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“Say it,” I tell him. “You know you want to.”
He shakes his head again, looking at me through glassy eyes. “You had to do it. You had to ruin the last thing he wanted.”
“I got rid of the phonies,” I tell him. “The people left here actually care about him, and shouldn’t those be the people who are there in the end?”
“He wanted…” Rohan throws his hands in the air. “He wanted this big, glorious send off, and you literally just chased away almost all of the few people who could actually make it!”
Guilt stabs at my chest. “I’m sorry, Rohan, but if it were my funeral, I’d only want the people who actually gave a shit about me to be there. Not all the fuckers looking for handouts.”
“But it’s not your funeral!” Rohan says. “It’s Dick’s.”
He storms off before I can say anything, but honestly, I have no idea what I would say anyhow.
Thiago is deep in conversation with one of the helicopter pilots—likely explaining that we have to cancel most of them because at most, we’ll need two. I watch as Ms. Fox interrupts to ask where she can go shopping. Oh, that did not go over well. Thiago is yelling at her for being ‘the problem.’ I can’t blame him though. Now is not the time to shop.
8
Free Falling…
Gwen
“But you said I could shop at the next location.”
“This isn’t the next location! We have to get on the helicopters to get to the next location.”
“Oh, sorry,” I answer, feeling suddenly sheepish. “It’s just that when you used the word next, I took it to mean the next place, not the place after that.”
Thiago closes his eyes for a second, then exhales loudly through his nose. “We’re on a tight schedule, okay? I don’t have time for this.”
“Sure, all right,” I answer with a nod that says, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m not a problem.’
He returns his attention to his clipboard when I realize I absolutely must use the bathroom before we get on the helicopter. I lift my hand to tap Thiago on the shoulder, then change my mind. I can wait.
Umm, no, I really can’t. I lift my hand again and poke him on the upper arm. “Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“It’s just that, I have this…” Lowering my voice, I continue, “Nervous bladder condition. When I’m in high stress situations, I have to … use the ladies’ room more frequently.”
He stares at me for a second, then sighs. “Everyone, listen up! If anyone else here needs to use the toilet before we leave, you have exactly three minutes before we’re leaving! Go!”
I glance around, hoping there will be a group of us, but apparently it’s just me because nobody moves. Nuts. I’d feel a lot less silly if I had someone else to come with me. Thiago gestures for me to get going and I all but spring to the hangar, returning with ten seconds to spare. I didn’t even have a chance to wash the vomit out of my hair, but I did have the opportunity to see what I look like right now. Insane. I look completely insane.
When I get back, he’s making an announcement. “We can fit the group into two helicopters—this big one and that smaller one. Four plus me here. Two on that one,” he says, gesturing to the aircraft to his right. He points to Mr. Sterling and me, then says, “You two—other helicopter. You are the problems and I don’t need problems right now. Everyone else, with me!”
I open my mouth to object, but then remember I’m not supposed to insult Sterling. I’m supposed to be sucking up. And since this will allow me to have him all to myself, I guess I better just cooperate. I look up at him and see he’s staring at me with a strange look on his face. Contempt? Amusement? I honestly cannot read him at all.
He slings his backpack over his shoulder and strides over to our chopper, looking all dapper and confident, which is completely annoying if you ask me. I hang back for a second, then force my feet to start moving, my toes already cramping up in these stupid heels.
Mr. Sterling steps aside to let me get on first, which I imagine is supposed to make me think he’s a gentleman. Obviously, I’m not buying it. After listening in on part of his phone call, I now know he’s not only an asshole, but he’s a controlling monster too. Having his girlfriend tailed? Asking for her phone records? Wanting a list of everyone she sees? I mean, seriously, that’s some stalker bullshit right there.
I offer a smile to our pilot, who is standing next to the helicopter. “Hola.”
“Hola, you are a light traveler.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“You have no luggage. Did you forget it?”
