brow, but soldiered on. “Well, Meg has been married for about three years and she’s pregnant. Sharon and I are still in the figuring-things-out stage, so it won’t happen this go-round.” She chuckled. “I’d like a kid or two when I grow up, though.”
That seemed to satisfy the girls. They bent their heads over their papers and went back to creating art in earnest.
Chapter 8
Between Friday morning and Sunday evening, Carla had managed to only spend forty-five minutes with her new boyfriend. After leaving the rec center on Saturday, she got called in by Raleigh PD to sketch a hit and run driver. When she did touch base briefly with Grant, it was at the airport on Sunday morning where the airline was giving her a hard time with redeeming her voucher. She’d tried first by phone, but had grown tired of the runaround. She figured that was their scheme–to wear customers down to the point they’d stop caring about satisfaction.
Grant really meant it when he’d offered to help. By the time he arrived at the ticketing counter, she’d started to shake from frustration. He’d listened calmly to both sides of the drama, and asked the same very reasonable question Carla had. “What can you do?”
The agent didn’t look up from his keyboard as he dismissed him. “Nothing. Turn the ticket over and read the fine print. Next, please.”
Grant put up an arm to halt the person in line behind them. “Just a moment.” He slid the voucher across the counter. “It doesn’t say anything about blackouts.” He managed to sound quite pissed without actually raising his voice. “What it does say is that it expires in eight weeks. So, since she’s blacked out from using the sodding thing, that means it’s effectively void right now! Sounds like a heap of bullshit to me.”
“Grant, I can just buy a new ticket,” Carla said. She was ready to be done with the shit. She’d lost. The continued argument wasn’t worth the spike to her blood pressure.
“No, love, you shouldn’t have to. They should grandfather the voucher in, since it makes no mention of blackout dates. It’s not a discount. It’s a replacement. They’re playing games.”
A woman in the line somewhere behind them shouted, “I know, right? It’s some bullshit. I ain’t paying to check this bag, man. Y’all better put this shit underneath the plane and stop playin’ with me. I’m a goddamned veteran. Shit.”
The agent kept tapping keys. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience, sir. She’s welcome to try another airline for a last-minute flight.”
Grant drummed his fingers on the countertop and stared at the agent, who wouldn’t look back. The veins in his neck visibly pulsed.
Carla wrapped her hand around one of his wrists. It’s like I transferred my anger to him. “Grant, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He pulled a narrow folder out of his back pocket and slid it across the counter beside her voucher. “Here. Refund this.”
The agent finally looked up. “Sir?”
“Do it. Charge me the fuckin’ fee and refund my card the difference. You aren’t the only airline flying to Dublin via New York. Hell, your first class isn’t even all that great. You’re doing me a favor.”
Suddenly the agent got really cooperative. Grant’s ticket was first class, platinum status.
He looped his arm through Carla’s and said, “Hey, love. Want to get a bite?” as they walked toward the parking deck.
“Sure, but after that display of machismo I’m sort of hungry for other things.” Watching that usually pleasant man inch closer and closer to catastrophic meltdown had been the ultimate turn-on. Oh, he could get angry. She could tell. He reminded her something of her father–a generally easygoing guy who would snap in an instant if his family was threatened.
She also hadn’t noticed before how careful he was in suppressing that accent. He was nearly unintelligible when he got angry, especially when he got all growly.
That seemed to satisfy the girls. They bent their heads over their papers and went back to creating art in earnest.
Chapter 8
Between Friday morning and Sunday evening, Carla had managed to only spend forty-five minutes with her new boyfriend. After leaving the rec center on Saturday, she got called in by Raleigh PD to sketch a hit and run driver. When she did touch base briefly with Grant, it was at the airport on Sunday morning where the airline was giving her a hard time with redeeming her voucher. She’d tried first by phone, but had grown tired of the runaround. She figured that was their scheme–to wear customers down to the point they’d stop caring about satisfaction.
Grant really meant it when he’d offered to help. By the time he arrived at the ticketing counter, she’d started to shake from frustration. He’d listened calmly to both sides of the drama, and asked the same very reasonable question Carla had. “What can you do?”
The agent didn’t look up from his keyboard as he dismissed him. “Nothing. Turn the ticket over and read the fine print. Next, please.”
Grant put up an arm to halt the person in line behind them. “Just a moment.” He slid the voucher across the counter. “It doesn’t say anything about blackouts.” He managed to sound quite pissed without actually raising his voice. “What it does say is that it expires in eight weeks. So, since she’s blacked out from using the sodding thing, that means it’s effectively void right now! Sounds like a heap of bullshit to me.”
“Grant, I can just buy a new ticket,” Carla said. She was ready to be done with the shit. She’d lost. The continued argument wasn’t worth the spike to her blood pressure.
“No, love, you shouldn’t have to. They should grandfather the voucher in, since it makes no mention of blackout dates. It’s not a discount. It’s a replacement. They’re playing games.”
A woman in the line somewhere behind them shouted, “I know, right? It’s some bullshit. I ain’t paying to check this bag, man. Y’all better put this shit underneath the plane and stop playin’ with me. I’m a goddamned veteran. Shit.”
The agent kept tapping keys. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience, sir. She’s welcome to try another airline for a last-minute flight.”
Grant drummed his fingers on the countertop and stared at the agent, who wouldn’t look back. The veins in his neck visibly pulsed.
Carla wrapped her hand around one of his wrists. It’s like I transferred my anger to him. “Grant, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He pulled a narrow folder out of his back pocket and slid it across the counter beside her voucher. “Here. Refund this.”
The agent finally looked up. “Sir?”
“Do it. Charge me the fuckin’ fee and refund my card the difference. You aren’t the only airline flying to Dublin via New York. Hell, your first class isn’t even all that great. You’re doing me a favor.”
Suddenly the agent got really cooperative. Grant’s ticket was first class, platinum status.
He looped his arm through Carla’s and said, “Hey, love. Want to get a bite?” as they walked toward the parking deck.
“Sure, but after that display of machismo I’m sort of hungry for other things.” Watching that usually pleasant man inch closer and closer to catastrophic meltdown had been the ultimate turn-on. Oh, he could get angry. She could tell. He reminded her something of her father–a generally easygoing guy who would snap in an instant if his family was threatened.
She also hadn’t noticed before how careful he was in suppressing that accent. He was nearly unintelligible when he got angry, especially when he got all growly.
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