Falling(12)

For the first time, he allowed himself to really look at Carrie.



* * *



“I thought you hated cats,” Carrie said.

“I do,” Bill said.

Carrie smiled, watching him massage her purring cat, Wrigley. She extended chopsticks full of pad Thai and Bill leaned over on the couch to accept, a little bit of chicken falling onto her bare legs stretched out across his lap. A black-and-white Humphrey Bogart walked across the TV as Bill popped the chicken into his mouth.

Across the apartment by the door, his company badge lay on the floor next to his unopened suitcase. A pile of black—shoes, socks, pants, belt—lay in a heap facing the wall with red lacy panties on top. Buried under his uniform jacket, ungraded essays littered the floor, her red pen waiting on the kitchen table until tomorrow sometime after he’d left. Looming in the distance through the window, the Sears Tower seemed to wink its approval. Bill picked up every O’Hare trip he could find. Chicago had become his favorite layover.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Carrie asked, watching the movie.

“Yes.”

He’d answered quickly and her face turned pink in return. Audrey Hepburn sipped espresso, talking about the Paris rain. “Oh?” Carrie said, popping another bite in her mouth. “How so?”

He turned, confused. “Well, you.”

She froze mid-bite, swallowing. “Oh?”

“When I first saw you at the barbecue. The moment you walked into the yard. Yes.”

“Yes… what?” she said. Love was a topic they hadn’t discussed.

“Yes, I knew I wanted to sleep with you.”

She punched his arm.

“No,” Bill said, shifting on the couch to face her. Bogart and Hepburn sat side by side, driving down the road. “I mean, yes, but…”

Carrie raised an eyebrow.

“Look, the first time I saw you, I knew I wanted you. I didn’t just want you, though. I had to have you. It was… animal.”

“Keep digging.”

“Okay,” he said, and sighed. “Humans are hardwired for one thing, right? Survival. It’s our primary drive. And on a subconscious and instinctual level, we are attracted to, and desire the things, that will serve our survival best. Yes? So when I first saw you, I’m saying my body at a cellular level screamed YES. Voilà. Love at first sight. I’m not saying I was just a guy looking to get laid. I’m saying…” He glanced at the screen, trying to figure out how to translate. “Jesus, Carrie. I’m here petting cats. And picking up shitty Chicago trips. And I’d consider moving here if you wanted me to. But the part that’s weird is that I want to do all that.

“Carrie, I miss you the second I walk out that door. I fly as fast as I can so I can get to the hotel so I can call you. I mean, the company has to be catching on to the amount of gas I’m wasting. I love that tiny freckle in your left eye. I love it that you say you have a substance-abuse issue with peanut butter. I love knowing—and god knows why—that you believe Buzz Aldrin should have been the first man on the moon but Neil Armstrong pushed him out of the way at the last second. The fact that you sweat profusely when you’re nervous but not at all when you’re hot? I love that. It’s weird. But I love it.”

She laughed, a tear falling. He wiped it away and licked his finger.

“My body knew. You’re it, Carrie. So, yes. I believe in love at first sight.”

Her chin trembled, desperately clinging to caution.

“I use your pillow,” she said with a laugh, wiping her face with her sleeve. “After you leave, the next night. I sleep with the pillow you use. It’s too fluffy and it hurts my neck. But it smells like you.”

Taking the plate out of her hand, he set it on the coffee table. Lying beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist, he breathed in the smell of her coconut shampoo. He in his boxers, she in her sweatshirt, the two lay silent for a long time listening to the movie playing behind them.

“Bill?”

“Hmmm?”

“I thought you hated cuddling.”



* * *



Carrie looked at Bill through the camera lens. A tear slid down her cheek, caught by the gag in her mouth.

You are not going to kill my family. And I am not going to crash this plane.



He pressed “Send” on the email and lowered the screen halfway.

“All right,” Bill said to his copilot, “I’m gonna go out too. Mind if I go first?”

“By all means, age before beauty,” Ben said as Bill pressed a button, a muffled ding ringing on the other side of the door.

“You beat me to it,” came Jo’s voice through the cockpit speaker. “I was just about to call. Break time?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bill said, adjusting his seat backward.

“Okay, ready when you are.” The call clicked as it disconnected.

“You have control?” Bill said.

“I have control,” Ben replied.

Bill’s hands trembled slightly as he unbuckled his harness and stood up. Leaving the cockpit felt like another layer of abandonment. He tried—and failed—to block out the image of his family on the other side of the screen. Bound. Gagged. Helpless. Waiting for him to do something.