More Than a Coincidence - Chapter 1

“Fred, I’m about to board the plane, so don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for the barbecue tomorrow or later today. Whenever it is. It’s way too early to be awake. Well, for me. I guess for you it’s normal to be awake at this time.” After last night’s gig, I only slept a couple of hours, and I’m hoping to make up for that in flight.

“I’d be up anyway, but sleeping in isn’t an option when you are in a different time zone, thousands of miles away. I’m just trying to make sure that you get on your plane and head home. I’m happy you got to play in Los Angeles, but you have to be here for the wedding.”

“Don’t stress. I’m sorry this show was scheduled so close to the wedding, but I’ll be there.” I pace the hall, checking the desk every few minutes for signs that boarding has started. “And it isn’t thousands of miles. Only a little over a thousand.”

There are way too many announcements on the speakers to rely on hearing updates about my flight.

“If they give you any trouble, just tell them who you are.” Fred laughs, seemingly relaxing a bit.

I keep my voice at a whisper as I adjust the bass guitar on my back. “No one has any clue who I am. And I want to keep it that way.”

“People may not know your face, Mason, but they know your song. It’s being played on the radio here all the time. I’ve heard people singing along. When I see you again, I’ll finally say—”

“I know the words, Fred. I wrote the song.” It’s not the only song I’ve written, but it is the song that’s rocketed my band’s popularity. I smile as I think about my redheaded childhood friend, the little girl who inspired the song. For years after she moved away, I swore that when I saw her again, I’d tell her that she’s pretty.

“You still there?” There is a thread of panic in Fred’s voice.

Snapping back to the conversation, I shift it in a different direction. I’m not that concerned about flying in two days before the wedding, but I know Fred, and he’s very stressed. It’s a good thing he has Bailey to even his keel. Asking about to-dos will help change his focus. “Anything I need to do when I get back?”

“No. Your tux is ready for you. Bailey has outdone herself planning this wedding. It’s going to be amazing.”

“Did you talk her out of the cactus bouquet?” I scan the big board on the wall, making sure my flight hasn’t been marked as delayed. Fred would not handle that news well.

He chuckles. “She settled on succulents. Nothing with spines.”

“Her bridesmaids will appreciate that.”

“Are you bringing a plus one?”

My two best friends have been dating for years and are happy. They want the same for me, so I’ve been expecting this question. “Is that your subtle way of asking if I’ve changed my relationship status? No. I’m still very single and have no plans to start seriously dating within the next few days. I haven’t met the one yet, Fred. Listen, they just opened the doors. I’m going to get in line. But I’ll call you when I land in Austin.”

“Have a great flight. I’ll save you a burger.”

“And a hot dog. And if Ava makes lemon bars—”

“She set an entire plate aside just for you. Now go get on that plane.”

I pocket my phone and keep my head down as I wait, then scan my boarding pass when it’s my turn. The gate agent smiles. “Thank you, Mr. Meadows. A flight attendant will help you with your guitar.”

It’s a bass, but I don’t correct her. Doing that would make me look pedantic. And I don’t want the attendants to think of me that way. I’m super thankful that I can have it in this part of the plane. This instrument is much too precious to toss in with other baggage. After watching them stow it, I make my way to my seat. No one else has made it to this row, which makes it easy to claim my window seat. If I keep my gaze focused outside, I’ll avoid conversation with whatever person ends up beside me.

The gate agent said that it was a full flight. Being a sardine for a few hours is worth seeing everyone at the barbecue and being there for my friends’ wedding festivities during the next couple of days.

I’m looking forward to being home. Even though I no longer live on the ranch, it still feels like home. Going to the ranch always brings back memories. I’m looking forward to that also.

Fred and Bailey are a perfect match, and I wouldn’t miss seeing them tie the knot. Fred says that his feelings started when he left for college, but they were obvious to me way before that. He got sloppy about calling shotgun on the days his mom picked us up from school. It didn’t take a mega brain to realize that he enjoyed sitting with Bailey in the back seat.

Someone bumps my leg, and I hear a quiet “Sorry.”

The voice sounds young and feminine. Not like a kid young, but my age maybe. It’s tempting to sneak a peek just to see who’s next to me, but if she catches me looking, she might strike up a conversation. After our band tour, I am too peopled out for conversations with strangers.

Pretending like the ground crew is the most interesting thing in the world, I manage to avoid interaction with the girl, lady, or woman next to me. Whatever she is, she smells like summer with a hint of citrus. It’s pleasant, calming. And for the record, I’m not like sniffing her hair or anything, but smells waft, you know. And it’s a nice waft.

I file away the memory, thinking it might make its way into a song someday.

The screen on the back of the seat in front of me flashes to life, and flight instructions are given. I sneak a quick look at the screen, but then I look out the window again.

When the engines rev and the plane starts moving, I relax into my seat with my hands on the armrests. This is when I love the window seat. The pavement swooshes by as we pick up speed, and anticipating takeoff, I close my eyes. Just as the plane lifts off, the lady beside me grips my hand. Tight.

My seat neighbor whispers, “I think I’m going to be sick,” and I give up not looking at her.

Red curls frame a very panicked face. A beautiful face. She’s shown up in my dreams many times, but my imagination didn’t do a good job of capturing how pretty she’d grow up to be.

My brain is frozen, but unfortunately, my tongue is not. “You’re pretty.”

Clementine slaps her free hand over her mouth, and I’m not sure if it’s because I shocked her with what I said or if she really is about to be sick.

“Hang on.” I pry my hand out of hers, then get an empty Ziploc bag out of my backpack. Mom filled many of these bags with treats and encouraging notes. I finished the last of the treats as I was waiting for this flight. And I saved every last one of her notes. “Here. And sorry for being weird, but since the day you left, Clementine, I’ve regretted not telling you that you’re pretty. Beautiful actually.”

Blinking, she takes the bag.

I hold out my hand. “And I don’t mind if you want to hold my hand. Do you get motion sick?”

“Nerves. I’m terrified of flying.” She slips her hand into mine. “Mason, is it really you?”

Like a dork, I wave. “Hi.” On stage, I look like a cool bass player in an up-and-coming band, but in reality, I’m really awkward and goofy.

Things get bumpy, and her grip tightens. I’m hoping she doesn’t throw up in that bag because the sides are clear, and seeing vomit will, in all likelihood, make me sick. That will kick off a series of events that I’d much rather avoid.

We reach cruising altitude, and her hold on me loosens. But we still don’t talk. She has her eyes closed, probably concentrating on not getting sick.

After minutes of staring out at the open ocean, I stifle a gasp. There are flames coming out of the engine.

The speaker crackles, and the pilot says, “We’re having trouble with one of our engines. No need to panic, but we’ll be detouring and landing at the John Wayne airport. Agents there will help y’all find flights to your final destinations.”

Clementine shakes her head as she stares at the flaming engine. “I can’t do this.”

I sandwich her hand in between mine and shift so that I’m blocking the window. “We’ll be okay. Remember when I used to bring those little oranges for lunch? I’d always ask my mom to pack extra so that we could share.”

“Clementines, like my name. I remember the first day you talked to me. Kids were making fun of my nickname, and you told them to stop. And you sat with me in the lunchroom, so people left me alone.”

“Do people still call you Minnie?”

“Not anymore. When I moved, I asked to be called Tina. After that, only two people called me Minnie. My gramps does. And my dad used to.”

“Used to?”

“He died earlier this year.”

“I’m so sorry.” I glance out the window, hoping for something that might ease her terror.

“I’m sorry that I’m being so… difficult.”

“You aren’t.” When the plane begins its descent, I point out the window. “We’re almost to the airport, see?”

“I hated that I left without saying goodbye. Mom and Dad had a big fight, and she packed up and left. I never went back to school after that. And I didn’t know how to contact you. I cried through the whole flight the day we left town.”

“Have you flown since?”

“No, but don’t worry, I won’t start crying. Unless this thing takes a nosedive. Then all bets are off.”

“Happy thoughts. Let’s not talk about nosedives. Where are you headed?”

“Stadtburg. My grandpa was going to pick me up in Austin. I actually wondered if I’d see you in town. But I figured the chances were slim.”

“Yet here we are. What a coincidence.”

She closes her eyes again as the wheels touch the ground. The engines roar, and I hold my breath as the plane hurdles down the runway, showing little sign of slowing. If this plane hits the fence and goes boom, Fred will never forgive me.

When everything finally lurches to a stop, she opens her eyes. “I’m never getting on a plane again.”

“But we’re in California. I thought you were headed to Texas.”

“I’ll drive. My grandfather’s memorial service isn’t until the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow. On Sunday. I can still make it.” She brushes ringlets out of her face. “Thanks for holding my hand.”

“You had two grandfathers in Stadtburg?”

“Only one.”

If Clementine is headed to Stadtburg, I will likely see her again. Chances are good. But what if I don’t see her? I can’t let her walk out of my life after showing up again. Granted, I got to tell her she was pretty. But I’m not ready to say goodbye. And I will regret it forever if I let her walk away from me right now. I feel it in my gut, in my bones. Hopefully, Fred and Bailey will forgive me for the choice I’m about to make. “I’ll go with you. I’ll rent a car here at the airport. We can arrange to pick up your luggage once it gets to San Antonio.”

“I only have a carry-on.” She points above her head. “You really want to road trip with me?”

“Yes. I’m also a bit confused. You said you were going to a memorial service for your grandpa, but he’s picking you up from the airport. Usually memorial services are—”

“He isn’t dead yet. He decided to have a service while he was still alive. I’m flying in for that and also to care for him. He also wants me to take over his place.” She huffs out a laugh. “Imagine me farming. Funny, huh?”

“Farming or ranching?”

“Both, I guess. He has a few cows. And other animals. Chickens, goats. His garden is pretty big. He’s been showing me stuff when we video chat.”

“So you’re moving here?”

“Yep. I quit my job, which is crazy. But I don’t know. This just feels like what I’m supposed to do. Where do you live now?”

“San Antonio. Mostly.”

She lifts her eyebrows, seemingly amused. “Mostly?”

I whisper, “I’ll explain later.”

When it’s time to deboard, I grab her suitcase from the overhead bin, then follow her up the aisle. The flight attendant hands me my bass guitar case when I near the exit.

Clementine grins. “A musician?”

I tap a finger to my lips. “I’ll check in with the gate agent and let her know that we’re getting a car.”

“Wait.”

I stop, praying she hasn’t changed her mind about taking a road trip with me. “Yes?”

She throws her arms around my neck. “It is so good to see you.”

“Same. And you’ve only gotten prettier since the last time I saw you.”

“Very smooth, Mason Meadows.” She takes a step, then stops and turns. She might as well have a lightbulb flashing above her head. She points at the case on my back and then at me. “You’re Mason Meadows. The song…”

Instinctively, I nod. Then words zoom right past my filter, which is clearly on the fritz. “‘Pretty’ is about you.” That makes me sound crazy. Might as well slap a nametag on me that reads: I’m Mason, and I’ve carried a flame for my childhood best friend for a decade and a half. I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Not a single soul. But I’m pretty sure my admission about the song just let the cat out of the bag.