When I returned to my seat, Penny was engaged in a conversation with the woman across the aisle from her. “Sharon, this is Monique. Monique, Sharon.”
I nodded at the middle-aged woman. Her eyes were clear blue, like two pebbles in a mountain brook.
“She’s from England,” Penny said.
“You’re from England?” I tried to change the incredulous expression that must have washed across my face. Monique was the first Brit I’d ever met. I’m sure it was evident I expected to meet someone more like the Queen Mum or at least someone with a British name rather than a French name.
“Yes, I’ve lived in England since I was sixteen.” With a gracious smile Monique added, for my benefit, I’m sure, “I was born in Jamaica.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat.
Penny rolled on with her customary openness, chatting as freely as if the three of us were clients lined up under the hair dryers back at Joanie’s Clip ’n’ Curl. “My mother used to tell me that my father was a pirate from Jamaica. She made up all kinds of gallant stories about him. I never knew my dad, you see, so I liked the way my mom turned him into a hero.”
“I’m not sure my relatives would agree that a pirate from Jamaica should be considered a hero.” Monique’s accent was mesmerizing.
“When you’re six, nothing is better than being told you’re descended from a Caribbean pirate.”
Penny didn’t speak often of her childhood or of her father, who had died before she was born. When Penny was in her midtwenties, her mother passed away, and since Penny had no siblings, she and I became surrogate sisters and our children became adopted cousins.
“My mother was from Finland,” Penny went on. “Sharon and I are on our way to Helsinki. I hope to track down my mom’s sister.”
“Won’t that be lovely for you,” Monique said.
Penny explained about not knowing if we would actually find her aunt, but after all, we were on an adventure.
Monique leaned forward to capture a full view of my face. “Aren’t you the brave one?”
Had Monique caught on that Penny was the instigator of this madness, and I was just along for the ride? I managed a half grin in response to Monique’s insight.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you had a backup plan,” Monique said. “If you don’t care to spend your entire holiday in Finland, you might enjoy having a look around our bit of country.”
“We just might have to take you up on that,” Penny said. “Our schedule being open-ended and all …”
Monique apologized for not having a business card to give us. She wrote her phone number on the back of a beverage napkin and handed it to Penny. “If you do make it to England, please feel free to ring me at this number.”
Penny and Monique settled into a pleasant round of small talk that included fingernails, the benefits of vitamin C when combating jet lag, and Monique’s trip to San Francisco. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier as the long night wore on. When the second in-flight movie began, I pulled up the blanket to my chin, leaned the pillow against the window, and slept.
Penny slept a little during the long flight, too, which was helpful because when we landed at Heathrow, we needed all our energy to get us off the plane and onto our next flight.
Monique stayed with us until we parted ways at customs. She wished us well in our search for Penny’s relatives and repeated the invitation to look her up if we ever came her way. I doubted that we would be in England again or that we would contact her. I was certain, though, that her beauty and her gra-ciousness would remain a strong memory for me.
When we reached the front of the line at customs, Penny went ahead of me. I noticed that the customs officer looked at Penny’s passport and then appeared to be singing to her. I couldn’t hear what was going on, but I did hear him burst out laughing.
Penny smiled and nodded politely.
I wondered if it was her passport photo. Was hers as unflattering as mine? Apparently not all Brits were as polite as Monique.
I stepped up to the window, preparing myself in case the customs officer found my passport photo equally hilarious. He glanced up at me for a moment, asked a few questions, and then I was sent on my way to join Penny. She had placed all her heavy luggage on the ground and was taking off her long coat.
“What was that all about?” I asked. “He wasn’t laughing at your picture, was he?”
Penny shook her head and held out her passport for me to see. “I should have expected it. Look.”
I scanned her picture and thought hers was much more flattering than mine. I didn’t notice anything unusual.
“See?” Penny said. “You’re immune to it like I am. Most people are in the U.S. But not in England, I suppose.” A smile crept up her face. “It really is kind of funny, when I think about it.”
That’s when I remembered all the jokes Penny had made over the years about her name. She said the only annoying thing that had come out of her marriage to Dave Lane was that she became Penny Lane.
“I think I made that custom officer’s day. He, of course, had to sing the first verse to me. Thankfully he stopped when he got to the chorus.”
I laughed. I know I shouldn’t have laughed so hard, but the expression on Penny’s face and the craziness of having a man with a shiny badge and a snappy British accent singing to her as she entered this foreign country struck my funny bone. I couldn’t stop giggling.
“I know, I know. Go ahead and laugh,” Penny said. “It is funny. I suppose I’ll laugh later. I’m too tired now to appreciate the humor of this situation. Come on, we better get a move on.”
I reached for one of Penny’s heavier pieces of luggage. “I can carry this one.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“No, it has to be heavy for you.”
“I really appreciate it, Sharon. You’re right. This stuff is starting to weigh a ton. If we were on a ship, I’d throw the excess overboard. I bet you’re glad you checked your suitcase.”
“I don’t think it would have fit in the overhead bin. I probably brought as much excess as you did, but I put it in a larger suitcase.”
With each step I took, Penny’s luggage seemed to gain weight. I was perspiring heavily by the time we reached our seats on the flight to Helsinki. Fumbling in my purse, I found a small perfume sampler and dabbed the flowery potion generously on my wrists and the back of my neck in an effort to camouflage the unpleasant odor. In my haste to dress that morning, I think I’d forgotten to use any deodorant.
Penny sneezed twice. “What is that stuff?”
“I’m not sure.” I tried to read the rubbed-off letters from the small tube. “Eau de something.”
“Eau de phew!” Penny sneezed again. “Seriously, Sharon, I can’t handle that, whatever it is.” She twisted all three of the overhead airflow nozzles so that they blew on me in an effort to diffuse the fragrance.
Penny and I had an empty seat between us that apparently was assigned to a tall gentleman wearing a gray suit and carrying a briefcase. He stood in the aisle, holding his boarding pass and looking at Penny, who was settled in the aisle seat.
“Would you like to sit here?” Penny offered, as if his silent glare had charmed the words out of her. “I can take your seat in the middle.” She slid over and tilted the center air directly on her. The gentleman gave an appreciative nod and without a word folded himself into the aisle seat.
The seat space allowed each traveler was definitely not as wide as it had been in business class. I knew Penny had to be miserable, squashed there in the middle and suffocating from my perfume. I barely could smell it, but I tried to wipe any hint of the fragrance off with a tissue. Would Penny have preferred my body odor? I noticed that Penny and I were pressed against each other, hip to hip.
She sneezed again.
I’d forgotten about Penny’s bionic nose. We used to tease her when the kids were little because it would about kill her to change a diaper. She could smell a cat at fifty yards an
d our old dog, Bosco, even when he was outside. The windows at Penny’s house were open nine months out of the year.
I tried to make myself small. It was impossible. We had to endure the bumpy flight with all its inconveniences and did so by both pretending we were sleeping.
My thoughts wandered to small luxuries like snack food, pillows, and a hot bath. I was glad that none of Penny’s relatives were meeting our plane and taking us to a private home where it was likely we would stay up all night talking. A quiet hotel room sounded wonderful. Room service sounded like a dream.
All my private little dreams scattered when the pilot announced our plane couldn’t land in Helsinki due to icy high winds. We circled for almost an hour before an announcement came that we would land at a different airport.
“This can’t be good,” Penny muttered under her breath.
I reached for the guidebook and found a map. “Do you suppose we’re going to Stockholm? It looks pretty far away.”
Penny studied the map. “Russia looks closer, doesn’t it? They wouldn’t fly us into Russia, would they?” It had only been a short year or two since the breakup of the former Soviet Union, and Russia wasn’t a travel destination for the average American.
Our landing was rough. The plane came down with a thud on the tires and then bounced up again for three seconds before reconnecting with the runway. Inside our cramped quarters, the passengers responded with a group gasp.
Outside, the sleet came toward us at an angle. As the plane rolled forward, I could barely make out the small terminal’s outline.
From all around us came the click of seat belts being unfastened.
The flight attendant spoke over the intercom in three languages. English was the last. By the way people around us were groaning while the message was delivered in the first two languages, we surmised the news wasn’t good.
“We ask that you remain in your seats,” the voice finally said in English. “We will not be deplaning at this airport. The latest weather reports predict a clearing in the storm. Our pilot has requested clearance to return to Helsinki.”
I stared quietly at my hands. The large hook-shaped scar on the back of my right hand looked larger than usual. It had turned a pale, oyster gray color.
I got the scar when I was fifteen and fell against the side of a tractor at my summer job, picking raspberries at Gelson’s farm. It took twenty-five minutes to reach the hospital, and I gushed blood all over the front seat of Mrs. Gelson’s new powder blue Ford station wagon, even though I was holding the dish towel and pressing hard like she told me to.
Sitting on this icy runway felt a lot like sitting next to Mrs. Gelson in the emergency room. Whatever happened next couldn’t possibly be pleasant.
Five
We sat on the runway of the small mystery airport for more than an hour. The flight attendants came by offering coffee.
“Is it okay if we use the rest room?” Penny asked.
“Of course. Please return to your seat, though, as soon as possible. We expect to receive clearance for takeoff soon.”
I decided I better go to the rest room with Penny while I had the chance. The gentleman on the aisle stood silently to let us out. All the stalls were occupied. Penny and I stretched without speaking to each other or making eye contact.
“Penny” I touched her shoulder. We barely had spoken to each other during the past hour. “When we return to our seats, why don’t you take the window seat? I know you said you don’t like the window because it gets so cold, but you’re welcome to use my coat as a buffer.”
Her expression softened. “Are you sure that’s okay?”
“Sure, I wouldn’t mind. You need a few more inches of breathing space.”
“Thanks, Sharon.”
The bathroom stall door opened, and I motioned to Penny. “After you.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
That was a crazy thing for Penny to say. She didn’t owe me anything. I was the one who was in debt to her for this whole trip.
I tried to lean against the wall to let a young blond woman with a crying baby join me in the crowded space. “He’s not very happy, is he?” I asked.
She answered in a language I didn’t understand, but when she slid the knuckle of her first finger into his mouth, I asked, “Teething?”
She gave me a weary look and said, “Ja,” before shifting the sobbing baby to her other hip. We were communicating in the universal language of all mothers: baby sympathy. My heart went out to her.
I reached over and gently stroked his damp cheek. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “It’s okay.” The tyke turned his round moist eyes toward me and stopped crying.
“That’s better. You want me to hold you for a little bit so your mommy can have a break?”
I opened my hands, and the mommy gladly let her chunky bundle climb into my arms.
“How old is he?”
The mother shook her head. She didn’t seem to understand my question.
“Is he about nine months old?” I shifted the curious fellow to my left hip and held up my fingers as if I were counting.
“Ah! Ja, nio.” She held up nine fingers.
“That’s what I thought. My first two boys were solid like this, too.” I patted his back, and he released a tiny burp.
Penny stepped out of the stall. She looked surprised. “How did you manage to accumulate a baby in the last three minutes?”
“He likes me,” I told Penny “He stopped crying.”
The mom spoke again and motioned toward the available toilet stall.
“You go ahead,” I said confidently, as if I understood every word she had said. “I’ll hold him for you.”
Penny stood next to me, staring for a moment. “I’m going back to our seats.”
“I’ll be—” My response was cut short by a raging wail from baby boy.
Penny gave me a “he’s all yours” look and left quickly.
I jostled the little one, touching his cheek and trying to comfort him by saying, “It’s okay. Your mommy will be back in a minute.”
He tucked his chin and leaned into my shoulder. I patted his back. “There, there. It’s okay.”
With a stifled sob, his head came straight up, knocking me hard on the chin and causing me to bite my tongue. Then, without warning, the little prince reared back and spewed partially digested airline pretzels and sour milk all down the front of me.
The stall door opened. I held out the baby and motioned with my head so his mom would see the disaster. With profuse apologies in whatever language she spoke, she took her son into the stall and closed the door, and there I stood, aware that a trail of baby barf had found its way under my shirt and was pooling in my bra.
Somehow, when your child throws up on you, it’s never as bad as when it’s someone else’s child.
The second stall door opened, and I rushed in, locked the door, and thought I might be sick from the overpowering smells in the small space. First I tried paper towels to clean up and flushed them before realizing I might clog the whole system. Oh, what a sorry sight I was, trying the dabbing method on my shirt but only making matters worse. I wet more paper towels and then gave up and stripped to the waist.
I had just wrung out my bra when a bright red light flashed. I stared at the light and then looked at my reflection in the mirror.
“What are you doing here?” I asked the woman who was standing topless in front of me in this suffocating, sour bathroom stall, trapped on the runway of some undisclosed airport, which was possibly inside the border of the former Soviet Union, in the middle of an ice storm.
The absurd looking woman in the mirror didn’t answer. However, an invisible flight attendant did. In three languages, no less. “Please return to your seat,” the voice said over the intercom.
“I would love to return to my seat,” I answered politely. “But Houston, we have a problem here.”
No one could hear me, of course, but my banter helped me to stay focused. “
My shirt is ruined,” I went on. “My bra is soaking wet. Can you smell me? I can smell me. If I can smell me, then Penny … well, Penny is …”
I tried to dry my bra by pressing it between two paper towels.
Someone knocked on the bathroom stall door.
“Yes! I’ll be out in just a minute.”
“You must return to your seat,” the heartless voice said.
“Okay. I’m coming right now.”
I still can’t believe I did this, but I had no choice. I put on my wet bra and slipped the rancid, damp shirt over my head. Unlocking the door, I made my way back to the center seat with my head down, certain that every eye in that part of the plane was fixed on me. Every nose was probably fixed on me as well.
Poor Penny! The look on her face! She turned away from me, staring out the window as I gave an abbreviated explanation.
I swallowed hard and tried to take tiny breaths. My tongue had swollen from when I bit it right before Junior was sick all over me. I could feel a cold, wet stream zigzagging across my middle and soaking the waistband of my jeans.
The man in the seat directly in front of me stretched to glare at me over the top of his seat.
“I know,” I murmured in a tiny voice. “I’m sorry. This isn’t exactly pleasant for me either.”
Our takeoff was terrifying. The plane seemed to be flapping oversize, weary wings as we rose into the air. We bucked a dozen air pockets, rising and falling like a ship at sea.
Penny grabbed for the bag in her seat pocket and held it up to her mouth and nose. She didn’t get sick, but I’m sure she felt she was about to.
We landed in Helsinki at 7:20 P.M. Without a word, Penny and I walked into the terminal and went directly to the rest room.
“Here.” Penny wheeled her suitcase into the first open stall before I could grab some wet paper towels. “Anything you want to wear is yours.”
I found a new sympathy for my daughter. So this is how Kaylee felt when I told her she could wear one of my blouses to the school choir performance.