He Bet I'd Still Drive Them to the Airport, So I Did novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Check-In Counter

Althea drives them to the airport, the agent says the tickets were cancelled, and Travis has to hand over the $500 in front of the line. Dorothy is waiting at the house.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked Padraig, standing on my own porch with the ladder between us.

"Because he asked me to hold the envelope and say nothing," Padraig said. "I held it. I'm done saying nothing."

Then he went back to his truck.

He did not say another word about it, and I did not ask for one.

On Saturday morning I made coffee for three.

Travis came down in his good quarter-zip, rolling a small black carry-on, whistling.

"Shel's ride is on the way," he said. "You're sure about this, Althea?"

"I said I'd drive."

"You're a legend."

His phone buzzed.

He read it and smiled at the screen, a smile I had not seen him aim at me in a long time.

At 7:50 we pulled up to Shelby's building.

She was waiting on the curb with my big suitcase, in a white linen set I had never seen, with a new straw hat.

She was thirty-two years old and looked like she was going to her own wedding.

"Althea, I feel terrible," she said, climbing into the back seat.

"Don't," I said. "I'm glad it's you."

The airport was twenty-five minutes away.

Travis put his arm along the back of my seat and talked about Portugal, the custard tarts, the trams, the little rooftop bar.

He knew things about our hotel that I had never told him.

I drove with both hands on the wheel and said, "That sounds amazing."

At the curb I put the car in park and held out my hand.

"Five hundred," I said. "In cash."

Travis laughed and pulled a thick bank envelope from his jacket.

It was the envelope Padraig had held.

He dealt out five bills and set them in my palm one at a time.

"Told you," he said to Shelby over his shoulder.

"I owe you five hundred, don't I," she said, giggling, and leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

It was a quick kiss, but it was not a friend's kiss.

I folded the bills into my purse.

"I'm parking," I said. "I want to walk you in. I'll take a picture of you both at the counter."

"Aw," Shelby said.

Travis looked pleased with me.

I parked on level two and carried the suitcase through the sliding doors myself.

The terminal was loud and cold, full of families in matching shirts.

Our airline's line ran past the rope maze and out toward the coffee kiosk.

Travis walked past the rope maze to the front.

At the counter a young man in a navy vest took their passports and typed.

"Colburn and Donaghy," Travis said cheerfully. "Lisbon through Newark, ten-forty."

The agent typed again.

Then he frowned and typed slower.

"Sir, I'm showing no active reservation under either name."

"That's wrong," Travis said. "My wife booked it. She's right here."

Every head in the line turned toward me.

I stayed exactly where I was, holding the handle of the suitcase.

"Ma'am?" the agent said to me.

"I cancelled it on Friday," I said. "It was my card and my booking."

The agent nodded slowly.

"That's correct. The fare was refunded to the original payment method."

Nobody in line said anything for a moment.

A woman behind Shelby lowered her phone and then lifted it again, aimed at us.

"Althea," Travis said. His voice had gone high. "What did you do?"

"I kept the bet," I said. "I told you I'd drive you to the airport, and I did."

"This is not funny."

"It isn't," I said. "Your friend got my seat on my anniversary trip. I'm not paying for it."

Shelby's hat tipped sideways as she turned to me.

"Althea, you said you were glad it was me."

"I am glad," I said. "I'm glad I found out which of you it was."

Tears came into her eyes right on time.

A man at the back of the line said, "Ooh," and another man laughed.

Travis grabbed my elbow and I looked at his hand until he took it off.

"Take your bag," I said.

I set the big suitcase on the floor between them.

"I'll keep the five hundred, since I won it. Enjoy the weekend."

I walked out through the sliding doors while he shouted my name across the terminal.

He caught up to me at the elevator with his face red and his carry-on bumping behind him.

"Mom is going to hear about this," he said in a low voice.

"I'd call her myself," I said. "But I don't think I'll have to."

He had no answer for that.

I drove home alone with the radio off and the seat belt tight across my stomach.

When I turned onto our street, there was a silver sedan in my driveway.

I knew it, because I had washed it for Dorothy Colburn at three Easters.

The front door of my house was standing open.

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