Chapter Nine:
By the time the plane took off for Oradea, Theresa was running on caffeine, anticipation, and no sleep. She'd spent the night pacing her apartment; too afraid of what might happen if she were to fall asleep to even attempt it. Of course, there had been a fair amount of packing and re-packing too.
Her usual wash-or-burn jeans and tee-shirts were out, even if they were the smart choice for the work ahead. The rest of her wardrobe was made up mostly of sweats for binge-watching and dresses for the parties Timothy loved to blow his cash on. Oh, why hadn't she given in when he'd nagged her to go business casual at work?
Because painting in a pantsuit is more ridiculous than pole dancing in clogs?
Because Timothy is a chauvinist pig who thinks a woman's worth is somehow tied to her appearance?
Because he doesn't pay me enough to blow money on clothes that aren't practical?
All very good points. On any other day.
At that moment, however, Theresa would have killed for a pantsuit or two to pack. As it was, she had to dig to the very depths of her closet to find something even halfway decent to wear. Her suitcase contained her interview, funeral, and church clothes – along with her favourite little black dress and lingerie she'd bought on a whim but had never worn.
Hopefully that would change by the end of the trip…
Ugh. What was wrong with her? Stressing out over a man she'd barely met – who, by the way had walked out on her after their one dance. It was disgusting.
But Theresa's brain and libido disagreed on that point.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence and jostled Theresa out of her reverie. Her fingers tightened instinctively on the armrests as the seatbelt lights came on. The plane jerked again, making her stomach clench. God, she hated flying.
A glance at the on-board map told her that they still had well over six hours to their destination. Another six hours of being squished between Michelle and some overweight, under-deodorized man while Timothy enjoyed the luxury of business class. Jerk.
Michelle, sleeping peacefully since the plane had taxied from the runway, was no help. She was one of those people who jetted off to exotic locations every time she had a little vacation time and spare cash. Travelling was second nature to Michelle. Theresa was more of a stay-at-home-and-attack-her-to-read-pile kind of vacationer – which made the infrequent trips she made for business that much more difficult. The plane lurched again, as if to prove the point.
Her portly companion reached over to put a small plastic cup on the tray in front of Theresa. Inside was an even smaller bottle of vodka.
"Looks like you need this more than I do," he said.
Theresa offered the man a polite smile, though she made no move to take the glass. "Thank you," she said, "but I don't really drink."
The plane rose and dropped again quickly. Theresa gasped and clutched at the armrests.
"Maybe now's a good time to start," the man said, patting the back of her hand kindly. He slid his complimentary headphones over his ears and started flitting through in-flight movies.
Theresa eyed the vodka. She couldn't even remember the last time she had real alcohol. College, maybe? No… Michelle's divorce, two years ago. The party was still a bit fuzzy but Theresa remembered taking shots of tequila and, sometime later, taking shots at Michelle's wedding dress with a paintball gun.
She glanced at her best friend. Curled up as best as possible in the small space, Michelle's head rested on the shoulder of a total stranger who was easily ten years her senior. He didn't look in the least bit bothered.
Six hours of worrying herself sick or six hours of drooling on some random guy's shoulder?
Theresa cracked open the vodka. Two trips from their heavily-made-up stewardess later, she finally off to sleep.
If Theresa had thought that being in a cramped, public space would do anything to stop the strange dreams that plagued her, she was about to learn that she was very, very wrong.