Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) by Susan O'Brien Page A

ever.
    Discussing the beach distracted Sophie from thinking about Bobby, the class fish, so I kept both kids at home and sheepishly emailed their soccer coaches and called the school about their absence.
    Dean and I agreed to meet at the airport. He’d take a taxi and, since my kids still needed booster seats, I’d leave my van in economy parking. We each made our own flight reservations, and I miraculously secured a three-seat row.
    The process made me think of my late father, “Grampy,” who had died unexpectedly of a heart attack when Jack and Sophie were four and two. He’d lived with us after Jason’s death, and he’d been more of a father figure than a grandfather to them.
    Every time I saw a plane overhead—which was often in my Northern Virginia suburb—I thought of him. I avoided flying, though, knowing it would conjure emotions I wasn’t ready to face. Now there was no escape, and Dean might be along for the ride. My anxiety eased when I considered Dad might have extra influence on our safety from heaven.
    Please keep an eye on us, Dad, I requested. All the way there and back.

      
    We made it to the terminal early, a near-miracle for our family. The kids were fascinated by the variety of transportation modes available: van, bus, moving sidewalk, escalator, and AeroTrain. Surprisingly, Jack and Sophie were easier to pull along than our suitcases, which is why I’d checked our bags immediately.
    “Hey there,” Dean greeted us after we’d loaded up on drinks, snacks, and gum. The kids were all smiles in anticipation of junk food and electronic games at thirty thousand feet.
    I hugged Dean, awkwardly introduced him as Mr. Summers, and reminded the kids that we’d be working while they spent time with Aunt Liz.
    “Working on what?” Sophie asked.
    The truth (a possible murder case and controlling my libido) wasn’t appropriate.
    “Solving a mystery,” I offered.
    “By the way, you guys can call me Dean. Okay?” Nice timing. Distraction was my favorite parenting trick.
    They nodded.
    “Is this your first time in an airport?” he asked them.
    “Uh huh,” Sophie said shyly. Before long, she’d be talking his ear off. If he sat across from us, I wouldn’t give her an aisle seat.
    “So, what do you think?”
    “We love it,” Jack said.
    “Especially the stores,” Sophie added.
    “The junk food selection is mind blowing,” I explained, shaking our plastic bag of goodies.
    “Guess what? We’re missing school today,” Sophie told him.
    And we were off to a great start, final destination unknown.

      
    I’m not sure if it was my dad’s way of looking out for me, but the kids were so busy during the flight that the tears I was sure would flow (mine) never threatened to erupt. Thankfully, neither did the kids’ behavior. We made two trips to the bathroom, tried new iPad games, admired beds of clouds and southern landscapes, and noshed on peanuts, chocolate-covered raisins, pretzels, M&Ms (divided evenly, including by color; I ate the strays), and gum. Secretly, I called this lunch. I kind of wished we could fly forever.
    Dean witnessed little of this thanks to his seat near the front of the plane, which I was too busy to visit. It was a magnet for young flight attendants, however, which I’m pretty sure had everything to do with his looks and nothing to do with customer service. After he stopped by our seat to say hello, they backed off a little. Good thing , I thought. Otherwise I might have to retaliate with spilled juice or some other messy distraction. Truthfully, I’d cleaned our hands and surroundings first thing, and I’d do the same before we landed.
    We were greeted with blinding sun, a warm breeze, and rustling palms as we dragged our luggage to the nearby car rental agency, where Dean and I requested plain sedans (no red, please) with navigation systems, and I rented booster seats, afraid of how they’d look and smell. (Kids get carsick a lot, especially when parents bribe