The Scenic Route (9 page)

“Do you have some other brother who has put up with
all
your relationship and pseudorelationship drama for twenty years and never asks for your help in return?”

“Never asks for my—”

“
Almost
never,” he corrected himself.

“Don't tell her that you're coming,” Mandy said, reversing herself.

“You mean don't go?” Austin liked that suggestion even less than her previous.

“No, I mean the opposite,” she said. “Just go. Don't try to figure out
the right thing to do. Just do it. Whether it's right or not. Maybe there isn't a right thing to do. Maybe there are just things that feel right.”

“You're
where
?” Naomi asked, sounding a little breathless.

“I'm at the Miami airport,” Austin said again. Actually, he was in a room at the Miami airport Marriott Courtyard, but that didn't go with his cover story. “I'm attending a medical meeting in Miami, so I figured I'd give you a call and see if you'd like to get together later.”

“I'd love to get together,” Naomi said. She had no idea how good it felt to hear that. “It's just a total surprise. I'm actually on my way to the airport.”

Austin thought he'd heard wrong. “You're on the way to the airport?”

“It's a crazy day. Crazy week. Totally crazy.”

He got the crazy part. What he was missing was why she was going to the airport. “Are you picking someone up?”

“I'm catching a plane.” His heart sank. “But we can meet up now, unless you have some symposium to attend, because I'm going to be sitting at the airport with nothing to do. They make you check in ridiculously early for international flights.”

“You're going abroad?”

There was a pause on the line. He thought they lost their connection. “To Madrid,” she said. There was another pause. “Crazy, right?”

They made plans to meet in an hour at La Carreta, a popular Cuban restaurant at the airport, which would have been more convenient
if
he had actually been at the airport. Since he wasn't, he went down to the lobby to catch a shuttle. And had perfect timing, because he saw one pulling up. He also saw a line of people waiting for it—with suitcases! He had left his suitcase in his room, and it would be odd for him to meet Naomi without it, since as far as she knew he hadn't left the airport.

He went back upstairs to retrieve the case, contemplating that even a little dishonesty takes a lot of effort.
There's a lesson in that somewhere,
he thought, as he lugged his case outside to wait for the next shuttle.

Bad idea. He was in Miami in July. It wasn't a city, so much as a swamp with million-dollar condos. Austin remembered studying Siberia in ninth grade and wondering why people would choose to live in such a climatically challenged place. He conjectured that those people were so cut off from the rest of the world, they didn't realize there were better options out there. But what excuse did Floridians have? Don't they get the Weather Channel? They couldn't even make California's claim of a “dry heat.” This was wet heat wrapped in a drenched blanket inside a steam bath. This was what hell aspired to be.

By the time the shuttle arrived, he was sopping. There was a reason he hadn't waited inside the lobby, but the reason wasn't coming to him. It could have been due to sudden-impact heat stroke. Or just the humidity short-circuiting his neurological system.

The shuttle's air-conditioning was set to a subarctic level to counteract the external torridity. Austin imagined small icicles forming in the wet patches underneath his arms and in the small of his back.

For some reason, it wasn't until he was getting off the shuttle that it occurred to him the restaurant wasn't
at
the airport but
inside
the airport, meaning he was going to have to get past security. He had no idea how, but begging came to mind. Begging actually seemed to be the beginning and end of his list of options. He could claim he had left something behind at the gate, since he had left the airport less than an hour ago. It didn't seem unreasonable to ask a security agent to pretend he hadn't left, and by pretend, he meant let him reenter. He also figured there had to be a romantic soul or two working for the TSA.

There wasn't.

What he considered a reasonable and even heartwarming request
was met with a threat of incarceration from a snappish supervisor with short-cropped hair and a shorter temper. Austin was informed that
no one
crossed the security checkpoint without a valid ticket (with a strident emphasis on the “no one”). That stumped him for a minute, but there was an obvious solution.

He had only one question when he reached the front of the line at the American Airlines counter. “What's the cheapest flight I can get leaving today?”

“Where do you want to go?” the ticket agent inquired.

“Doesn't matter.”

She looked up at him suspiciously. But he convinced her his motives were amorous, not felonious, and twenty-five minutes later he was striding toward the restaurant booth where Naomi was sitting, with a boarding pass for a flight to Tampa in his pocket—and relief that he was only ten minutes late.

She stood up, and when they embraced he felt something electric. His arms found their natural place around her waist, as if her body had been designed with the dimensions of his in mind. They lingered in each other's arms until she pulled away.

“I was beginning to think you were standing me up,” she said.

“I got a little lost,” he replied with a sheepish grin as they sat down. There was a cafeteria tray on the table with a plate of several fried items and two Coronas.

“Is this restaurant okay?” she asked. “There's a fancier place called Top of the Port. But this place is tastier.”

“This is great,” Austin said. “Tasty is great.” Just looking at her was great.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked.

“A medical convention,” he said. He was pretty sure he'd already told her that. Was she testing him?

“Oh, right,” she said, playing with her fork.

It dawned on him that it sounded like he'd purposely not told her about his supposed convention while they were in California. “Very last-minute,” he said.

“The convention?”

“My attendance.” And this was how one lie begets another. “My partner was going to come, but he wasn't able to.” It was a white lie. To make her feel better. “He's taking his wife to Hilton Head.” That part wasn't technically untrue (or wouldn't be in a few weeks' time).

“Take some food,” she said, pushing the tray toward him. He appreciated the offer, but he had wanted to treat her to a meal. “I picked up some appetizers while I was waiting. The yucca fries are particularly good.” She speared one with her fork. “I also got
croquetas
and a
pastelito
. It's a pastry with guava and cheese. I make a version with Gruyère and fig jam.”

“Where can I get one of those?” he asked, taking a couple of fries.

“I could have cooked up a batch if you'd given me any advance notice,” she said, gently chastising him. “But there's probably plenty of food at the convention.”

“Of course.” It was getting hard to remember all the things he was making up. He wanted to tell her the truth, but instead he said, “So you're going to Madrid?”

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding.

He waited for her to say more, but she didn't. “Any particular reason?”

“You don't
need
a reason to travel.”

He'd stepped right into that one. “I just meant you hadn't mentioned anything about Madrid while we were in LA.”

“You didn't mention anything about a convention.” She seemed prickly.

“I wasn't planning on going,” he said, “until my partner canceled.” Oddly, saying it a second time made it feel more true.

“Right,” she said, biting into a croquette. “Sorry. It's actually a potential work thing.”

“You're thinking about working in Madrid?” He tried not to sound as disconsolate as he felt.

“It's a possibility,” she said. She took a healthy swig of her beer, and he followed suit. “It's an opportunity. Maybe. It's a vacation. How about you?”

“I'm not going to Madrid,” he said with a smile.

She laughed. “No you're going to be partying down with the doctors. Hitting the hot spots.”

“I don't know about that,” he said. “Little too hot out already. Maybe the lukewarm spots.”

She took another gulp of her beer. “I wish the timing was better.” He wasn't sure what she meant. He only knew what he hoped she meant.

“It would be nice to spend more time together,” she said, and something deep inside him ached at the words. “But you probably have a jam-packed schedule.”

Tell her,
he told himself.
Tell her that there is no convention.
But to what end? She was getting on a plane to Madrid. And all he'd be doing was admitting to being a liar. Which he wasn't. Well, except for the very ill-thought-out machinations of his current situation.

“Not so jam-packed at the moment,” he said.

She seemed to ruminate a bit about this statement. She looked at her watch. Then she put down her beer. “Come with me,” she said, abruptly bounding from the table.

“Where are you going?” he said, racing after her with his suitcase in tow.

“It's a surprise.” They sped through low-ceilinged corridors and down slow-moving escalators. As they neared the terminal exit, Austin became even more confused.

“Don't you have a plane to catch?” he asked.

“I'm checked in and so is my luggage. All I have to do is go through security again when I get back.”

“Get back from where?”

“That's the surprise,” she said with an impish grin, before dashing through the glass doors and flagging a taxi.

“Earlington Heights Metrorail,” she told the driver.

“They have trains in Miami?” Austin asked. It was news to him.

“You'll see,” she said.

The taxi zipped along a different expressway than the shuttle had taken earlier, depositing them at what looked like a commuter rail station. Austin was paying the driver as a locomotive pulled in.

“Run!” Naomi commanded.

She emptied a handful of quarters into a turnstile, and they managed to scramble up a stairway and on board just before the train's doors closed. They laughed as they caught their breath, like truant teenagers playing hooky. Standing close beside her, he felt like he would follow her anywhere.

Less than fifteen minutes later, they disembarked and she led the way up an escalator to what looked like another train platform. But instead of a train, what came along was called a Metromover—a bright blue electric vehicle that looked like a hybrid of a monorail and a bus.

“There's a good chance you're going to think I'm ridiculous,” Naomi said, “but this is one of my favorite things to do in Miami.”

They got on board, and she pulled him to the front of the tram as it emerged from the station on a curving elevated track that swooped its way around and through the high-rises of downtown Miami. It was like Chicago's El with a touch of the Jetsons. And Austin was a like a kid on a carnival ride as the Metromover hugged sleek glass buildings and pastel-colored edifices. But the best part, the part that made him feel giddy in a childlike way he'd rarely felt when he was truly a child, was when the Metromover plunged through the façade
of a glittering tower, tunneling through to the other side as if the track's path had been designed by a drunken engineer or a denizen of Toontown.

Naomi was watching him watching the Miami skyline whiz by. “Isn't it great?” she asked, beaming like the eight-year-old he dimly remembered. He nodded. “My friends make fun of me, but I think it's awesome.”

“It
is
awesome,” he said, taking her hand in his and feeling a surge of adrenaline as she gripped his fingers. They rode the entire downtown loop. And then they did it again. She pointed out places of interest, like the Freedom Tower and Bayfront Park. He tried to pay attention to her words, but her words were flowing from her mouth, and her mouth was a work of art made of mesmerizing curves and crescents.

He noticed her check her watch again, and he died a little. It seemed that before any time had passed they were exiting the tram into the sticky late-day air. He could feel the heat rising as they descended an escalator to the rail platform below. Naomi was giving him directions to the convention center, which wasn't particularly useful, since he wasn't really staying there. She was saying she was glad he had called. He was saying he was glad she was glad. And then he did what he'd come to Florida to do.

He kissed her.

On the lips. Tenderly. But fervently. Everything he felt for her was in that kiss. He left everything on the court. And he held her to him like he was never going to let her go.