinner, she offered to help clean up but Ruth refused. Stuart licked his lips lasciviously and Zelda hoped it was for dessert and not an appalling sexual overture. She wanted to race to the bedroom and bolt the door as Ruth fixed ice cream and a platter of Fresh Market raspberry pillow cookies for dessert. Zelda, who had a wicked sweet tooth, savored the sweet pastry while Stu polished off the rest and asked for more ice cream.

  When she was finished, Zelda folded her napkin and tucked it under the plate. She asked, “Are you sure I can’t help you, Ruth?”

  “No, I’ve got it. Go, relax. Talk to Stuart.”

  In the living room, Stu stretched out on the couch, putting his head on one pillow and his dirty shoes on another as Zelda wondered how Ruth could abide his piggish behavior when suddenly Ruth groaned, grabbed her side, and pitched forward face first. Her forehead grazed one of the heavy wooden chairs, causing a gash. She lay on the ground, blood gushing from her forehead, turning the tiles crimson.

  “Stuart,” Zelda called. “Ruth’s out cold.”

  “What’s the matter? What’s going on?” He sounded confused.

  “Call 911. Call 911!”

  Stu pushed off the couch with a loud sigh and lumbered over to where Ruth lay unconscious on the floor. Zelda was on her knees making sure her friend had a clear airway. “Hand me a dish towel.”

  He grabbed the meat-stained rag Ruth had used earlier.

  “
Not that, you idiot, get a clean one from the hall closet.”

  “Don’t call me an idiot.”

  “Just get the towel, hurry,” said Zelda. “Did you call 911?”

  “I can’t do everything at once,” he grumbled. “What do you want first?”

  Zelda wanted to punch his bulbous nose as she fought to remain calm and in control. “First call 911. Tell the operator to send an ambulance. While she’s talking, get a towel and bring it over here. Can you handle that?”

  “No need to get all worked up,” he groused. “I practically live here.”

  “Call 911 now for fucksake before she bleeds to death and you have nowhere to stay.”

  She heard him call the operator and give the address. Good boy, she thought, old dogs can learn new tricks. Ruth began moaning as Stu opened the bi-fold doors of the linen closet. His heavy footsteps approached and the towel dropped to the floor near her side. Zelda wanted to say thanks for nothing when suddenly his meaty hands cupped her breasts and squeezed hard. She went rigid with shock.

  “Nice tits,” he said gleefully, “bigger than I thought and real. Gotta give you props Zelda. I always thought they were fake.”

  While the paramedics tended her friend, Zelda called Ruth’s daughter. “Nothing’s broken, she seems okay, but she’ll need stitches.” Zelda recalled a similar accident that happened to her in July—the night she met Alexa and Hannah.

  Then she turned her pent-up frustration on Stu. “You sad sack of shit, you should be ashamed of yourself. I’m calling an Uber and you can jump off the balcony. Don’t ever come near me again.”

  Zelda marched into the den, grabbed her suitcase, and dialed Travis Slade on Ruth’s house phone. She advised the front office of Century Village that he was coming. “Please let him in. I’m going downstairs to wait.”

  She gave Stu the stink eye. If he ever laid a meaty paw on her again, she’d grab his junk and squeeze it until he howled like a wounded coyote. The thought gave her a satisfying sense of empowerment. As she waited for Travis downstairs, she heard the sirens of the approaching ambulance.