Читать книгу Epic - Kelly Wilson - Страница 3

The scene at the airport was unbelievable. Vancouver International Airport has long had a reputation for being a hub of activity, especially after the 2010 Winter Olympics. More generally, Vancouver intrigues the world, especially since it has so many times been voted one of the most liveable cities on the globe. Perhaps it’s the mountains that seem to flank the entire city, or perhaps it’s the diversity and rich culture that the city celebrates. My guess on why people flock to Vancouver is that there’s always something to do here, year round. I mean, where else could you ski and surf in the same day? Plus, the city gets warm weather in the middle of February, when the rest of Canada is in a deep freeze and under at least a foot of snow.

Whatever the true reason for the increase in travellers, there seemed to be a heightened sense of something surreal about the airport that day. A busload of Japanese tourists had chosen to unload at the exact moment that Mom and I pulled into the parking lot. I noticed that the driver of the bus was a short, stocky man with a balding spot shaped like Australia, and for some reason he resembled one of those Chia Pets that you saw on infomercials at two in the morning when you couldn’t sleep. He glared at me as if he was disgusted with something that I had just done, but I saw from the corner of my eye that the object of his contention was an old VW van that had wedged itself into the bus offload area. Two gorgeous but apparently absentminded teenaged girls jumped out and giggled uncontrollably. They must have been seventeen at most. Their shaggy-haired boyfriends dutifully grabbed the girls’ backpacks and proceeded to follow them through the automatic sliding glass doors of the airport. The driver of the VW van, another shaggy-haired boy, recklessly reversed and nearly knocked me over. He turned to look at me, smirked, then hurled the van into drive as he screeched out of the parking lot. In an instant the van disappeared, leaving a cloud of exhaust that could not have been good for the ozone layer. Even though I was rather disgusted by the driver’s lack of respect for others on the road, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw his bumper sticker: “Environmentally Challenged”. The driver of the bus looked away with repugnance and muttered something unrecognizable, in what I imagined was Japanese, then began unloading what seemed like too many bags for the number of passengers that the bus was able to transport. Did people really travel with that much stuff? I looked down at my worn duffle bag and realized that I might not have brought nearly as much clothing as I had thought. A shopping trip was surely going to be in order once I landed in London.

I entered the sliding glass doors through the airport and groaned. My anxiety must have been apparent because my mom immediately grabbed my hand in an attempt to calm me. With all of the excitement over the van I had almost forgotten she was with me.

The check-in area of the airport was like that of all other airports I had frequented. People from different countries waited patiently in line, attempting to check in for their flights. Vancouver’s airport was slightly different in one respect, however; it allowed for a self-check-in process so that you only had to wait in line to drop off your bags. This made for a slightly faster experience. However, the lineups at the check-in kiosks were just as long as those for the counters, so I decided that I might as well just wait for a live ticket agent. The British Airways line seemed to loop around the entire airport, and of course, the Japanese tourists were in front of me. This was going to be a painful wait.

I wished I had listened to Mom earlier when she’d been attempting to rush me. Now I was going to pay for my procrastination.

“Scotia, I’m going to get us coffees. It looks like we’ll be here awhile,” Mom said.

“Sure, Mom,” I answered. A coffee might help calm my nerves.

I watched as Mom wandered off through the sea of people. No doubt, she was heading towards Starbucks or perhaps Tim Hortons, and would return with two venti vanilla chai lattes or two extra-large, double-double coffees. A double-double is the Canadian way of ordering a coffee with double milk and double sugar. Strange perhaps, but that is how we Canucks are. I once heard a New Yorker order his coffee light and sweet—-same result, but in my book not as effective as the double-double. He disagreed.

When Mom had disappeared into the sea of people and was nowhere in sight, I rummaged through my messenger bag and pulled out the picture of my parents that I had successfully managed to hide in my passport folder. How was I going to find this man? And if I did manage to track him down, what was I going to say? I held the picture and studied the image of my father intently. I could see why Mom had been attracted to him. He was unbelievably handsome. His hair was jet black and tousled in this picture, which gave him the “I just woke up out of bed” look. His eyes were a brilliant shade of blue and drew you into the depths of his soul. He had chiseled masculine features, and if Mom had not told me he was a businessman, I would have sworn that he was a model or at the very least an actor. She had once described him as the most brilliant man she had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

As I kept staring at the man I was on my way to track down, something peculiar happened. My father’s image seemed to move and turn his head. At first I thought I had imagined it; my eyes were probably glazing over from looking at the picture so long and hard. I rubbed my eyes. No, my father’s image had definitely turned. He was now looking directly at me and not at my mother, as he had been before.

I gasped and dropped the picture. “How is this even possible?” I said under my breath. I could see Mom off in the distance, returning with two extra-large coffees from Tim Hortons. I quickly bent over, picked up the photo, and shoved it back into my messenger bag without looking at it for a second time. If Mom knew I had this picture, let alone knew about my mission, I didn’t know how she would react. Would she be worried or upset? Or would she feel threatened that I now wanted to find out more about the man who was part of my genetic makeup?

“Scotia, are you okay?” Mom asked when she was close enough for me to hear her. I could see the concern clouding her face.

“S-sure, Mom, why do you ask?” I stammered.

“Well, you’re as white as a ghost and you seem to be sweating just a little bit, not to mention the fact that I was calling you several times before you even acknowledged me.”

“I forgot to eat before we left. Maybe my blood sugar is a little low,” I answered, trying to compose myself.

“No, that’s not it, but I can’t seem to understand your expression right now,” Mom said with skepticism.

She had a sixth sense when it came to me and always seemed to know my true feelings about things. Like the time when I was twelve and had just kissed my first boy. I remember walking home with a spring in my step and the biggest grin spread across my face. The minute I entered the door, Mom turned to me and with a smile said, “Hmmm, I’m guessing little Peter Barrington has the exact same reason to smile.” I was dumbfounded.

At this point, I could only hope that my transparent nature did not give away the true purpose of my trip. I could not face the resulting questions and disapproval.

“Well, I guess I am a little anxious about my trip,” I lied.

“Hmmmm.”

“Really, Mom, it’s nothing. Look, the line is moving,” I said, hoping that my attempt to change the subject would allay her suspicions. But I could tell that my diversion had had no effect, as Mom was still looking at me doubtfully. She followed me as I inched forward.

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Mom whispered. From the inflection and tone of her voice, it almost seemed as though she knew the real reason I was heading abroad. But if she did, why had she not said anything?

“No, Mom, honestly, I’m fine. I’m just going to miss you terribly.”

“Oh honey, I’ll miss you too…but I’ll be right here waiting for you when you return.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“Here, I want you to take this and keep it close to you at all times.” Mom fished into her brown leather purse and pulled out a tiny, pink, crystal angel on a silver necklace.

“Mom, it’s beautiful!” I exclaimed.

“It’s not much, but you are my little angel, and I want you to have a piece of me while you go off on your adventure…” Mom trailed off. She unhooked the clasp on the necklace and gently placed it around my neck. I could smell her scent; she always smelled like lavender, so calming and soothing. I grabbed a hold of Mom and gave her a huge hug. She was a fantastic mother, always giving me everything I had ever wanted and more. As I looked into her soft hazel eyes, I felt guilty for the lies, but knew this was the way it had to be. I hoped that she would find a way to forgive my deceit when the truth came out.

“Scotia, I love you so much…be safe, darling.”

“Mom, you worry too much. I will.”

I was growing increasingly impatient with the slow movement of the line when someone Mom knew walked by.

“George,” she yelled.

“Samantha, what on earth are you doing here?” George exclaimed.

“Scotia is on her way to London, if she makes her plane,” Mom stated matter-of-factly, as she pointed to the enormous line in front of us.

“No problem, follow me.”

George was an astonishingly handsome older man. He had salt and pepper colouring to his black hair, and his eyes were an amazing shade of green against his pale skin. He seemed to radiate an aura of peace and tranquility, and you felt relieved to be in his presence. Mom did not have a lot of close friends and I am sure I would have remembered this man. In any case, I now became aware that George was wearing a British Airways captain’s uniform. Nice, I thought. Hopefully George would speed us to the front of the line. Actually, what happened next was incredible. George was familiar with the ticketing agent at the British Airways counter, and she was in charge of the first-class check-in section.

“Amanda, darling, this is Samantha and her daughter,” George announced.

Amanda glared at Mom through her Andy Warhol glasses. “Oh,” was all she could muster.

From the way that Amanda “darling” was staring at Mom, the phrase “if looks could kill” popped into my head. I could not help but feel a little proud that my mom could evoke such a primal response. She was my mom, of course, but she was also an incredibly beautiful woman, and most men stopped dead in their tracks when she passed by. It could have been the combination of her jet black hair juxtaposed with her hazel eyes. Mom’s eyes often changed from green to brown, and sometimes to blue, to depending on the colour of outfit she chose to wear. Whatever the trigger, men found her and her eyes compelling. If you looked deep into them you were…well, mesmerized. In addition to Mom’s beauty, the air of reassurance that she projected was infectious, similar to the feelings I experienced when I met George.

“Yes, and her daughter will be flying with us. Can you get her upgraded to first-class status and fast-track her through the queue?” George’s voice broke my train of thought.

“Oh, Mr…” I stuttered.

George chuckled. “George, dear girl, just call me George.”

His English accent was silky-smooth and dreamlike.

“Umm…okay, George, you don’t have to do that,” I said, embarrassed.

George looked over at my mom and winked. “Anything for Samantha.”

I suspected that George was used to getting people, especially women, to do anything he wanted. As much as I seemed to like George, there was something peculiar about him that I could not pinpoint. He seemed to sense my suspicions about him because at that moment he inched closer to Amanda.

Amanda shifted in her seat and seemed to act as though George had just placed her under some kind of spell. George whispered something into Amanda’s ear and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Anything for you, George,” Amanda responded coyly.

“Brilliant!” George remarked as he slammed his hand down on the counter in front of him. “Samantha, can I talk to you privately while Amanda here gets Scotia sorted out?”

Amanda did not seem pleased by the fact that George wanted to talk to Mom alone, but appeared unable to respond. Mom and George sauntered off and I was left alone with Amanda.

“Well, dear, let me have your ticket,” Amanda scowled once George was out of range to hear any unpleasant exchanges.

I handed Amanda my passport and ticket, and she began typing busily on her computer.

I glanced in the direction of Mom and George. They seemed to be glowing, as though a halo of light had engulfed them both. The strange thing was that we were in the middle of the airport and it was an overcast day in Vancouver. Perhaps there was a glare from the cloud cover and lights in the airport. Regardless, the strange halo encircled them, although it didn’t appear natural. Mom must have sensed that I was aware of this, for she immediately took a step back. Once she did, the halo of light disappeared. George also looked at me and smiled; I thought I was going to pass out from his brilliant smile. I think if it hadn’t been for Amanda’s shrill voice, I would have needed paramedics and oxygen. I immediately forgot all about the strange aura of light.

“Scotia, your ticket!” Amanda stated impatiently.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Your ticket…I’ve upgraded you to first-class and you can go through.”

“Uh, thanks. I think I’ll wait for my mother to finish speaking with George before going through to the gate.”

“Your choice,” Amanda said acidly.

Mom and George strolled over. Whatever George had told Mom made her act as though she had just heard that someone had died.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked, concerned.

“Yes, Scotia, but I wish you would rethink your trip,” Mom pleaded.

“Oh Mom, you worry way too much. I’ll be fine.”

“I wish that were the truth,” she whispered.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“Nothing, honey. Go, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Again, it seemed like Mom knew the truth, but that was impossible. I had never told anyone why I was really leaving, especially Mom. I gave her a huge hug, grabbed my bag, and began following George through to the security area. Right before I entered the metal detector I turned to catch one last glimpse of the amazing woman who had raised me, but a cloud of dread was all that I could see across my mother’s face.

Vancouver International Airport had recently acquired a new X-ray machine. It was the type of contraption that allowed not only for baggage scanning but also for full body scans. I was not too sure whether they would be able to detect my undergarments or whether the machine simply allowed for visualization of extraneous objects. Since the 9-11 terrorist attack, no country was taking any chances, especially with international flights.

As I walked through the X-ray machine, the security officer started to fiddle with some knobs.

“Uh…excuse me, miss, you’ll have to walk through again.”

Great, just what I need. I sighed, then spun around and walked through the X-ray machine for a second time. This time, the guard had a puzzled expression on his face, and I heard him mutter, “Weird!” under his breath. The guard then turned toward his colleague at the next X-ray machine. “Hey, Stan, can you come here for a minute? I think there’s something wrong with this machine.”

“Josh, I’m a little swamped here, just call the supervisor.”

Josh picked up the phone and after a few seconds started to talk .

“Hey, Chelsea, sorry to bother you, but my machine seems to be acting up…yeah, okay, thanks.”

Josh hung up the phone, looked at me sympathetically, and said, “Sorry, miss, but you’ll need to wait for about five minutes.”

“Is there a problem?” I asked “I really need to catch a plane.”

“This shouldn’t take too long. I truly am sorry, but my machine is having a hard time picking up your image on the screen.”

“Oh come on,” I said in an exasperated tone.

“Sorry,” Josh replied sheepishly and shrugged.

I was ready to start an argument but withheld for two reasons. One, I knew it was not Josh’s fault that his machine was having a total meltdown, and two, when I looked closely at Josh I realized he was only about eighteen years old. This was probably a summer position for him before undertaking an undergraduate program in law enforcement or pre-law. Plus, he truly did seem sorry for this mishap. The passengers behind me were now being redirected to the other two X-ray machines in the area by an older, more experienced looking security officer, who looked as if he had not smiled in years. His face seemed to hold a permanent scowl. George, whom I thought had left, was waiting for me on the other side of the machine. He looked concerned but appeared to be waiting patiently. Why was he still here? Did he not have a plane to catch or, for that matter, to fly? Our eyes met and again I had a strange sensation. I shrugged it off and proceeded to walk to the seat located at the left side of the machine. The other passengers were giving me dirty looks. I could feel my face turning beet red with embarrassment, so I bowed my head to keep from any other unpleasant gazes.

I was about to sit down when a beautiful, tall, blonde woman in a navy blue skirt and jacket approached. She must have been the lady whom Josh had contacted by phone, because she was walking straight toward Josh.

“Okay, Josh, what seems to be the problem?” she asked in a monotone voice.

“Not sure, Chelsea, but the machine is having a hard time scanning her,” Josh answered, pointing in my direction.

“Hmm, let’s check your settings,” Chelsea answered, and moved in closer to the X-ray machine. “Strange. Your settings are right.” She glanced at me. “Okay, miss, why don’t you go through again.”

Once again I got up and passed through the machine, and once again it did not pick up my image.

“Was the machine having trouble with anyone else?” Chelsea questioned Josh.

“No, ma’am.”

“Okay, miss, you’ll need to go through another machine.”

Chelsea was escorting me over to another machine when George interjected. “She’s flying with me, and I really need to get to my flight.”

“Sorry, Captain, but as you know, this is a security issue,” Chelsea responded.

George put his hand on Chelsea’s arm and whispered something into her ear.

“Ummm, sure,” Chelsea responded, but her eyes appeared glazed over.

“Miss, I’m just going to escort you to the security office, and I’m sure we can get this matter straightened out,” Chelsea’s monotonous voice droned.

I was now glad that George had waited. I picked up my bag and started to follow Chelsea to her office, bypassing the X-ray machines altogether. As soon as we had gone around the corner and were out of sight of the other security officers, Chelsea turned to both George and myself and said, “Okay, miss, you may go.”

“What, just like that?”

“Yes, just like that. You can thank your friend here,” Chelsea said, looking at George.

George never broke her gaze and smiled.

“I-I don’t under…”

“Let’s get going, Scotia. We don’t want to miss our flight.”

George grabbed my hand and diverted us away from the direction in which we had been walking with Chelsea. “Let’s take the tunnel to the gate. That way we don’t have to pass by the security area again.”

“Wh-what happened there, George? Why did Chelsea let me go without any problems, and why are you even here?”

“Let’s just say that I’m your guardian angel.”

“Well, you must be because you managed to get me out of two very unpleasant situations today.”

George chuckled but remained quiet.

“How do you know my mom?”

“Samantha is like a sister to me.”

“You certainly are very secretive, George.”

“Sometimes, less is more, my dear girl, less is more.”

I wondered what else George had been keeping from me, and for that matter what he had said to Mom to make her look so…frightened.

I was about to probe further when I noticed that we had arrived at my gate.

“Here we are, Scotia. Can I leave you alone now, without you getting into too much trouble?”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

“Good. I need to get over to my plane.”

“You mean you’re not the pilot of my flight to London?”

“No, dear, you’re on your own now, but I predict that you’ll be fine. Good luck,” George replied, then leaned in and gave me a warm hug. Strange, I thought, he too smelled of lavender, just like Mom. Before I could remark, George disappeared amongst the maze of passengers.

I took a seat by the window and watched as the 747 taxied up to the gate. I was exhilarated and anxious at the same time. In fewer than ten hours I would be in a different country, beginning the adventure of a lifetime, although I was not fully aware of the enormity of my task.